Passion's Fury (The Doms of Passion Lake Book 2)

by Julie Shelton

  Yes! Yes, please. “Um, no, no, thank you, I wouldn’t dream of troubling you. I’ll just wait here.”

  “Nonsense. It’s not safe. My brothers would have my hide for leaving you out here on your own.”

  His brothers? Oh, my God! There are more of him? Shouldn’t there be some sort of law against that? “How many brothers do you have?” she asked before she could stop herself.

  “Two. We’re triplets. I’m Simon, by the way. Simon Rafferty.” He extended his right hand through the window and Kylie took it.

  “Kylie Ferrell,” she replied automatically, her eyes widening in horror the instant the words were out of her mouth. Well, shit! She’d just given him her real name! So much for her plans to go off-grid, she thought grimly. And repairing her car was going to cost more than she had left in cash, which meant she’d have to use her credit card. Shit! She might as well take out a full-page ad in the Philadelphia paper with a map of Virginia, an X over the name of whatever town this was, and the words, “Kylie Ferrell is here. Come and get her.”

  Simon Rafferty watched the panic bloom in her eyes and her frantic attempts to tamp it down. This woman was terrified of something. He didn’t think it was him, but at this point he couldn’t be sure of anything. He opened the door for her, watching as she untangled her legs and swung them out. He hated pants on a woman, because they hid his second-most favorite part of a woman’s anatomy. Long, shapely, curvy legs. And he’d bet hers were doozies.

  She expected her legs to be stiff from their long confinement in the close quarters of the Honda’s front seat, but she certainly wasn’t expecting them to give out completely. Nor had she anticipated the pain shooting up through the soles of her feet. Her knees buckled and she let out a cry.

  Just in time, Simon grabbed her under the arms to keep her from collapsing to the ground.

  “Oh, my God, you’re hurt! Wait, hang on, let me help you.” Still holding her under the arms, he lifted her up and pulled her up against his hard, male body.

  She whimpered, but not in pain. At the arousal racing through her, so powerful it was nearly as painful as her feet. An arousal that Simon Rafferty also seemed to feel if that rock hard bulge behind his jeans was anything to go by. Oh, my. Lifting her hands to his broad chest, she tried to push herself away from him, but he kept her firmly in place. She could feel his gaze on her like a touch, and she was filled with a vast, restless yearning she couldn’t explain. Come on, Kylie, get a grip.

  “Don’t worry, darlin’, I’ve got you. I won’t let you fall.”

  She bit her lip. “I-I need to get m-my bags.”

  “Just tell me where they are, I’ll get them.”

  “They’re in the back seat.”

  Simon Rafferty edged around her to pull her keys out of the ignition. Then, without giving her a chance to protest, he bent, thrust an arm behind her knees and picked her up. She let out a shriek at finding herself suddenly airborne, making him chuckle. “Don’t worry, darlin’, I’ve got you, remember?”

  And he did. By some miracle he was able to lift her curvy, voluptuous figure and carry her over to the passenger side of the mud-covered Dodge Ram pick-up parked in front of her little Honda. And he wasn’t even panting or straining or saying, “Oof!” with every step, like Brad had done the one and only time he had tried to pick her up.

  “No, really,” she insisted, “I’m much too heavy for you. Please put me down, Mr. Rafferty, I can walk.”

  “Call me Simon. And you’re not too heavy. You are the perfect size for a man to carry.” He set her down on her feet and opened the door to his old, battered pick-up truck. “Step up.” She lifted one foot onto the running board, but the step was so high, her knee was practically level with her head.

  “This has to be what getting on a horse feels like,” she said, grabbing the hand-hold to try and pull herself up. She felt a broad hand shaping her bottom and giving her a firm shove up into the seat. Face crimson with embarrassment, she turned and sat and swung her legs in.

  “I’m just gonna go fetch your stuff. I’ll be right back.”

  He returned shortly, carrying her nearly empty gym bag, the two plastic Walmart bags, her laptop, and her purse. He gave her a baffled look. “This is it? You came all the way from Philadelphia and this is all you’ve got? Where’s your suitcase?”

  “How did you know I came from Philadelphia?” she asked, astonished.

  He just laughed. “Pennsylvania license plate. Dealer sticker on the trunk.”

  “Oh.”

  He eyed her speculatively. “Kind of a long way to come for a Sunday jaunt.”

  She bit her lip, avoiding his eyes. How could she possibly explain her lack of belongings to him? How could she possibly explain anything to him? And yet he gave the distinct impression that he was fully prepared to just stand there and wait until she gave him one, no matter how long it took. “I-I don’t have a suitcase. Just that. I-there—there was a fire. I managed to get away, but everything else just sort of…burned.” She shrugged, letting her voice trail off, letting him fill in the blanks however he chose.

  “Is that how you got hurt? Were you burned in the fire?” He touched her arm, her shoulder, reaching in to lift her hands off her lap, inspecting first one then the other, turning them both over, inspecting her skin, noting all the little cuts on the fingertips of her right hand. “How did you get these?”

  “Um, glass.”

  “In your hands?”

  He lifted her hand to study the cuts more closely. So closely that if he stuck out his tongue, he could actually lick her skin. The heat from his hard, calloused fingers left sparks in their wake. Kylie’s breathing hitched and she had to force herself not to lean into him and beg him to put his arms around her. Her need and longing for comfort was so overwhelming she was shaking with it. And with an arousal so fierce she could feel the liquid heat of it melting her bones and igniting her blood.

  “No, no, not there. On my feet. I just…kinda…stepped on some broken glass on my way out the door. Had to pull out a couple of pieces, that’s all.”

  One black eyebrow quirked, but he didn’t say anything. Placing her laptop and purse in her lap, he stowed the rest of her meager belongings behind the seat and went around to the driver’s side. With practiced ease and masculine grace he swung himself up into the seat. “Buckle up, sweet thing. You hungry?”

  Starving! But she couldn’t afford to eat out. Repairing her car was probably going to cost more than all the rest of the money she had anywhere. Including the bank. No, I’ll just eat one of those English muffins I got at Walmart. Only it would taste so much better if it were toasted and dripping with butter…“Um, no, not really,” she said, her words nearly drowned out by the growling of her tummy.

  He grinned. “Yeah, right. Don’t worry, I’m buyin’.”

  “Really, Mr. Rafferty—”

  “Simon.”

  “—Simon, that’s not necessary. You don’t have to buy me breakfast.”

  “I know I don’t have to, darlin’. But I sure as hell want to.” His voice was low, rough, stroking across her nerve endings like a tiger’s purr. He turned toward her, capturing her with his blue gaze.

  She had to look away to keep from drowning. “Uh…okay, sure, whatever you say,” she stammered, her mouth suddenly so dry, she had difficulty maneuvering her tongue around the shapes of the words.

  He turned the key in the ignition, put the truck into gear, and pulled out onto the deserted highway. He drove fast, but with consummate skill, as she instinctively knew he would do everything. She studied him surreptitiously from beneath her lashes. His hands were large, his long, lean fingers curving loosely around the steering wheel. His arms rippled with muscles and were corded with deep veins. He was darkly tanned, as if he spent a lot of time outdoors.

  Her eyes went back to his hands, trying not to imagine them curving around her, stroking her skin with heat and passion. She tried not to imagine the feel of those soft, perfectly shaped lips
covering hers, his tongue seeking entry into her mouth. God, she had to stop thinking like this! How could she be so attracted to this…this…stranger? She knew nothing about him!

  But somehow that didn’t seem to matter. Liquid heat gushed between her legs, making her squirm in her seat.

  She had never responded so strongly to a man before—not any man. Not even Brad. In fact, now that she thought about Brad, she realized that he had done her a huge favor by cheating on her. When her tears had ended, so had any feelings she had ever had for him. His constant sniping and criticism of her, her messiness, her lack of culinary prowess, her weight, her lack of skills in bed had left her constantly anxious and nervous and pathetically eager to please. And he had taken advantage of that to live in her house rent-free while his condo was being renovated.

  Well, no more. She was free from Brad Sullivan and his demeaning words and deeds. Never again would she allow a man to have such control over her. She was in charge of her own destiny, by God—just as soon as she figured out what the hell her destiny was.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “To Mansfield’s Diner in a little town named Passion Lake.”

  “Never heard of it. Do you live there?”

  “Yes. My brothers and I own the Passion Lake Airfield.”

  “You’re a pilot?”

  “We all are. We have two Gulfstreams that we use for charter flights out of Richmond and D.C., a Cessna, a sightseeing helicopter, and an old Steerman bi-plane that we use for stunt flying at air shows and for dusting a few local farmers’ crops. I run the airport. My brother Caleb is the sheriff, although he handles an occasional flight, and Ash is a professional photographer. We live in a big old restored Victorian house.”

  “So none of you is married?” Oh, my God, did I just ask that? Seriously?

  “No. We’re waitin’ for the right one.”

  Who isn’t? She fell silent, turning her gaze out the window to watch the passing scenery.

  “You are now entering Passion Lake,” Simon said around ten minutes later, gesturing with his hand. Straight ahead, perched on top of a hill, surrounded by centuries-old live oak trees, was the most magnificent Victorian mansion Kylie had ever seen. Three stories tall, it was like something out of a fairy tale, with turrets, an enormous tower with a Moorish dome, a Widow’s Walk, and major gingerbread trim.

  “It’s beautiful,” she breathed.

  “It’s now the Passion Lake Bed and Breakfast. It was moved here from the old town of Porterfield, just about a mile down the road. The town was bankrupt, so a group of us spec ops buddies bought it, along with thirteen square miles of surrounding countryside. The owner of that house was the last holdout. She only signed the deed of sale because all twelve of us agreed to move her house here and restore it.”

  “Well, you did a fabulous job. It’s awesome.”

  He turned to the right down Main Street. More lovingly-restored Victorian and Queen Anne style houses were on both sides, making Kylie feel as if she’d been transported back in time. Even more lovely old buildings lined the side streets. As they left the residential area, the street widened considerably. It was at least five lanes wide, but only one lane in each direction was actual street. Down the center of the main thoroughfare a walkway meandered through a wide, grassy median with Victorian style wrought iron lamp posts, beds of colorful flowers, and a charming gazebo. The junction of every crosswalk was marked by terra cotta planters containing tall, stately juniper trees rising above even more flowers spilling over the planters’ edges. Crepe myrtle trees in shades of bubblegum pink, fuchsia, lavender, and white marched down the middle of the entire five-block-long median. Enormous hanging baskets filled with pink and white petunias along with some deep purple and yellow flowers Kylie didn’t recognize hung from the lamp posts. Parking spaces angled in toward center of the median on both sides of the street. The sidewalks in front of the store fronts were also wide, with planters and trees and mulched beds full of begonias and tall snapdragons in nearly every color of the rainbow.

  “Oh, my God, this is so beautiful,” she said on a note of awe. “Are you telling me a bunch of big, burly, hard-assed, spec ops warriors designed this?”

  Simon laughed. “I know. It’s hard to believe, isn’t it? But we didn’t design it to fit our own tastes. If we had, Passion Lake would probably be a trailer park full of double-wides. We wanted to build a thrivin’ community that would appeal to a wide variety of people and a broad range of ages. A place where people could come to unwind. Relax. Get away from their every-day cares. We wanted the downtown area to be really special and unique, with an authentic Victorian look and feel that would set it apart from other tourist places. We moved several of the houses we just passed from Porterfield and the surrounding countryside, in order to maintain the overall period look we wanted.”

  Kylie indicated the storefronts. “Did you guys move these buildings here, too?”

  “No, they were built here, but the period architectural details make them look old and established. They’ve actually been here less than two years. When the architect showed us the mock-up of this street all twelve of us were instantly on board.’

  She turned to look at him. “It’s very impressive. But how does one go about buying an entire town? I know spec ops soldiers get paid well, but how can it possibly be enough to buy thirteen square miles of property?”

  Simon chuckled. “Our XO’s—that’s Executive Officer, to you civilians—Uncle Joe is a Wall Street genius, who made all of us a great deal of money through shrewd investments. And Passion Lake is actually not a town, it’s a corporation, with a CEO instead of a mayor and a Board of Directors instead of a Town Council. I told you Caleb was the sheriff? His actual title is Head of Security, although he wears a typical sheriff’s uniform, mostly for the tourists.”

  “And that actually works?”

  His grin widened. “Well, sometimes it feels like we’re gropin’ in the dark and makin’ it up as we go along. But we have an attorney, to make sure everything is at least legal, and a CFO, to make sure we don’t go into the hole. We’ve been talkin’ about it ever since Uncle Joe started makin’ really big money for us. It was in the plannin’ stages for over three years, and when this property became available, we jumped at the chance. We’ve been here nearly two years already and it’s workin’ so far.”

  “Wow.”

  He pulled into an angled parking space and shut off the engine. “What are you in the mood for?” he asked. There’s Katie’s Barbecue, right there, or Mansfield’s Diner across the street. They both do a fabulous breakfast.”

  “The diner’s fine. I’m ready to kill for a cup of coffee.”

  They crossed the median and walked across the street to Mansfield’s Diner, Kylie doing her best not to limp or wince at the pain from the cuts on the bottoms of her feet. As soon as they opened the doors, the delicious smells made Kylie’s stomach growl loudly enough for Simon to hear.

  He laughed. “Looks like we got here just in time. C’mon, let’s grab that empty booth right there,” he said, nodding toward the third booth ahead of them along the storefront windows. He acknowledged several of the other diners with waves or nods of his head as he and Kylie slid onto the padded vinyl seats. He placed his Stetson on the bench beside him. The interior of the diner was all red and yellow and shiny chrome. The waitresses all wore short red skirts, small white aprons, white blouses with red checked cuffs and collars and jaunty little pleated white caps perched on top of their heads.

  A perky little blond teenager came right over with their set-ups and menus. “Hi, Mr. Rafferty. Welcome to Mansfield’s Diner. Can I get you something to drink?”

  “Two coffees,” Simon said. “And leave the pot.”

  “Sure thing, Mr. Rafferty.” She gave Simon a big smile and an almost worshipful look. She gave Kylie the same smile, but the look was a lot less worshipful. Then she bounced off to get their coffee.

  Kylie shot him an amused glance. �
�She’s got a crush on you.”

  “Well, since my brothers and I are triplets, I guess technically she has a crush on all three of us. That’s why she just calls us all Mr. Rafferty because she’s never quite sure which one of us she’s actually talkin’ to. Unless Caleb’s in uniform, of course. Then she calls him Sheriff.”

  Kylie laughed.

  “Sometimes he comes in wearin’ civilian clothes just to throw her off.”

  Kylie was still laughing when the teen returned with two large mugs, which she set down in front of Simon and Kylie, and a thermal coffee pot, which she set down in the middle of the table after filling both mugs full of steaming hot brew, making Kylie’s stomach growl again. That’s when she noticed the girl’s name on her shirt pocket. Brandi. With an “I”. She probably dots it with a little heart when she writes it. She had to press her lips between her teeth to keep from smiling.

  “Brandi,” Simon said, “this is Ms. Ferrell, a special friend of mine. She will probably be in here several times over the next few days. I want you to give her your special attention, okay?”

  “Sure, Mr. Rafferty. Hi, Ms. Ferrell. Nice to meet you.”

  “Nice to meet you, too, Brandi.”

  “Are you ready to order?” Brandi asked, whipping an order pad out of her apron pocket, her pencil poised in mid-air above it.

  Simon looked at Kylie. “Will you trust me to order for you?”

  “Sure. You know what’s good here.”

  Simon smiled. “Everything’s good here.” To Brandi he said, “Two deluxe breakfast specials.”

  She scribbled briefly. “You want your eggs scrambled as usual?”

  Simon quirked an eyebrow at Kylie. She nodded and Brandi scampered off to place their order. Kylie emptied two sugar packets and two creamers into her coffee, stirred and took a cautious sip of the steaming brew. “Oh, my God, that is heaven in a cup.” She looked at Simon and started to slide out of the booth. “If you don’t mind, I need to use the ladies’ room.”