Tall, Dark and Paranormal: 10 Thrilling Tales of Sexy Alpha Bad Boys

by Opal Carew

  She skidded through the kitchen (note to self: scuff up soles of new magenta flats) and managed a pirouette stop that looked as if she’d actually meant to do it.

  “Hey,” she said, all breathy. Not the image she had in mind, but it seemed to work for him as his mouth snapped shut. But she saw the hanging open part. Little tummy flutters duly noted.

  “Wow.”

  Okay, big tummy flutters.

  He stopped lighting the vanilla candle on the table—aww, he was lighting candles—and came over to her. “Jolie, you look beautiful.”

  “Coming from an artist of such renown, I’ll take that as a compliment.” The words and tone were light, but there was nothing light about the thudding of her heart.

  “Don’t take it from the artist. Take it from the man. You’re stunning.” He picked up her hands and kissed her knuckles. “Chère Jolie, voulez-vous diner avec moi ce soir?”

  “Oui, mon chère.” If he could ask “dear Jolie” to have dinner with him, she could certainly call him “my dear” when she said yes.

  That, and because it was true.

  Did she dare hope he felt the same? So it was a bit too early for him to consider the “L” word, but that was okay. She had enough for both of them. She was just happy with being beautiful in his eyes.

  “Where,” he asked as he scooched her chair beneath her, “did you learn to speak French? Some exotic little bistro on the French Riviera?”

  She snorted then covered her mouth. Not an attractive sound. “Hardly. Try ‘Languages R Us.’” At his puzzled look, she explained, “A computer program. You?” She took a bite of the spicy Hunan chicken. Yum, they used just enough peppers for some kick, but not enough to overpower the veggies.

  “A year, poor and starving, in Paris learning the ropes.”

  She almost choked on a shitake mushroom. “Paris? You’ve been to Paris? That’s my dream.”

  “Is it?” He swirled his glass of wine. “Why haven’t you ever gone? You’ve said there was no one keeping you here, right?”

  “Money,” was the first thing she blurted out, unsure if the nonchalance beneath his question was feigned or not. “Well, that and I think Paris is the kind of place you should go with a lov—lover.” Yeah, she could use that word. Now.

  “A lover, huh?” He was still swirling. “And the guy from—six years ago, was it? He didn’t want to take you?”

  Again with the snort. She really needed to stop doing that. “Chucky? Are you kidding?”

  “Not the Paris type, I take it.” A long swallow went down that long, taut throat of his.

  Snort again. “Hardly. If it wasn’t some place you could get to and back during half-time, forget it. He wouldn’t even want to know where it was.”

  Now the glass came down and Todd was looking right at her. “Then why were you with him?”

  Another sucker-punch to the gut. She would’ve thought her abs would be rock hard from all the blows in her life.

  But no. She took her time swallowing the food, which had suddenly lost its flavor. Why were they doing this? She didn’t want to revisit her past this way. She’d tried too hard to forget.

  “Jolie?” He reached out to stroke her fingers. “Tell me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want to know. I want to know why someone as bright and funny and talented and smart as you would lower yourself to go out with a guy who wouldn’t at least share your dreams of Paris. Who earns not one, but two snorts from you when he’s mentioned.”

  “Maybe because he’s the only one who asked who didn’t mention money and a motel?”

  Well there was a zinger to brighten the moment.

  “Really?”

  If he said one more word in that soft, understanding tone, she was going to lose it.

  “Why?” He picked her hand up, but she turned back to the sawdust that was her dinner. She couldn’t do this. “Jolie, you’re smart, beautiful, fun. Why didn’t guys see this?”

  It was no use. She put down her chopsticks. “Todd, I can’t do this. Can we just let it go? I had a rotten past and I’d like to forget it.”

  He laced their fingers, reaching for her other hand. “You yanked me out of the depression I’d been wallowing in, trying hard not to forget, and it wasn’t easy. But it’s for the better. I want to help you, Jolie. You deserve someone to care about you. Someone who thinks you’re worth something. Why won’t you talk about it?”

  She pulled her hands away and clenched them in her lap. Maybe if she squeezed hard enough that pain would remove her focus from the pain tearing through her insides.

  “Jolie, I care about you. I can see your pain. I know your pain. I’ve been there. Tell me.”

  She shook her head, pressing her lips together. The words wanted to come. They were right there on the tip of her tongue.

  But she couldn’t let them. Twenty some years of anguish, loneliness, hurt, betrayal… If she let it out, he’d be running for the hills and she’d be left alone.

  Again.

  “Jolie, talk to me. I know you’re thinking something, I can see your brain moving at warp speed in those beautiful eyes of yours. But you need to talk to me.”

  She turned her head. “I can’t.”

  He cupped her cheek, making her face him. “Why not?”

  Oh, please, he wasn’t going to make her do this, was he?

  “Jolie.”

  Yeah, he was. So she took a big breath. Maybe if she just got it out there in one big rush without thinking about the words it wouldn’t be so bad.

  “Because, Todd, if I start, I may not stop. I just might have a complete breakdown and I can’t do that. I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop, control it. The emotions, the feelings, the abandonment, the… hurt.”

  Damn, it was that bad.

  But he’d opened the floodgates so he was going to get drowned.

  “Fine. Here you go. My mother was a drunk, and that was on a good day. She thought she could narrow down my father to three guys, which is always a refreshing thing to find out when you’re eight.” She gripped the edge of her chair, looking somewhere over his right shoulder. “You already know the name thing. And then, one day, she just walked. Out to a bar and the next time I saw her she was in a box in a church. And then the fun really started. Let’s see, shall I start with the foster father who thought it’d be fun to chase a teenager around the dining room table when no one else was home for a little touchy-feely? Or maybe you’d like to hear about the bread and water rations I got when the corners of my bed weren’t tucked in properly? Or, I know, how about—”

  “What about Mrs. Carleson?” He handed her a napkin.

  Damn. He turned on her spigot with that one. Mrs. Carleson, the brightest spot in her adolescent universe. “Mrs. Carleson was an anomaly. The kind of woman every foster kid dreams of. I was terrified to let myself hope. But she made it so darn easy. So I did. I hoped and I prayed and I believed. And then Mr. Carleson got transferred. And while I knew it was nothing I had done, it was one more person I cared about, believed in, who was leaving me. So, yeah, when Chucky offered me a home and monogamy it looked pretty damn good. At that point I was just glad to have someone who remembered my name.”

  She was slobbering all over the darned napkin.

  “I’m sorry,” Todd whispered.

  But she broke down anyway. Somehow he managed to coax her wiped-out body from her chair and onto his lap, tucking her head beneath his chin, his strong arms wrapped around hers and he wasn’t letting go.

  But she was. The tears were flowing into hiccups. Her stomach hurt from holding back the racking sobs.

  Why was she doing this? At any moment, Todd could have enough and get up, put her in the chair, and walk into the house. Hell, she almost expected it.

  But he didn’t. He just linked his hand that much tighter to his other arm and stroked her skin. Soothing little circles. The crickets were serenading them and the irony was deadly.

  The agonizing words burned
her throat raw with salty tears. All she wanted to do was crawl inside the safe haven his arms offered and forget the world.

  “I’m sorry,” he said against her temple. “I had no idea how bad it really was.”

  She shrugged. He probably wasn’t buying the nonchalance of that; he was a smart guy. Which was why he should’ve been running in the opposite direction.

  But he wasn’t.

  Instead, he rubbed her arms and kissed the top of her head, his heart thudding in her ear.

  “Jolie, do you realize how strong you are? How much of a survivor?”

  “What?”

  He tipped her chin up until her mouth was a whisper away from his. He stared into her eyes, those green eyes all swirly, and her insides followed suit.

  “What it must have taken for you to remain strong, independent, clean. I’m in awe of you.”

  “You are?”

  He nodded, sweeping a hand down her back. “Yes. Do you know how many people would have folded under those circumstances? Turned to drugs, alcohol, other means of escaping?”

  She nodded. Yeah, she knew. Could probably name quite a few of them.

  “But not you. Look at you. Successful, smart, a good head on your shoulders, trustworthy.” The tilt to his lips started one on hers. “You should be proud of yourself, Jolie. Really proud. To know you, no one would think you’ve seen the things you have, lived the life you have. You’re so wonderfully normal.”

  “What?”

  “Um hmmm. But you’re not just normal. You’re above it. You’re empathetic and that’s a special quality to find in a person.”

  “I am?”

  He smiled. “You’re going monosyllabic on me again. And, yes, you are empathetic. And kind. And optimistic and sunny. That’s how you got through to me. How you reached me beneath my pain. How you brought me back to myself.”

  “I did all that?”

  He brushed the hair back from her forehead. “That and so much more.” His fingers swept her brow. “You’ve made me care for you, Jolie.”

  Care. She could do care.

  Suddenly, the look in his eyes swept the past and its pain away. She was here, pretty whole if one didn’t look too closely into her psyche, and she’d helped this marvelous man back into life. And he cared for her.

  No one except Chloe, Bella, and Mrs. Carleson had ever cared for her. Certainly no one of the male persuasion. Not in any way that mattered.

  But he did and he was here and she was here and her emotions were so wild at the moment that she didn’t know if she was coming or going, but she did know she couldn’t wait one minute longer to grab this man’s face and mesh it with hers, to turn in his arms so she was front to front with him, plastered together, their hearts beating as one.

  And apparently he was with her on this, because his hands went around her, rocking her closer to him, traveling up and down her spine as if he was trying to commit her figure to memory.

  “Todd,” she gasped when his mouth scraped across her cheek to nuzzle her ear. “Show me. Here. Now. Show me you care. Make the bad memories go away, Todd. Give me new ones.”

  And, Lord, did he.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Jolie was sore in places she didn’t know it was possible to be sore. But one place that wasn’t was her heart. Todd had taken that deep aching chasm inside of her that she covered with every conceivable excuse, rationalization, and hopeful “what if,” and filled it in.

  She was not Rebound Girl. No, he hadn’t used the “L” word, but pretty much everything else. As they attempted to regain the professionalism needed for Todd’s artistic sessions in the attic, Jolie realized that, for the first time in longer than she could remember—if ever—she had hope. Real hope.

  The modeling session ended up being full of heated blushes, silly grins, and way too many kisses and hugs to encourage good artistry skills, so they gave up any pretense of Todd painting her on canvas. There were, however, some interesting moments with him, her, a palette of beautiful colors, and a paintbrush.

  Actually, when they were “finished,” the drop cloth looked more like a work of art than a means of keeping paint off the floor. Not that they’d been too successful with that either.

  Who knew? Maybe drop cloth art could be his next medium.

  She’d volunteer to help him with that for, like, the next fifty years or so.

  “Let’s go out to dinner,” he said as they studied the patterns the waning sun made on the ceiling of the studio.

  “Fine with me. Where do you want to go?”

  “Some place new. Some place all our own.”

  Some place all their own. She liked that. Liked that he wanted to have memories with her. That she didn’t have to play second fiddle to Trista.

  “How about your friend Bella’s place?” He ran his hands over her stomach.

  Her belly tightened and fluttered, the nerves twitching under the heat. Good thing the paint was dry or there’d be a smear there. Well, another one.

  “Casteleoni’s is nice. Very homey.”

  “Will it seem strange since you worked there?”

  She rolled over to face him. “No. That’s the last place that seems strange to me. It’s one of the few places I think of as home.”

  He rolled toward her. “I hope this is another one.”

  Her breath got sucked all the way into her toes with that. “You do?”

  He tilted her chin up with the tip of his finger. “Crazy, isn’t it? We’ve known each other for what? Two weeks? But who cares? Time is irrelevant. So, yes, I do want you to consider this home. And we’ll go with a little longer than temporary, okay? I can’t promise forever, but for now and a little longer. Can you do that, Jolie?”

  Uh, yeah? Hello?

  Her “you betcha” got a big grin from him.

  And yet another when she answered his, “Casteleoni’s, then?” the same way.

  ***

  It was like a family reunion at Bella’s. They’d pulled up in the dream machine and Bella had drippy candles lit on the outdoor tables which were covered in red-and-white-checked tablecloths. The street trees’ twinkling lights were now year-round, the sky was that last shade of purple before it goes dark, and the ambiance was all Lady-and-The-Tramp-spaghetti-scene-romantic.

  The whole crew had been there: Bella; her husband Reese; Giacomo and Giuseppe, the life-partner waiters who’d been there for like ever; Bella’s stepsister Staci and her fiancé; Bruno with the broken leg and Bella’s other stepsister, Drew. She’d known them all so long and so well they could’ve been her family. And she was there with Todd. Somehow everything just fit.

  And now, sitting on the window seat in her room, with Boots snoring away smack dab in the middle of her four-poster, she was putting the finishing touches on Annie and Tom’s happily-ever-after. Amazing how easy it was to write theirs when she could feel her own coming together.

  Her pencil rasped in the silence of the room, words flowing. She was going to finish this. She didn’t need to see how it ended since she already knew, but she’d worked so long on the story, had poured all her hopes and dreams into Annie and Tom, that she wanted them to find their happy ending before she put it aside. She had no intention whatsoever of trying to find a publisher. This was for her.

  She never really needed to become published, she realized. Most authors didn’t become rich overnight with their writing, and, really, it was the hope she’d needed. The hope in a happily-ever-after in life. To see it was possible, and to know that she could craft one on paper, so she should be able to in her own life as well. And to do that, to begin her happy ending, she needed to finish theirs.

  Just like Todd. He was in the studio without her. He had some kind of compulsion to finish the painting that had been consuming him ever since they’d woken up.

  So they were both dealing with their compulsions, and Jolie could see the end in sight. Literally. All she had to do was finish the last scene, then tuck the manuscript back under her mattres
s to be taken out someday to share with her grandkids.

  That she was even thinking about grandkids said a whole lot on the subject of Todd and her.

  A few more sentences and voila! Annie and Tom were on the bow of a floating restaurant, two champagne flutes clinking together in the sparkle of the setting sun, a bottle of lemonade on the floor between them.

  The End.

  She studied the words. Maybe she should have written The Beginning.

  Nah. It was Annie and Tom’s ending, but now off she was for her beginning.

  She started to stash the notebook, but a whiney growl from Sleeping Beauty in the middle of the bed made her reconsider. She put it on the shelf of the bedside table so Kitty Boy could finish his nap while she ran over to Chloe’s to help with the girls.

  She grabbed her cute little magenta purse—it’d been right next to the shoes at the store—and hollered up to Todd in the studio from the driveway.

  “I’ll be a few more hours,” he called. “Think you can entertain yourself?”

  “Sure thing. I’m going to run over to Chloe’s and take those leftovers Bella gave me. Then I’ll do some food shopping. Anything special you want for dinner tonight?”

  He stuck his head out the second floor window, his hair falling around his ears in a bohemian, artistic sort of way. “You mean besides you?”

  “Ssh, Todd. The neighbors will hear.” Not that that’d bother her too much, but she didn’t want to jinx any of this.

  “Fine.” He brushed the hair back to no avail. “You did mention Lobster Newburg a while ago, didn’t you? Throw in a few oysters and a bottle of champagne, while you’re at it.” There was that wicked, wicked grin again.

  “You don’t need ’em, trust me.” A spring sprang into her step on her way to Melanie.

  “I do, Jolie.”

  Something in his tone was awfully serious, causing the spring to fizzle to a stub-toed stumble. She turned around and stared at him. “Need them? Are you nuts? The last thing you need is an aphrodisiac.”