Shades of Desire: 10 Sweet & Spicy Romances

by J. A. Coffey

  "Sucks to be you, Jer." She pitched a whisper to Jeremy, but her eyes remained glue to him. "He doesn't love you."

  Darius laughed and placed an apologetic hand to his chest, enjoying playing along. "It's not you, it's me."

  But Jeremy stuck out his lower lip. "All the straights tell me that."

  "Sit." Jess pushed him back into a chair and took her seat facing him. "What did the newspaper say?"

  The light of gossip filled Jeremy's eyes as he leaned forward, rubbing his hands together. "Actually, the radio said they have a man in custody. A convicted arsonist."

  She and Darius exchanged looks. "Maybe the same guy?"

  "Let's hope."

  Jess' cell rang, and she raced to get it from her purse. She read the ID and waved Darius closer. "It's Dillwright." She clicked the button and answered, "Hi, William, what's up?" She put him on speakerphone so they all could hear:

  "Well, we finally got a confession out of that arsonist. Turns out your boyfriend was right. His father hired him to burn down your house, with Darius in it. He didn't know anything about the car incident, though."

  To Darius she mouthed the word "boyfriend," making a snide face as she said it. But then she replied, "Well, at least we can take him to court. He's in custody, now, right?"

  "Yes, but...."

  At his hesitation, Jess looked to Darius, and he watched as a cold shiver made chill bumps pebble her arms. "What is it?"

  "As far as Mr. Beauregard Covington, he's nowhere to be found."

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Five hundred thousand really wouldn't get Beauregard that far. He stuffed the straps of fifties and hundreds into his duffle bag and slung that over his shoulder, then grabbed the handle of his luggage to roll behind him.

  That idiot arsonist had gone and gotten himself arrested, and since Beau had not yet paid him, he was not foolish enough to believe he had earned the criminal's silence.

  He was now a man on the lam.

  Stupid saying, that.

  Darius had come and gone, taking a fresh batch of flowers with him, probably to woo some whore, or worse, give to that antiques dealer. Beau was not so blind to the fact that Darius had typecast his women to the point he only dated strawberry blondes.

  Like that strumpet he had first noticed when he was not yet a man.

  The one that Ollie had favored above all.

  What was that useless girl's name?

  Beau dumped his belongings in his car and got in, taking a final look at the townhouse. He knew he would not be coming back for a long, long time.

  Not with Vito still unpaid.

  He would sell his BMW and use that cash to buy a low-class sedan. That should be enough to live on while he hid out and tried to earn the rest. The horses weren't favoring him these days; maybe he'd have better luck at cards. Or football pools.

  He stopped at a pawn shop and opened up a pouch from inside his pocket. He removed his and Elizabeth's wedding rings, as well as a gold watch, diamond necklace, and anything else he thought would fetch a dime.

  Despite all his losses, handing over the wedding bands had been the worst. For years, he had told himself he would never sell them, but deep down, he knew he had no choice.

  Either he sold them now, or Vito and his henchman would break in and collect what they could. At least this way, Beau might stand a chance of getting them back.

  Maybe.

  He had loved her. In his own way. If only they had stayed in England....

  Angry at the turn of his thoughts, he pinned them on the pawn shop counter and accepted the first offer the man gave him.

  He stopped at the OTB and left a thick envelope with four hundred thousand dollars in it for one of Vito's men. He hoped that would buy him some time.

  Once he was certain he was not being followed, he traded in his telltale silver Beemer for a Toyota, in an abominable color of dark red. He opted for new plates, too, all in an effort to disappear.

  The liquor store was right next to a thrift store, and Beau begrudgingly went inside. For twenty bucks, he came out with a hideous flannel shirt, windbreaker, two baggy jeans, and a ball cap.

  The thought of wearing them turned his stomach, so he promised himself he would wash them and wear them and reward his efforts with a Scotch from next door.

  A good one.

  He drove up and down the streets until he found a more disreputable area with a motel renting out by the hour. For cash, he was able to procure a weekly rate.

  He shivered as he wondered if he had yet one week to live.

  He had never felt so desperate, or horrified, in his life.

  Darius would never share with him. He knew this as fact. The boy would jet-set his way around the globe, probably bringing that floozy store-owner with him, and Beau would be destitute before he could say, "Told you so."

  That rankled.

  A few shady characters loitered in the motel lobby. One sized Beau up as he walked by, and truth be told, Beau did the same. This man was enormous, with neither neck nor hair. Tattoos covered all the skin Beau could see, including a black arrow that wrapped over his skull and pointed to the bridge of his nose. He looked perfectly horrifying.

  Perhaps another...message...needed to be forthcoming.

  He palmed a twenty out of his pocket and waved that man nearer. When he sauntered up, wary but studying the cash, Beau said, "I could use a little...guidance."

  Chapter Thirty

  Jess almost yelped when she came into the kitchen and saw a strange man standing there. He glanced at her long enough to nod, then turned back, and she relaxed when she noticed Darius at the table, leaning over what looked like a blueprint.

  He smiled when he saw her in her bathrobe. "Hey, babe, I didn't want to wake you. You...may want to get dressed."

  "Got it." She ducked back upstairs and came down clothed in a new t-shirt and shorts, Towie negotiating the stairs at her side.

  "This is Matt, of Donjon Securities. We're going to have men on duty around the clock."

  She edged to his side, and Darius drew her close and kissed her brow. "We're going to have two dogs at any time monitoring the perimeter, and a guard at every entryway. I've brought only some of our staff back, and even then, only the ones who've been with us the longest."

  "What about Bigsby?" she asked hopefully.

  "That crotchety old butler?" He grinned at her. "I couldn't imagine this place without him."

  She returned his smile, remembering happier days. "He used to sneak me chocolate chip cookies."

  "No wonder Ollie started losing weight. Snack deficiency." He winked and buzzed her lips, then pointed at the blueprints. "The pool and tennis court will be off-limits for now, as well as the outer gardens. I'm focusing on keeping everyone more centralized. If you want to go there, you will need to make sure someone joins you, preferably a guard."

  Something didn't settle, and she slid him a sideways look. "You say this as if you are leaving me here alone."

  He held her eyes, and a curl of dread began to knot in her gut. "At some point, I will need to travel again. I compete professionally, Jess. It's what I do. So, yes, at some point, you will be alone."

  She held his eyes, not knowing what to say. She had so many questions that she dared not ask, not in front of a stranger. Who was this Darius, anyway? Did he compete only in Aikido, or other forms of karate? She sought refuge here, but did not really know how long he wished her to stay. Was she a fling? Where would she go if he asked her to move out?

  She needed to call the insurance agency and get the ball rolling; that much she knew. She placed her hand on Darius' shoulder and said, "I need to call work, then the insurance agency."

  "Good idea. I'll let you know the details."

  Part of her wanted to stay and work things out with him, and part of her realized she was not yet his official main squeeze. Major decisions in his home would still be left to him, and she would have no say in the matter.

  She called Arthur first, m
aking sure she thought he would be up before she dialed. Eight a.m.? He should be upright.

  "Arthur?"

  "Hey, boss lady!" He seemed excited to hear her voice. "What's up? What do you need?"

  He was always so eager to help. "I...think I need today, and maybe tomorrow, off. You know, to get my house situation straightened up."

  "I'll do better than that, boss lady. Since you left me in charge, I'm ordering you to take the rest of the week off. You need this time. Your pets need you. Jeremy said your dog had to go in for surgery. He needs to be watched. My dog bothered his incision once, and it wasn't pretty, almost needed it redone. You stay home. We got this here. Everyone adjusted their schedules to cover for you."

  Tears filled her eyes that her staff was really as wonderful as she always maintained. "Really? They did?"

  "Even Faith offered to come in every day after school and help out. Her only stipulation was that Duncan helps her with her chemistry."

  She could practically imagine that nightmare unfolding. "That ought to be interesting. Does she know he majored in political science?" She grinned as she said it.

  She sensed him smiling, too. "Bottom line, we got the store covered. People have been coming in every day asking if you are okay, if we've heard from you, wishing you well and offering their prayers." He paused, then pitched his voice into a stage whisper. "I think our sales have gone up, too. No telling how much more sympathy we can get from the public if you stay away another few days."

  She managed to chuckle. "Okay, okay. I'll take care of my house and my pets. Towie got the worse end of it. Cats are, knock on wood, showing no signs of smoke inhalation problems."

  "Mr. Covington helping you?"

  She looked into the kitchen, where Darius was in an animated discussion about how many people were to be watching her in his absence, and said, "You have no idea."

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The worst part, Jess thought, was picking through the rubble of what was once her home. Darius drove her in the front seat of his elk-hide-topped Ford, and for all the joy of riding the hard bench of the awooga mobile, the dread of facing her gutted home ripped tears from her eyes as the charred smell of burned dreams carried to her as they rounded the bend.

  The front of her house was black with soot, and the daisy yellow planks had curled and crumbled where the fire had licked away at them. All the windows were broken, and thin rivulets of smoke still wafted and twisted out the empty portals.

  She covered her mouth and stared.

  On cue, Darius' hand landed on her lap. "Are you sure you want to go in?"

  She shook her head, then nodded. "I have to. The insurance agent will need me to walk through what I've...lost." The last word barely made it past her lips.

  He drew her in and pressed his lips hard to her temple. "I am so, so, sorry this happened, Jess. This really is all my fault."

  She shook her head and leaned away from him to avoid another rush of tears. "It is not. Stop saying that."

  He claimed both her hands gently in his own and waited until she looked up at him. He inhaled a long breath before saying, "The guy was after me. If I hadn't been so damned horny, I wouldn't even have been here."

  She looked up at him, her eyes still drippy, and wobbled a smile. "You're right. It is your fault. You owe me a new house."

  He pinched her chin, his expression soft and glinting with mischief. "Ollie's place isn't good enough for you?"

  Down went her gaze. He promised too much, too soon. And though the prospect of a life with Darius warmed her to the core, the reality that he would leave after the disbursement cut deeper than a knife. "He Willed that to you, not me. It's not my house, Darius."

  She sniffled, but she thought she heard him whisper, "It could be." When she looked up, he still merely studied her hands in his, and she thought that maybe he really had uttered the tender words.

  Tires on gravel made them turn around, and a woman in a clean pink sundress stepped out of the car. "Oh, my," she said, gazing at the house slack jawed. She opened her back door and took out a pair of yellow waders to replace her pumps, then stepped over to the car. "Miss Swan?"

  "Yes." Jess slipped off the bench seat to walk around.

  "I'm Cynthia Gabbert, from the insurance company."

  "This is Darius," Jess said, and they all shook hands.

  "Nice car," Cynthia said, giving the Ford a brief once-over that told Jess she had no idea the worth of it, making her wonder just what she was in for.

  Jess admitted to herself that she had been dreading facing down the insurance company. Heavily armed with the official report, she took a deep breath and faced the blackened front door. She tried to swallow to no avail. "Shall we?"

  It was the worst experience of her life. Most of the plaster of her living room had been cracked off the lathe and sat in black and gray chunks on the floor. Her chimney and fireplace remained, but the beautiful engraved brick had been charred. Huge holes in the ceiling showed straight through the second floor to the sky, and some of her bedroom furniture lay broken haphazardly on the crushed living room couch.

  The rug was now a pile of brown dust, and the custom curtains were gone. The TV was a melted blob and the parlor table where she and Jer had just played Scrabble was nowhere to be found.

  The stairs were intact, although gaps in the handrail made her hug the wall.

  The hallway was too dangerous to navigate. A beam cracked and groaned as they reached the upper landing, and Jess screamed when it slipped and swooshed down, dangling into what was once her dining room.

  Darius had swung her into his arms so fast she never felt her feet leave the ground, and it was then she had an appreciation for how fast his moves were. With a stern glance he set her down and motioned to the stairs.

  Nothing. There was absolutely nothing worth saving.

  She felt her eyes burn, partially from the char smell, and partially from looking at her prized stove, no longer shiny red, but now more like a mountain after the volcano blew off its top.

  Hideous. Absolutely hideous. "I loved that stove."

  Darius cradled her close and kissed her brow.

  She dimly recalled answering a thousand questions about how much she may have paid for this, that, and the other thing, how many jewels did she have, did she remember where she may have bought things and how much she paid, and did she have any items of value?

  Like an automaton she spat out answers, but what she really wanted to do was yell, "Every item I owned was of value to me!"

  Alas, it would do no good. Darius only saw part of her collection, so he was unable to fill in the gaps in her expended memory.

  She did remember when the woman tried to undercut Jess how Darius went to battle for her. When she couldn't remember the price of her Hollywood Regency dresser, Darius questioned her on size, dimension, color, drawer count, and construction, all of which she could answer in detail.

  Then he turned to the agent and gave her a detailed value based on market, rarity, location and condition. When she had tried to bicker on value, Darius gave her no quarter.

  It was good to have someone else take charge.

  An hour later, Jess collapsed onto the front bench seat of the jalopy and closed her eyes. "I think my life force has been drained from me. I have nothing left to give."

  She waited for a response from Darius and gave up after a few seconds. Then, based on his stillness, she cracked open a lid.

  He seemed serious when he said, "Then, I think it's time for you to start taking."

  Taking required too much effort, effort she simply couldn't muster. "I'm not a taker."

  His pragmatism proclaimed, "You're about to become one."

  "Can't make me."

  He chuckled and affected a deep voice. "You're will is weak, paduan. Come. Step into the dark side."

  She smiled without opening her eyes. "You called me a paduan. That's what I call Faith."

  He pantomimed Darth Vader's deep breathing. "Luu
uuuuke.... join me in the taking."

  She did grin at that. "You're impossible."

  "Not really." He remained quiet for awhile as he studied her, then squeezed her hand. She seemed so defeated and vulnerable that he wanted to champion all her battles, but right now he knew she needed rest. Still... "I couldn't help but notice that, as much as you love your antiques, everything you listed was not nearly as valuable as what you sell in your store."

  Her lips moved as he watched her, then the tip of her tantalizing tongue flicked out. "I keep serviceable pieces that I like and leave the fantastic pieces to sell."

  To this day it still confused him. Why willingly part with something you love? "But then you only get to appreciate and enjoy them for the small amount of time that they're in your store."

  And again she seemed resolute in her reply, just like ten years ago. "And other people can enjoy them indefinitely."

  He shook his head; he still could not understand her willingness to relinquish things she cherished. Inspiration struck, and he ventured, "Do you keep anything of value, Jess? Anything at all?"

  She did look over at him then. "What do you mean?"

  "I mean," he scooted closer, sensing he was on to something. "Do you keep anything of value? What do you treasure? To what do you cling?"

  She tried to pull her hand away, but Darius would have none of it. He was getting to the root of her psyche and he needed to know how she ticked.

  "Well?"

  Fire snapped in her eyes as she shot out, "Memories. That's all anyone ever has. I mean, really, it's not like you can take it with you."

  It felt like he got a glimpse of her memory. "Did you keep any of the gifts your friend gave you? Allison?"

  He watched her face pale and felt like an ass. Tears filled her eyes and he watched them race down her face.

  "Aw, shit, I'm sorry, babe. Don't cry. Here." He gathered her into his arms and rocked her. "I'm sorry. I'm an ass. I just wanted to understand you, and again I've made you cry. Why do you even like me?"

  She managed a teary laugh and wiped off her cheeks. "You also make me laugh."

  He dropped his voice as low as he could. "I'd rather make you moan." He kissed her hand, nuzzling her knuckles as he delved into her psyche, believing he was beginning to understand her, thinking this may even stem from the night they met. With all of her friends being stripped from her, and flying solo most of her adult life, he thought he could comprehend her lack of attachment. He smiled when he said, "My philosophy is: 'He who dies with the most toys wins.'"