Another Stroke of Fate (The Carnal Exhibitions Book 2)

by LW Barefoot

  “Sarah and this is Gisele.”

  She smiles, looking at Jessica, revealing her real name.

  Harper

  Today I reclaim my morning runs and add them to my routine. I struggle to gain ground and now have realistic expectations of getting back in shape. I all but limp back up the winding tree-lined road.

  Brad and Jamie are sitting on the front porch when I finally make my way to them.

  “How far did you get?” Brad asks.

  “Not far enough,” I confess as I plop down on the settee Jamie’s on. “What are y’all doing out here?”

  “Discussing things,” Jamie admits.

  “Yeah, like what?” I push.

  “Stuff,” Brad answers.

  “What kind of stuff?” I ask, taking a muffin off the tray and biting into it.

  “Jamie wasn’t here for the fishing excursion, I thought we could have another go at it,” Brad says.

  “I’m in, but I’m shit at fishing,” I laugh.

  “Jamie’s cooking whatever we catch,” Evan says from the front door.

  “You’re coming with us?” I ask.

  “Is that okay with you?” he quirks his eyebrow at me.

  “Of course,” I smile.

  An hour later we’re all set with coolers and plenty of sunscreen. Most of the security stays behind except for Brad. I don’t even think of him like that anymore.

  I cast out a line, finally getting the hang of it when I feel Evan’s arms around me. The boat rocks calmly with the gentle sway of the water.

  “This might be my new favorite pastime,” I admit without turning my attention away from my line.

  “You’re not very good at it,” he teases.

  With his hands on top of mine, he demonstrates how to work the reel and pull an inch or two in then bobbing the pole slightly before lowering it back.

  “It’s the tranquility of it. Just being on the water and the quiet peace that settles everything,” I explain. “Actually, it has nothing to do with catching anything.”

  “Don’t tell Brad or Martin that. They get competitive and they both lie through their teeth about the size of the fish they catch,” Evan whispers in my ear.

  We laugh when we hear Jamie and Brad argue over the size of Brad’s fish dangling on the line.

  I finally catch something but it’s too small and I release it back in the water. I think I would rather not catch anything at all, unhooking the fish was not what I thought it would be. The small fish got its revenge when I cut myself on the hook in its mouth. Jamie does better than I do, but not much.

  After several hours, we finally concede on swinging by a marina and buying fresh fish from people who know what they’re doing. There was no way we could have caught enough to feed half the people staying at the plantation.

  The main building is weatherworn and the dock is rickety and rocks back and forth on the water. Standing on the dock makes me more nauseous than riding on the boat. Evan’s inside the marina settling the bill while Jamie and Brad oversee the fish getting lowered in the ice chests at the back of the boat.

  I move to climb over the side as a larger boat approaches the marina. The wake caused by the boat’s speed shuffle our boat and the dock angrily against each other. I slip over the side and land hard on my butt.

  Jamie can’t contain his laughter or mean jokes about my gracefulness. I’m shocked Brad doesn’t take the opportunity to get some jabs in like he usually does but the new boat holds his undivided attention. He stops the deck crew from loading the rest of the purchase in the coolers.

  “We’re good. We gotta go,” Brad shouts.

  I stand up and brush myself off with the help of Jamie. The newly arrived boat ties up on the other side of the dock. Harsh Spanish is clipped out over the sound of our engine powering up.

  The deck crew starts untying the ropes that tether our boat to the dock. Brad’s eyes are trained on the entrance of the marina.

  I sit down next to Jamie and watch for Evan. He walks out on the dock with tense shoulders and a scowl. When he looks over his shoulder he stops dead in his tracks.

  “Evan. Leave it be,” Brad says, turning the engine off and stepping off the boat.

  Evan walks around behind the marina and out of sight.

  “What do you think is going on?” Jamie whispers.

  “I don’t have a clue,” I answer.

  Several minutes pass with the sounds of the rocking boats, creaky deck, and the hum of several deep freezers lined up against the main building.

  Brad and Evan walk back to the boat. The tension between them is evident. Quietly coming aboard, Brad starts the boat. Evan stands at the front with his hands in his pockets, watching the direction he came from as Brad maneuvers the vessel away from the marina.

  Evan finally takes a seat next to me. His jaw grinding, his focus elsewhere.

  I look over my shoulder and see a tall Hispanic man standing at the edge of the dock. The crew loads the freezers against the main building with some kind of boxes. The man holds his arm out, his two forefingers pointed at our receding boat, his thumb cocked back like a pistol. He figuratively fires a shot at Evan’s head.

  “Who was that?” I ask.

  “No one you need to concern yourself with,” Evan responds.

  “I think it is when he just fired off a threat at you,” I whisper, but Brad hears it and shoots his focus from driving to Evan and me.

  “That wasn’t the first time, and I’m sure it won’t be the last,” he confesses, taking off his sunglasses and wiping his hand over his face, exasperated.

  “Boss?” Brad pushes.

  “Leave it alone,” Evan hisses.

  A tempered minute passes silently between them before Brad turns his attention back on the water and Evan clasps my hand and holds it in a death grip.

  The waves we slash through make angry explosions against the hull of the boat as we cut through the distance to Evan’s property.

  Seth and the beat up pickup wait by the dock when we get back to the plantation. He helps unload the coolers full of fish.

  “You catch anything?” Seth asks me.

  “No, she didn’t,” Brad interjects.

  “Yes, I did. It was this big,” I say, demonstrating with my hands how long my one and only catch was.

  “I think you need to stop hanging out with Brad while you fish. You’re lying just as bad as he does,” Seth jokes.

  I laugh and say something about how if I was going to take up the sport I might as well exaggerate as much as the only fishermen I know.

  “I bet Martin believes me,” I tease.

  In unison, Brad and Seth both disagree.

  We head back to the house once everything is loaded up.

  The day vanishes with tall tales and blackened snapper. Jamie’s cooking doesn’t disappoint. I help him with tidying up after the meal and set things as close to how Mae likes her kitchen.

  We finish the night on Evan’s balcony.

  Creeping suspicions keep me from completely enjoying myself.

  I finally know how to tell the difference between Evan’s anger and apprehension. I prefer his anger.

  I take long pulls from wine as dark as the sky around us and try to enjoy the night.

  Evan

  The only peaceful moments are when I lose myself in the pleasure of Harper’s body or when I watch her sleep wrapped up in my arms. Several days have passed since I claimed her with no recourse. Staring down and standing up to everyone that could come between us in the hours between bliss and torment.

  I couldn’t possibly explain what happened yesterday at the marina. My father’s drug shipments have been coming in more frequently than usual. It seems Joe is spending his retirement expanding his territory and I’ll be damned if I don’t find the location of the drops in my own backyard. I recognized the Carrera cartel the minute they recklessly docked their boat. I need to determine whether it was intended to be brought to my attention. I reported the drop to Tom as
soon as we got back.

  I admire that Harper didn’t push me for answers last night and I damn sure don’t want her thinking another thing about it when she wakes up.

  I wish I could stretch the time between sleep and awake, steal Harper’s dreams, and live in these moments between dusk to dawn for eternity with her.

  We can’t stay at the plantation forever. I won’t allow my family to push me out of New Orleans and after awhile, Harper will insist on returning to the city. We both need a reprieve, a vacation. At this point, I would settle for one uninterrupted day with Harper so I could selfishly have her all to myself. We couldn’t even enjoy our day on the water without getting interrupted and reminded about one of our identities.

  I should get up and get ready, but Harper’s exhale tickles across my skin and I’m distracted entirely from the expectations of what I should be doing.

  I pull away from her, taking the sheets with me, revealing her naked body. She shivers and rolls on her back. The morning chill pebbles her skin, tweaking her nipples. Her head turns to the side, exposing her slender neck. I move over her and blanket her skin with mine softly.

  I want to warm her up from the outside in and then inside out. I trace the curves of her tempting body, paying close attention for the moment she fully wakes.

  “Let me love you, Harper,” I whisper in her ear, moving my lips to the soft skin on her neck, her eyes shut tight.

  I use her name because I want her to wake as Harper. I need her to wake with the realization that she’s mine. I need her to know my hands, my lips, my caresses, even my punishments are the only thing that will ever touch her again. I don’t want a single second of doubt to cross her mind about who she is or who she belongs with.

  “Let me touch you, Harper,” I say as I lick along the crevices of her collarbone.

  I’m lost in adoration as I trail my selfish tongue and lips over her. I continue my requests, regardless of whether she can hear me.

  “Let me cherish you, Harper.”

  It’s more of a declaration to myself than to her. I’m kissing and pressing my lips to her skin willing her glorious eyes to open. I need to see them sparkle in awareness and dance with the morning light.

  We have consumed each other with such paltry excuses. Time, circumstances, settings. I’m tired of fighting against what I feel for her, what I want to give her. It’s no longer about me and that alone makes it all the more precious. For once, I care about someone other than myself.

  I used to consider the rising sun such an obtrusive light, but now it’s offering evidence of something entirely different.

  My palms spread across her shoulders and warm her arms.

  “Let me taste you, Harper.”

  She rewards me with a moan as I brush the tip of my tongue to lick her tight nipple, cupping the weight of her perfect breast in my hand as I suck her into my mouth.

  My hands knead and slowly stroke over her delicate skin. She starts to move away from me when I pinch her other tight nipple.

  Her eyes fly open as she pushes her breast deeper in my mouth. Her fingertips move to my hair, her nails graze my scalp. That sensation alone has me unbelievably aroused as I move my mouth to her other nipple. Sucking, pulling, teasing her to full enlightenment.

  “Let me feel you, Harper.”

  I graze my fingertips over her scars, I know they’re rough and callused, but so is her skin. No longer soft and untouched, but scarred and forbidding. She’s perfect to me. She might bear her scars on the outside, but mine run so much deeper. I’ve tasted her darkness and I need to show her it matches my own. No one else could possibly understand what broken means.

  We’re both flawed enough to be perfect together.

  My eyes never leave hers, until I move down her body. Lips touching each scar.

  “Let me feast on your delicious cunt, Harper.”

  I lick up the seam of her tight slit. I’ve been addicted to the unique taste of her since the moment her essence touched my lips and spread across my tongue. I drink her in, pulling her hips up, scratching her inner thighs with the rough hair on my face. Harper’s arms move above her head, holding on to the headboard, her large tits pushed up.

  She’s at my mercy, but the truth is, I’m at hers.

  I fuck her with my fingers and make love to her with my tongue. Coercing her to adjust and stretch for me. I need to fill her up. I need that primal connection that reminds me she’s still here with me. I hook my fingers in her and pull while lashing her sensitive clit. She starts moaning and writhing against my face as she rides out her shallow release. I move up her body, licking and sucking and kissing my needs away.

  “Let me fuck you, Harper.”

  I should have used ‘love’ again.

  I rub my cock between her wet folds. She lifts her hips to take me in, but I back off.

  I get on my knees and sit back, committing her to memory. Red hair shining and scattered out on the white sheets as she tries to catch her breath. Her delicious pink pussy glistens for me to do something about it. Her imperfections on display, along with her vulnerability. She’s the most tempting sight I’ve ever seen. Her eyes reflect lust and desire, but something else, something I’ve never seen before.

  Her hands grip the headboard, her legs fall further apart. She lets out a deep breath as her eyes move away from mine. She submits so flawlessly. It’s almost my undoing.

  I push into her in one hard thrust. She holds herself still as I pound into her.

  “Let me hurt you, Harper.”

  Her core muscles clench with my command. Head falling further to the side as I deliberately root myself as far and as deep as she can take me. I pull out of her painfully slow and thrust forward with so much force she has to brace herself as she cries out. Her tits bounce and compete for my undivided attention. No wonder I could get lost in her and want to spend every waking moment with her underneath me.

  I repeat the motion, pulling out and thrusting my way to her. Every action expressing all or nothing. I grip her jaw and force her to watch me, to watch us.

  I push her to bliss, driving into her repeatedly as she moans and clenches around my aching cock.

  I propel us both to numbing pleasure as I sink my teeth in the column of her neck. Her cries of passion pull every ounce of adoration from me.

  I pull out, wanting to see her covered in my seed. My hand and fingers replace my cock as I rub her deeper to shattering pleasure and spray her stomach with white belts of cum. Decorating her perfection in my lust and release. She spirals again, her tight muscles pulsing, twitching, squeezing my hand. Her eyes hold my gaze as she lifts some of my spent load to her mouth, licks, and moans in approval.

  I pick up the center of my world off the bed. Her head rests on my chest sleepily. She’s spent, but I’ve only just begun. I’m not letting her out of my grasp until someone comes looking for us and they better knock. I plan on spending the morning showing her that she’s the reason I’m starving. I’ll show her how insatiable my desire for her truly is.

  I want her sore for the rest of the day. Every step she takes, she needs to feel the absence of my cock and know she’s mine.

  Evan

  Now the hours of torture and longing begin. I’m not sure who was finally brave enough to knock on our bedroom door, but Harper’s moan quieted the intrusion.

  We dressed each other and it took all my control not to ravage her again on the island in my closet that she’s taken over. Sliding lingerie on her is just as sexy as peeling her out of them. For the rest of the afternoon, I’m going to look at her with a hard-on knowing what she’s wearing underneath her dress. I’m already coming up with ideas of how to get her out of the lace and tie her up with it.

  As soon as Harper and I came back to reality, the hours of separation began.

  My assistant makes her usual entrance in overly dramatic exclamations of Rufus. Brad has him so well trained the poor thing is laying on the ground.

  I roll my eyes and I want to r
eprimand her for scaring Rufus and hurting Harper’s feelings. I don’t blame Harper at all for instantly disliking Stacy.

  “Harper, this is my assistant, Stacy.”

  Both women eye each other up.

  “Stacy, this is Harper.”

  How do I describe the woman that’s stolen my heart, but even she doesn’t know that.

  “Stacy, you’re insulting my girlfriend and her dog, Rufus.”

  I point to Rufus and Stacy’s shocked expression is priceless. I don’t have girlfriends. I use women for physical release and Stacy knows this. I hope her expression doesn’t have Harper assuming there’s anything between Stacy and me.

  “Stacy, make yourself useful and meet me in my office.”

  I dismiss her and her shocked expression. I lean down to murmur in Harper’s ear.

  “I’ll find you later?”

  She simply nods and kisses me again, both of us reluctant to start our day. Ru’ punches my leg for attention and I pet his wrinkled back.

  I walk away from the foyer and past the library, needing to get on with my day. I stop and walk in the room when I see Ryan sitting across from Tom. Both men lean toward each other discussing something under their breath when I approach. I clear my throat as I walk to the secretive couple. Ryan and Tom quickly stand as I approach.

  “Mr. Hawthorne,” Ryan says as he shakes my hand.

  Tom nods silently at me in recognition. Tom’s been making himself at home here since Harper was released from the hospital. Ryan has been staying in New Orleans and overseeing the investigation of my family business. Edward keeps me filled in on the progress.

  “I brought the latest tax records. There are several businesses no one knew were under the umbrella of your company,” Ryan informs me.

  I internally cringe because it’s really my father’s company. He hands over the packet.

  “Welcome to my home, detective,” I say.

  “Thank you for having me,” he offers.

  We’re interrupted when the doors swing open awhile later as I look over the hidden truths of my family’s crooked operations.