Scandalous Heroes Box Set

by Latrivia Nelson

  “Unfortunately, those behind the genocide took his life as well. I regret not knowing Davy very well and will miss him. So while I thank everyone for this honor, there’s another who deserves it more, Davy’s mother. Mrs. Irene Marshall.”

  Reeve didn’t take his eyes off Affrica as Mrs. Marshall joined her on the stage. The women hugged, and Mrs. Marshall, who was of diminutive statue, spoke. Reeve sort of tuned her out. He wanted to be with Affrica up there. Be her support.

  He’d searched online for the story and had been horrified at what he’d learned. No wonder Scott had rolled his eyes when he’d mentioned he knew nothing about what she’d gone through. It was in that moment Reeve realized how arrogant and spoiled he truly was. How out of touch with the world.

  He and Affrica were on opposite sides of the spectrum. Not merely money but humanitarian. It was no wonder his brother was impressed with her. She had several charities she donated money and time to. Himself? He’d never been able to be bothered before.

  The room erupted in applause, and he blinked a few times before joining in. The man clad in a black tuxedo with a tie glanced at him.

  “I would love an introduction since you know her.”

  There was no disguising the challenge in that arrogant tone.

  “Sure, I think we should have sometime before we fly out on my jet.”

  The man’s eyes widened before narrowing. “So you know her that well?” Waggling eyebrows conveyed the unasked question.

  Ignoring his desire to punch him in the nose, Reeve merely smoothed his hand down his jacket and turned to face Affrica who made her way through the crowd.

  “I bet you don’t even know her,” the obnoxious man said, close behind him.

  Affrica headed in their direction, Reeve didn’t think she saw him but he remained fixated upon her. A growl formed in his throat when the man stepped around him and reached for her.

  “Miss O’Shea, I can’t tell you how glad I am to know you are safe from your horrendous ordeal.”

  She paused. “Mr. Price, right?” He nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Price.”

  “Please call me Edward. I would love to sit down and talk about this. Do you have some free time soon?”

  Reeve narrowed his eyes. Even a fool could see this man merely angled for time with her. And he wasn’t a fool.

  “We can talk when I have my schedule near.”

  Edward Price beamed and glanced at Reeve with an annoying satisfactory gleam in his beady little blue eyes. “Sounds excellent,” he said, retuning his attention on Affrica. “There is a guy here at my table who wanted to meet you. He’s right here.”

  When her amazing eyes found him, Reeve felt his heart skip a few beats. Her entire visage morphed from professional to personal. A smile made her face light up.

  “This is—”

  “Och, I know who he is,” she interrupted. “Reeve Leighton, how are ya?” Her appreciative gaze moved over his tux and back to his face.

  He took her hand and bent over it, eyes upon hers the entire time as he brushed his lips along her skin.

  “Fine. You were amazing up there. And you look absolutely stunning.”

  She ducked her head. Shyness? From Affrica? Could it be?

  “Thank you.” Her reply was quiet.

  “You probably need to mingle some more. I will wait here so come get me when you’re ready to go.”

  Yes, he knew exactly what he was doing. Staking his claim. Especially with Mister Please-call-me-Edward looking and listening avidly. He brushed another kiss over her knuckles and released her.

  “Will do,” she said before moving on to the next person.

  He couldn’t—or was it wouldn’t—stop his smug smile at Edward as he retook his chair. The man shot him a nasty glare then hurried off after Affrica.

  Reeve watched her but stayed at the table. This was her thing, her time. He could behave well enough to not impede this honor bestowed upon her. Finally, she began to walk back toward him, Mrs. Marshall at her side. He rose to meet them. Affrica made the introductions.

  “Shall we?” he said, offering his arm to Mrs. Marshall.

  “I can get on a plane myself.”

  “Indulge me,” Reeve commented smoothly. “Both Affrica and I want to ensure you make it home. Besides, I do love having a beautiful woman on my arm.”

  She laughed, and he peered over her head in time to catch the amusement on Affrica’s face. He assisted them both with their wraps, lingering a bit when he did Affrica’s. Then, they went to his chauffeured Bentley to take them to the plane, after swinging by the hotel to grab their things.

  Once they were airborne, he fixed a bed for Mrs. Marshall who, at first, refused the bedroom, but she changed her mind, and he believed she slept as they cruised back toward the United States. Affrica stood, and he ogled the way the dress hugged her.

  “I’m going ta change.”

  He snagged her wrist and drew her across the aisle to his seat.

  “You look amazing, Affrica,” he uttered with all honesty.

  Her smile was tired but real. “Thanks. You are pretty sharp in that tuxedo as well.”

  “Come here.” He tugged her to straddle his lap.

  She had to lift the dress over her knees to accomplish it. But she did. And he had to admit he liked her astride him. And told her so.

  “Pervert.”

  He grinned at her as he ran his hands along the silken skin of her legs. His cock grew hard, and he closed his eyes, praying for strength. Especially when she rocked on him. He groaned and shook his head.

  “Nae?” Her question was low and intimate as her fingers undid the bowtie at his neck.

  “Mrs. Marshall—”

  “She be fast asleep. In your bedroom which ya so kindly gave up for her.”

  “She could wake up.”

  “Then, you’ll hae ta make sure ya dinna scream.”

  She began to undo the buttons on his shirt, only to pause and climb off his lap. Affrica peeked over her shoulder toward the cockpit before wriggling out of her panties. His mouth grew dry at the sight of her thong.

  Bending at the waist, she retrieved the scrap of green plaid, wadded it up, and stuck it in the pocket of his tux jacket. She straddled him and got to work undoing the pearl buttons, exposing his chest.

  “Affrica,” he said on a groan.

  “Aye?”

  “We shouldn’t.”

  She gave him a wicked smile. “So stop me.”

  Yeah, right. That wasn’t about to happen. He bit back the groan of pure bliss as she trailed her tongue along his pectorals.

  He had no more complaints and let her have her way. This was a side of her he’d not been exposed to before. Still, he grunted his approval when she drew a condom from the front of her dress. She had him out, covered, and inside her wet heat before he could make a single, coherent thought.

  It felt like it had been years since he’d been inside her walls of heated velvet. Her pussy gripped him firmly and his lids fluttered.

  “Oh shit,” he moaned.

  Chapter Eight

  Oh shit was right. Affrica held immobile for a moment. She’d wanted to jump him the second she saw him tonight. Reeve knew how to wear a tux. On some men, it just…worked. He was one of those who excelled at it.

  The perfect fit. The swagger and the oozing sexuality made her mouth water, and her body responded to the raw magnetism which poured from him.

  She lowered her lids and enjoyed his thick shaft inside her. With deliberate and slow movements, she began to rock. The material from his tuxedo pants rubbed her inner thighs with each motion.

  His hands gripped her hips, fingers digging in as she rode his thickness at her own pace. A euphoric haze settled around her. There still existed a thread of urgency but not one she couldn’t ignore.

  They were in their own world as she rose and fell. Capturing her lower lip in her teeth, she struggled to keep her moans of pleasure contained. It wouldn’t do to have the pilots come che
ck on them. Her eyes flew open when his hands left.

  He reached for her hair, caressing the two ringlets before dismantling her coiffure. Her hair tumbled free, and she heard the rumble in his chest.

  “Affrica.”

  She leaned close, arms around his, as she worked her hips faster, driving her even closer to the brink. Nose against the side of his neck, she bit his skin before laving away the sting. Reeve anchored one hand up under her hair, cupping the back of her neck, and the other returned to her hips. Sweat trickled down his skin as he thrust up to meet her.

  How she longed to scream in ecstasy. He turned his head and drew her earlobe into his mouth, giving it a tug. Simultaneously, his fingers flexed against her, and he stiffened. The silent intimacy sent her over, and she barely muffled her cry of pleasure.

  Chest to pounding chest, she pulled back enough to meet his eyes. They still blazed with hunger, and she shuddered. Slowly, she rose from his lap and stepped back, her dress falling once again to cover her. One more lingering look at him and his cock before she made her way to the lavatory on legs which were none too steady. She snagged her bag on the way to change while in there.

  Reeve waited outside the door when she exited. With a smile, she skirted past him and headed to one of the seats. Sinking down, she yawned and leaned back, eyes drifting closed. They opened when a blanket covered her.

  “Thanks,” she murmured, snuggling down.

  “We need to talk, Affrica.”

  “Why?”

  He sat beside her. “Really?”

  She repositioned the seat in a more upright position. “Aye, really. I’m nae looking for anything more than just mutual relief, Reeve. I’ve no wish to make this more complicated.”

  “Mutual relief.” The words were cold. “Right.” He got up and walked away.

  Lying back, she sighed and closed her eyes as the interior darkened. As she sped into slumber, his expression haunted her. Could he be thinking something different of what they shared?

  Worry on it tomorrow, she told herself.

  She slept well and ate in the morning with both Mrs. Marshall and Reeve, who was the consummate gentleman. Then, he left them alone after they finished.

  “Your young man is a keeper.”

  “My young… Oh no…he’s nae mine.” She flicked a glance over to Reeve, who stood making himself a drink. While he no longer wore the tuxedo, he still looked damn good in the dark jeans and merlot t-shirt.

  “Oh, I see.” Mrs. Marshall pinned her with a look of disbelief. “Just a nice friend to fly you back from Australia.”

  Like talking to Ma.

  “Actually, he’s doing it because it is the only way I would make it in time to take the pictures of his parents’ anniversary.”

  Blue eyes twinkled at her. “If you need to tell yourself that.” Reeve walked near. “However, seems to me there is more there. I’ve seen the looks between you two,” she added in Gaelige.

  “Nonsense,” she replied in the same language.

  Reeve glanced between them before he placed his attention on Mrs. Marshall and proceeded to charm her even more.

  Apparently, he has the same effect on all women of any age.

  The remainder of the twenty-hour flight, they chatted before eventually drifting apart to do their own thing. Mrs. Marshall worked her way through a story. Affrica sat in a spot with her computer up in front of her, earphones in, and she got to work on some finishing up some items requiring her attention.

  So in tune to her work, she jumped when a glass of soda was set before her. Reeve stood there, a can of Coke in his own hand. Removing one ear bud, she arched a brow at him.

  He sat across from her. “You looked thirsty.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Who are you listening to?”

  “Mir.”

  His brows converged before he reached out and snagged her earpiece and listened. She watched his face, inwardly pleased he liked it.

  “Who is this again? I’ve never heard them but this is good stuff.”

  “Mir. I’m not surprised you’ve not heard of them. They’re a small pentad group I discovered over in Herzegovina. Well, not discovered in the they’re mine way, but I came across them there.”

  “Herzegovina? When were you there?”

  She took a drink. “I’ve been a few times. For this, I went during the Bosnian War. The group merely wanted peace. Hence the name, Mir. It’s Croatian for peace.”

  The group was a mixture of heavy metal and techno. She really enjoyed it.

  Reeve stared at her for a bit before getting up and walking away with nothing else said. She watched him leave before going back to the calendar up on her screen. India was bolded, and she smiled as she put her earpiece back in. She loved going to India.

  One of her favorite shots came from there. One she’d given to Landi Melonakos. A picture, a black and white, of a tiger.

  She looked at the rest of her schedule for a while. Central America, South America, and Scotland before she would finally be home in Ireland for a while.

  Keeps me busy.

  A smile ghosted her lips as she got back to choosing the images she wanted on the calendar for her parents. When she grew sleepy, she put it all away, checked on Mrs. Marshall to find her resting, and stretched out for a nap of her own.

  She could feel eyes upon her. Stirring, she opening hers to find Reeve watching her, the magazine on his lap ignored. She maneuvered into a sitting position and ran a hand down her face.

  “How much longer?”

  “We’re about to land.”

  With a nod, she dug into her pocket and withdrew a hair scrunchie. Moments later, her hair was in a ponytail, and she felt marginally more awake.

  Reeve stared at the magazine he held and she sighed. She’d hurt his feelings. Or was it his ego? Men could be so confusing at times. Leaning forward, she ran her hands down her pant legs.

  “Are ya still wanting to talk, Reeve Leighton?”

  His gaze slashed to hers. Angry. “Why? You made your position crystal clear. Nothing but relief.”

  “I’m sorry if you thought—”

  He laughed but there was zero humor in it. His expression was totally closed off. Ignoring the pain in her heart, she leaned back against the seat. Mrs. Marshall showed up and sat beside her as the pilot made mention of landing.

  A town car waited at the airport for them, and Reeve said, “We’ll wait for you here.”

  “Please. This isn’t necessary. Let me take a taxi home,” Mrs. Marshall stated.

  “I want to make sure you get home safe,” Affrica injected.

  Irene took her hand and squeezed it. “You still have five hours at least to go. Don’t waste time here,” she said in Gaelige. Switching back to English, she addressed Reeve. “Thank you, young man. Make sure you get her there safe. I’m fine on my own.”

  Reeve bowed over her hand. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Southern charmer. The worst kind.”

  “Of course.” He winked and led her to the car. “Nate here will ensure you make it safely home.”

  Affrica watched as they spoke too low for her to overhear. With a nod, Irene glanced at her and called out as she climbed in the car. “Thank you, Affrica, for all you’ve done.”

  The car drove off and effectively left her alone with Reeve. He brushed by her and went back inside the plane. Taking one last breath of Oregon’s air, she followed, her steps almost a bit hesitant for she was unsure about the final leg of the flight. Reeve stood engrossed with one of the pilots and barely spared her a glance.

  She fastened herself in as he shut the door. One final look and she reached for a magazine tucked beside her. A business market one and something she had little care for.

  They began taxiing, and she put the magazine away and found herself staring at one of his legs from where he sat farther up.

  Spoiled. This is why I told myself not to get involved with him. Her life was busy enough without dealing with a spoiled,
rich boy who was mad because he didn’t get his way.

  * * * *

  Reeve stood beside his brother, Godric, and watched their parents dance beneath the star-studded sky and white gauze tent. The party had been a hit. Sure, Scott hadn’t been able to attend, but all in all, it was going very well.

  He spied his sister, Corliss, who had flown in from college to attend. She wore a very simple black dress with a string of pearls. His only sister. Which made him and his brothers fiercely protective of her.

  His gaze continued to sweep the crowd, taking in all the people in attendance. He was fine until he found Affrica. She remained off to the side, camera in hand.

  Tonight, she wore black slacks and a white shirt. Her hair—he had dreams, wet dreams, about that hair—hung from a high ponytail. He bit back a snarl. Scratching an itch. Nothing permanent. Mutual relief.

  Words which shouldn’t be a problem. No strings. Never been an issue before. Never had Affrica say it before.

  He wanted her. Exclusively. So for her to be good with no strings rubbed him wrong. So wrong.

  “Stop scowling, Charleston, this is a party.”

  Immediately, he smoothed out his expression. His mother stood before him, dressed to the nines, as usual.

  “Dance with your mother, Charleston.”

  “Yes, Charleston,” Godric teased, well aware he hated that name. “Dance with your mother.”

  “Boys,” their mother said.

  Taking his mom’s arm, he led her back out to dance with a parting punch to Godric’s arm. Then, he flashed a wicked grin and smirk at his brother who scowled and rubbed his arm.

  “Thank you for this, Charleston.”

  Charleston. He hated that name. Wonder how it would sound if Affrica called me by it? He grinned, well aware he’d have very little problem with it.

  “Charleston!”

  “Yes, Mother?”

  “I dislike being ignored.”

  He knew that, yet he’d done precisely that very thing.

  “What were you smiling about?”

  Oh right, like he’d actually tell his mother what fantasy had been sailing through his head regarding himself and one Affrica O’Shea.