Cuff Master

by Frances Stockton

  “I’ve faith in the two of you. If I can help, let me know. Maybe we should take a field trip to the orchard Alisa Bailey told me about before I pissed her off. Apples were a significant clue when Jenna appeared.”

  “If I remember correctly, Alisa’s sister maintains and operates the orchard for the family. She’s opened it up for Halloween haunted hayrides during the month of October.”

  “We could get tickets for the hayride. Even if we can’t do an investigation, I might be able to connect with Jenna again.”

  “It’s open to the public. I’ll see what I can do about it.”

  Morgan’s cellphone went off. She pulled it out of her purse and answered. “Remy, hey, we were just talking about you.”

  Damn! Ethan liked Remy Sinclair. He trusted him enough to give the other man the spare keys to Morgan’s store. Remy stood by her as a friend and showed no sign of romantic interest.

  But he wasn’t so happy about the interruption. Fighting off his jealousy, he said nothing.

  “Thank you for closing the shop today. Your help these last two weeks has been invaluable. What’s that? Eve? Really?” she questioned, going quiet to listen for a bit.

  “Wow. That’s great for the show. Do you need my help with anything?”

  The conversation centered on the television show. That was good. It helped Ethan relax. The reality-based ghost hunter series was important to Morgan. Because of that, he needed to support her, no matter that the show’s host was rapidly building a female fan base to rival a rock star.

  “Okay. Keep me informed. I’ll be glad to follow up if you two find something. Say hi to Eve for me.” Morgan ended the call and put the phone away.

  “Everything all right with Remy?”

  “Yes,” Morgan answered. “I can’t explain it all because Remy’s not ready to share more details. But they think Eve uncovered some information about Ransom Hunter.”

  “Ransom Hunter, the one who writes those erotic paranormal novels you like so much?”

  “That’s right. It’s a pen name.”

  “Why would Remy be interested in this guy?”

  “Eve was able to do some research on an Old West ghost town that was purchased by a quartet of anonymous owners. It’d once been vacant and said to have been nothing more than a couple of buildings and outhouses. The quartet built up the town and it’s said that celebrities hang out in the town when they want to truly get away.”

  “You lost me, honey.”

  “Eve thinks that one of the owners may be Ransom Hunter and that his estate is located near the town.”

  “Why? If the guy wants to be reclusive and live in some ghost town, leave him alone.”

  “The estate is supposedly at the epicenter of one of the most haunted and mysterious towns in America.”

  “That sounds promising,” he said.

  “The New England Paranormal Investigators would like to go national. Remy and Eve would like to approach Ransom to do a lockdown. If not at his home, Dare, Nevada would be excellent for TV and be the catalyst to getting the show syndicated.”

  “Dare, Nevada, huh? Can the team investigate the town without exposing Ransom Hunter’s real identity?”

  “Absolutely, Remy is discreet. He and Eve are going to fly out there tomorrow to research the history of the ghost town first.”

  “What will they do if the author says no about the estate?”

  “They’ll leave. If nothing else, they’ll have great footage of the ghost town. Short-lived though the Wild West was, it was an extremely violent era, not to mention the injustices committed against the Native American tribes in the name of manifest destiny.”

  “Carson City or Reno would be great locations for a lockdown.”

  “Yes, but both have been done by several other ghost hunter teams. Remy wants something that hasn’t been seen before.”

  “I hope you’re right about them leaving the guy alone if that’s what he wants.”

  “They will. Remy has my spare keys and he’ll keep them safe until he gets back. The shop’s closed for the weekend. I’ll open it back up on Monday.”

  “Great. I’m glad he helped you out while you healed. I noticed you took the bandage off after your shower this afternoon. Have to admit doing laundry and dusting all day made showering a godsend.”

  “It was a relief to get clean. The stitches are almost nonexistent. Doc is a genius.”

  “Yes, he is.”

  Ethan continued to drive through the city, weaving in and out of traffic with the ease of having grown up in Southie. Parking was an issue for residents throughout the Boston-Metro area, but he and Taran had permits for a small lot adjacent to their house.

  Their house was joined to a series of row houses that were rustic and made of Bostonian brownstone, impressive front steps and crimson doors. It was also bigger than it appeared, with four stories, six bedrooms, an attic and a basement.

  His parents bought the townhouse after his father got home from Vietnam. For the most part, South Boston, or Southie to those who grew up there, had some good neighborhoods and some not-so-good areas. But it was rich in Irish tradition, making it the right place for Ethan and his brothers to grow up.

  It was also strategically located near the waterfront, making it a prime place for fishermen to dock and work from. A few blocks farther over, the streets gave way to Seaport, high-rise office buildings and the largest of Boston’s convention centers.

  Their house had been built in the late eighteen-hundreds and had gone through several renovations. At first, it wasn’t a brownstone and had been divided into small efficiency apartments during the Great Depression.

  After the Depression, the efficiencies were converted into bigger one- and two-bedroom apartments. As the house was at the end of a row of four town houses, entrances to the apartments had been from a side alley.

  Eventually the house was sold at auction. His father had put in the winning bid and refurbished it. The brownstone renovation was the biggest change, making the façade resemble a true Bostonian landmark. Ethan loved it and hoped Morgan would feel as home in South Boston as the rest of the Maddox family.

  He navigated down a narrow street leading to the line of houses, hit his turn signal and went up to a gate for the parking lot. He grabbed the parking pass out of the glove compartment, slid it into the credit-card-sized slot and the gate opened.

  “This is nice,” Morgan complimented, looking about the lot while he parked in a space corresponding with the house number.

  “We’re lucky to have this lot. Many residents have to fight for street parking. When it snows, I can’t even describe the chaos of shoveling out and avoiding snow plows. Some folks block their spaces with lawn chairs, trashcans, whatever they can grab.”

  “Does it work?”

  “Sometimes and sometimes cars get towed and fights get bloody.”

  “Wow. And I thought traffic in Salem was bad.”

  “You’ve been to Boston enough to know the headaches. But I love it here.”

  “I do too. It’s a big city with a small-town feel, in my opinion.”

  He turned the engine off and went around the car to help Morgan out. They went to the trunk and he grabbed their cases.

  “I’ll come back for the shopping bags,” he said when she tried to take some of the burden. He had a brown leather satchel with some Dom gear and sex toys he’d taken to Phalen’s place, along with the shopping bags in the trunk.

  It wasn’t that Morgan didn’t have the right to know what was in it. But the satchel was much heavier than any of the suitcases. While he’d never use a toy or device on Morgan that hadn’t been made by his hand or been brand-spanking new, he didn’t know how her psychometry would be affected if he let go of the bag or wasn’t able to touch her.

  “I can help,” she insisted.

  “I know you can. Let me be a gentleman for a little while longer.”

  “Hmm, someone has wicked plans.”

  “How about gettin
g inside so you can find out?”

  Morgan picked up her shoulder bag from him and carried it herself. “Fine, take the heavy stuff,” she said.

  He’d put her shoulder bag in the car earlier. That thing weighed almost as much as his satchel.

  Stepping up his pace, he dragged the roller cases and led Morgan across the street and up the massive steps to the door. He’d pocketed his keys long enough to get to the other side of the road and took them out to unlock the door and help her inside.

  A foyer light was on when they entered. Setting their suitcases aside, he assisted Morgan by taking her shoulder bag from her.

  “Honey, we’re home,” he announced.

  He drew in a breath, taking in the familiarity of the house he grew up in. He knew every brick, every creaky step, every knickknack and picture, every gleaming hardwood inch and carpeted area of the house by heart.

  Here he could still feel Abigael and Declan Maddox’s presence. The majority of the house and his mom’s antiques remained the same. While he, Phalen and Taran had changed the kitchen appliances and modernized things, they’d been certain to keep the house the way their mother would approve of.

  “You love it here,” Morgan commented.

  “Sure do.”

  “I love it too. You enjoyed playing house at Phalen and Cassie’s, but here you come alive.”

  “I enjoyed being in Salem because you were there. My home is where you are. I’m really glad you like it. There’s a lot to see.”

  “I expect a grand tour before deciding if I’ll agree to whatever naughty plans you have for me.”

  “Planning to play hard to get, sub?”

  “If it brings out your inner grizzly, yes!”

  “Naughty girls get disciplined. You know that. Be warned.”

  “I’ll take it under advisement.”

  “Let’s put our clothes away and figure out dinner first.”

  “Sounds good to me,” she agreed.

  Ethan was pleased. Morgan would test him tonight. He felt it in his bones. That was exactly what he wanted. He couldn’t prove himself as her Master without her pushing his buttons first.

  She was feeling feisty. He could tell by the way she’d sneak long looks at him and swiftly look away before he caught her. She knew damn well that he saw the covert, suggestive looks she’d sent in the direction of his dick.

  He wore jeans and was able to keep his erection in check. She’d ditched her jeans for a pretty green dress.

  “Ethan? Will you kiss me before we go upstairs?” Morgan asked sweetly.

  She was supposed to make an offering for such a request. He could push her on it. He’d wait.

  “Come closer,” he said, allowing her to come to him.

  Morgan stepped up as he’d told her. She smelled nice, fresh and sweet. He cupped her face, holding her still for a kiss. His mouth had just touched hers when they were interrupted by his younger brother trudging into the foyer from God only knew where.

  “Well, hey there, little sis. Bro,” Taran greeted. “Didn’t y’all get enough of each other at Phalen’s?”

  Ethan turned his head. “What the hell, Taran?” All that covered his brother was a towel around his waist.

  “He’s almost…umm…naked,” Morgan stated.

  “Get dressed and get your scrawny ass to Salem,” Ethan ordered.

  “Taran’s got the Maddox ass, nothing scrawny about him…nothing at all,” Morgan murmured.

  What the fuck did that mean? Ethan was starting to see red and his brother was in the danger zone.

  “I’m going,” Taran assured, holding up his hands. “I got tied up in court and had to stop in at the tat shop to check on things before coming home to clean up.”

  Ethan moved in front of Morgan to keep her from trying to sneak another peek. “Woman, that’s Taran you’re staring at. Would you do that to Phalen?”

  “I’d do it if I knew he wasn’t looking, which he always is. Let’s face it, Phalen’s incredibly sexy and my best friend is lucky to be married to him. That doesn’t mean I can’t see the truth about him or your little brother.”

  “I’m not little,” Taran boasted.

  “No, you are not. Hi, Taran, how are you?”

  “I’m good, baby sis,” Taran greeted, moving right on up to where Ethan had wedged her up against a wall. “Come give me a hug.”

  “Not when you’re in that,” Ethan objected, noticing the towel was ready to spring open.

  There was nothing sexual in what Taran wore. In Taran’s mind, he was adequately covered and wouldn’t hesitate to come out to greet them as he was.

  “Wow. Wow, his tats alone are amazing!” Morgan’s eyes were opened wide and her mouth formed a cute little O.

  Ethan wanted to fuck that O right now, reminding her who she answered to, him.

  Taran was Taran. What did she see that made her damn near drool?

  “You’re making me blush, Morgan,” Taran lied. There was no evidence of contrition or embarrassment on his face.

  “Ethan, if Taran shows that body to Samantha, she’s toast,” Morgan half-whispered.

  Taran shrugged, glancing down at his chest and towel. “If I thought that was true, I’d have stripped for her a long time ago,” he admitted.

  “Go get dressed,” Ethan warned.

  “Chill, Ethan. You’re acting all crazy. I’m not after your woman. You said it yourself, she’s my sister. That would be sick, even for me.”

  “Ah, guys? There’s no need to act as if I’m about to jump Taran’s bones. I’m just surprised by the eight-pack, sleek muscle and tattoos. Never let it be said that the Maddox brothers aren’t true to their Celtic heritage.”

  Ethan looked at Taran. He, Ethan and Phalen showed pride in all things Celtic, especially their ink. Taran actually had the most ink of the three of them. Celtic tribal designs covered his arms, his back from shoulder blade to shoulder blade and around his thighs.

  The most intricate of the scrollwork, which Ethan had done and was based on one of Phalen’s designs, covered Taran’s right shoulder and wound down over his pectoral, rib cage and on to his hip. It’d taken months to complete.

  Taran had Phalen tattoo their parents’ names in red over his heart and the word justice on his left shoulder. When he opened his own firm, he intended to be an advocate for families and victims of DUI accidents, especially children left behind without their parents.

  “You’re a beautiful man, Taran Maddox. I’m glad you’re my brother now. When you do manage to win over Samantha’s heart, she’s going to be a very lucky woman.”

  “Until she actually talks to me without threatening to kick my ass, happiness between Samantha and I will take some time,” Taran said.

  “She needs you, Taran. Be patient with her and you will see.”

  “No worries, kiddo, I intend to make Samantha Riley mine. It’ll happen when it’s meant to.”

  “Okay. By the way, I’m only a year younger than you are, not a kiddo.”

  “If I called you anything else, Ethan would rip me to shreds. I really like my body parts in working order.”

  “Don’t we all,” Ethan said. “Can you finish getting dressed now?”

  “I’m off to my room. And you, Morgan, are not to tread one foot in my territory unless I give the all-clear, agreed?”

  “I won’t.”

  “Good call. Fridge is stocked with beer. I went out and found some vegetarian eats for Morgan. You two should be good for the weekend.”

  “Thanks, bro.”

  “Anytime,” Taran said, turning and rushing up the staircase.

  Morgan watched Taran’s towel-clad ass until it disappeared. “Morgan! Cut that out.”

  “Ethan, I don’t want him. I’m just stunned. He’s so different than you and Phalen with his long dark hair and all those tats. That kind of artistry must have taken years to accomplish.”

  “He got his first ink when he turned eighteen. Phalen did it,” Ethan said, putting his hand over hi
s own heart to reference his parents’ names.

  “I think he’s taller than you and Phalen. His eyes are exactly the same. He’s a sweetheart. I hope Samantha accepts him soon. I realize she has her reasons for keeping distant, but your brother would never hurt her.”

  “He’d just as soon cut off his own arm before he’d hurt someone he loves. He can be a pain in the ass, but his heart is sincere. You’re right about his height. Taran’s the tallest. Don’t clue Phalen into that. He fools himself into thinking he’s the biggest badass of us all.”

  “Phalen is a badass. That man can probably knock someone into another century with a flick of his wrist. He’s also broader than you and Taran.”

  “Honey, big brother’s a pussycat.”

  “He’s a papa lion in charge of his pride. It’s in his genetic code. I’m betting he’s much like your dad, all heart and compassion for those he loves, deadly if someone threatens his own.”

  “We all take after our dad in that regard,” Ethan said, genuinely impressed by how she viewed both Phalen and their father.

  “I’ve no doubt.”

  “Let’s get this stuff upstairs. Taran’s going to primp for a while.”

  “I didn’t see his Chevy pickup in the lot.”

  “He must have it parked at the tat shop. It’s easier for him to park there to get in and out when necessary. He has to balance tattooing and law on a daily basis.”

  “He’s not going to mind staying in Salem again?”

  “He’s going to take care of Phalen’s shop for the next week. I’m sure he’s arranged for it at his office.”

  “Do you still do tattooing when you can? You didn’t check in at the shop in Salem.”

  “Sure I do. Just been a little busy winning you over,” Ethan answered, taking her back into his arms and giving her the kiss she’d asked for before Taran interrupted.

  “You won me, Ethan,” she said when he lifted his head.

  “Upstairs with you, sub,” he ordered, giving her a gentle spank that would turn serious if she didn’t march up the stairs in short order.

  “Going…” She picked up her shoulder bag, taking off for the steps as told.