by Jan Irving
Sabin looked wary. “I guess.”
Trin smiled. “Count on it.”
Calhoun tugged out his BlackBerry. “I’ll call Marcello’s pack. They can take care of the body.” His gaze met Trin’s and understanding passed between them. “Take everyone to the car. I’ll catch up.”
Trin nodded and herded the kids in front of them. Chace and Trin brought up the rear. Chace felt like he’d lived a thousand years in this little meadow. As they passed the ruined stone farm house with vines climbing it as if to strangle its bones, he was relieved. He needed food. He needed to sleep in Trin’s arms forever.
He glanced back over his shoulder once to see Calhoun searching Marcello’s clothes. The big man stood up, looked down at the alpha shifter. He gave the body a vicious kick to the ribs.
They had more of a brunch by the time they returned to Ravenna. Trin called it ‘lunchello’, which made the kids laugh. Except for Sabin, who was withdrawn, not meeting anyone’s gaze.
Sitting back as if relaxed, Trin carefully didn’t look at Sabin, but reached for Chace’s hand under the checked tablecloth. Trin and Calhoun put away a huge meal and left room for dolce, eating vanilla cake with lemon sauce drizzled on it. It was surreal to be back in town, feeling like a tourist again. But when Chace looked at the mark he’d left on Trin’s neck, he knew everything had changed. Trin was his mate.
“After we take Chet and Mia to their parents, Sabin and I are heading for Siena,” Calhoun said. “To check out Marcello’s safe house.”
Trin nodded. “If you need us…”
But Calhoun shook his head. “No offence, but you’re a mite conspicuous in the cowboy hat.”
“We’re staying in Italy for a while,” Chace said. “I, uh, I really want to take a mosaic class.”
“You’re staying?” Visibly surprised, Sabin looked at Trin.
Trin nodded, giving Sabin an oh-so-casual glance, but his hand gripped Chace’s tightly under the table.
“Maybe…maybe I can come back and see you.” Sabin got to his feet, as did Calhoun and the kids.
“Yeah.” Trin’s voice sounded rusty. “Chace is going to show me more mosaic stuff but he’ll be busy with those classes. Have you ever seen the Arian Baptistery?”
Sabin blinked. “Uh, no.”
“Come back and I’ll show it to you,” Trin said. “I want to show it to you.”
Sabin nodded, uncertainty but also a kind of faint hope in his eyes. “Okay.”
Chace held Trin’s hand while they watched Sabin, Calhoun and the kids leave the restaurant.
Trin expelled a deep breath. “That was the hardest fucking thing…” he whispered.
“I’ve never loved you, respected you more,” Chace said, heartfelt. “You let him go. But he’ll come back to you.”
“Robin, he referred to Sage as ‘my robin’,” Trin said. “No one knew that, Chace. No one ever, but me and my son.”
“I know,” Chace said. He could picture it when Sabin returned, Trin taking him to the Arian Baptistery, that tiny sacred jewel, a good place to go with someone you loved. “He’s yours and he knows it too, deep inside.”
“And you?” Trin looked at him. “Christ, the way I…took you.”
Chace smiled. He knew just what his man needed. “Yeah, oh yeah… So now you’ve fed me, let’s go back to our room.”
And Trin’s gaze flashed gold.
Coming Soon from Total-E-Bound Publishing:
Men of Station 57: Forbidden Fire
Jan Irving
Released 27th February 2012
Excerpt
Chapter One
Luke Cade knew Sian’s step, knew the sound of the exact stair that groaned under her feet as she sneaked into the house he shared with her.
Tonight he found himself holding his breath, holding it almost like the sound of the world falling still. It was a moment when anything seemed possible, when stars could collide, when the sand below the posh beach house where they lived could be engulfed by flood waters that would rise and take back the palm trees, the sprinkler-fed grass…
When she might walk into his darkened bedroom and lie down beside him on his lonely bed.
Instead, she walked past his door.
Of course she did.
He let out a breath as the world realigned back to the same routine. It hurt, knowing she’d been out dancing with some guy. It always hurt so goddamned much. He squeezed his eyes shut, telling himself he could endure another night, keep his secret.
It would be worse if he didn’t have her at all.
Sian Blaine was his stepsister. She could never be his girlfriend. She could never see herself as his lover. She was ten years older than he was and she thought of him as her little brother.
It didn’t matter that he was in his mid-twenties now and they’d lived in this house alone together since their parents had passed away. During the day, he worked at San Diego Fire Station 57 and she worked behind the counter of Coffee Dreams near Solana Beach. He often went in for coffee.
They practically spent twenty-four-seven together unless Sian had one of her dates.
So here was another Friday night and he was lying in a bed that might as well be a twin for all the action it saw and she was walking past his bedroom door. Yay!
Suddenly he erupted from that bed, stalking across the darkened room in his boxers, swinging open the door so he could glare down the empty hallway.
Weirdly, she was just standing there, looking over her bare shoulder at him, as if she’d somehow known he would appear.
“Can you help?” Sian asked, solemn grey eyes on his face, her brown hair caught up above her neck. He told himself she was too skinny, the ‘bird bones’ she’d been called in high school, but her long arms seemed perfect as she tugged at the zipper on the back of her dress. And he knew why she was having trouble. This wasn’t some kind of come-on, despite how his body immediately reacted.
Sian’s left hand was curled like a withered leaf. She automatically tried to hide it in the folds of her dress, which pissed him off.
She didn’t need to goddamn hide from him. Not ever.
“Yeah, all right,” he grumbled, as if his heart wasn’t racing at the thought of touching her intimately. He’d have to pretend she didn’t move him, but her skin would be under his hands…
He couldn’t help but notice she wasn’t wearing a bra under the dress. Not that she needed to. She had small, delicate breasts. He knew when they were growing up she’d lamented her slight figure, but he liked everything about her—from the way she smelt to the way she walked.
“I think it’s busted,” he said, after pulling her zipper up and down, trying to get it to unfasten.
“Probably my slip got caught in it. Can you check?”
He looked up and some of her hair slid free of its clasp. The slinky bit of brown curled between them, caressing his neck. He caught his breath.
Sian stared at him and then jerked her gaze from his.
Just what had she seen in his eyes?
He swallowed around a dry throat. “What colour is this dress anyway?”
“Why do you ask?” Her voice was husky. She cleared her throat. “Going to splurge on one on Valentine’s Day for Maggie?”
Maggie. Luke had to search his brain to remember who that was while he was peeling cloth away from Sian’s back, his fingers actually—Christ!—touching bare skin. She had a mole just above her ass that he’d always wanted to kiss whenever he’d seen her in a bikini. Just put his mouth to it and suck until she laughed and turned around and he could put his mouth somewhere else…
“The receptionist in the building next to the station, right,” he said. “She’s seeing someone.”
“Oh. I thought you had a thing for her.”
Irritated, he said, “No. And if I did, why would I give her a dress?” The idea baffled him.
Sian laughed. “Because you actually asked me the colour of mine. I thought you liked it.”
“I like i
t because it’s yours and tiny.”
Oh, shit. Way to be subtle. But he was kneeling at her feet and if she turned around his boxers weren’t going to hide just how much he liked her dress.
She was quiet until he cursed.
“What?”
“This is not caught on anything! It’s broken, Sian.”
He pulled away and had to let his hands drop. He balled them into fists so he didn’t just give into temptation and yank the thing off her like a wild man. Sian liked charming men, he knew. Men who were smooth and educated. Nothing like Luke, who had always been so physical, so rough-hewn.
“Okay, thanks.” She paused, looking down at him. “I saw you’re Mr February this year.”
His cheeks heated. “Yeah. I’m also Mr April.” He’d posed with his surfboard and nothing else. “I didn’t know you’d seen it.”
“Are you kidding? It’s up in the kitchen at work.” Sian’s cheeks were also flushed now, he noticed. “Since we’re all gals, we’re shamelessly exploiting hot young men in our calendar art.”
Hot young men? Wait, forget the young part, she thought he was hot?
“Well, sorry I woke you up,” she said. “I’ll try to be quieter next time.”
“You didn’t wake me up. I wasn’t sleeping.”
Her body swayed as if she were on the verge of heading into her own room, closing the door and leaving him on the outside again. Tonight he just couldn’t let it happen.
“Luke—”
“I’m not the street kid who moved in when your dad married my mom,” he said. “I’m…” He spread his fingers, wanting her to see him. He was an adult now. He’d made something of himself. He helped people.
And some part of him knew it had been for her. He’d worked so hard, wanted to be someone she’d respect. For her, all for her.
“If I were in one of your favourite Jane Austen books, I’d be a man of substance, like Edmund Bertram, the parson in Mansfield Park.”
“I’ve always seen you more like Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights.”
“Because of my working class background? But I don’t brood as much as he did.”
“Yes, you do. Sometimes…you’re so quiet, I don’t know what you’re thinking,” she said. “I wish you’d take me to see where you come from. You never talk about it, but I know you think about it.”
He could have told her, but then she’d run from him and lock her door. The dirty things he wanted to do to her…
“I’m proud to work with the guys at Station 57.”
Her eyes widened and she knelt beside him, reaching out to grip his hand. “Oh, I’m so proud of you, Luke… You’ve come so far. You broke my heart, even my Dad’s heart. We both wanted you to have opportunities.” She studied him, her gaze running over his shoulders, his chest. He hoped like hell she liked what she saw since he worked out like a maniac. “Now you’re a hero.”
He blinked. “Did you just call me a hero?”
A crooked smile touched her lips. “I’m so going to pay for being sappy, huh?”
“You totally are.” He liked the hint of green in her eyes. They were large in her small face and her mouth was a little off-centre, the top lip fuller than the bottom. He liked it, he wanted to kiss it.
“It feels like forever since we really talked,” she said. “Why is that?”
“Maybe because you’re always out with some guy. Who was it this time? The architect or the gym owner?”
“Luke—”
“Don’t tell me it’s none of my business, Sian. We’re all we’ve got.”
“No, I don’t accept that.” She climbed to her feet, her dress sagging like a sail without any wind, putting her back on display. Firm skin, small bones, strong. Strong like the way she’d been when his mom had had cancer—holding him, letting him know with her body against his that he would never be alone.
“Then why do you still live here? Why are we both living under the same roof?” Fuck it, he was pushing things, he was probably ruining things, but he couldn’t take it anymore. He was on his feet, hands on his hips, looming over her.
“It’s just easier—”
“That’s bullshit. It’s not easy for me,” he said. “I still live here because I need to be close to you.”
She shook her head. He crowded her against the wall, waiting, watching her to see if she wanted free of him. When she only stared up at him he leant down and put his mouth over hers, claiming her.
Sian made a small sound in her throat and then her fingers were digging into his arms. She tasted like coffee and crème caramel, and annoyance slashed him when he thought about how she’d shared that dessert with another man.
When his tongue touched hers she jerked in his arms, her body fully pressed against his now. She felt amazing, better than anything he’d ever felt. He tore his mouth from hers and yanked his boxers down, wanting them to be skin to skin.
Her eyes looked shocky as he also tugged down her dress, leaving her wearing only her panties. One of his fingers curled under the top of her underwear, moving back and forth, letting her know he wanted in.
“You’re what I want.” He reached up and cupped one of her breasts and she groaned, her eyes closing tightly. Closing him out? Fuck, he didn’t care. Now he was in a heat to mate and he didn’t care if she didn’t want to acknowledge that she was finally letting her little stepbrother have her.
They kissed again, man to woman, her lips pressing against his, her tongue shyly touching his as he took command of her mouth. He growled and she made another soft sound and his hand moved down to grind against her mound, finding her damp through the cloth.
He knew he should slow down, but this might be the only time she ever let him have her. After all these years, he was desperate. He broke away. “You’re on something, right?”
“Uh, what?” Dazed, heavy eyes met his.
“I’m clean, but I need to know if you’re on something.” He wouldn’t mind making her pregnant, but telling her that would probably have her running for her bedroom.
“Yes.” She blushed again.
He pulled down her underwear so it fell to her ankles and cupped her, holding her gaze as his fingers touched her slick folds, then delved deeper. She made a growling sound of her own now, gripping him tight. Close, he was so close, ready to be touched into an explosion.
“Hold on to me, baby,” he whispered, lifting her high against the wall. Her legs wrapped around him. He was shaking as he took himself in hand, one arm supporting her weight as he positioned his penis and thrust into her.
It was… Oh, God…
But Sian’s fingernails stabbed into his shoulders, so he looked into her indignant eyes and guessed he had been clumsy. Oh, shit. His woman in his arms at last and he—
“How does that feel?” he made himself ask.
“Big. It feels big.”
“Oh.” He held her suspended, not hammering into her the way he wanted to. “How long before it doesn’t feel ‘big’,” he whispered. “Sian, please, baby.”
“Uh…”
He reached between them, his arm burning from taking all of her weight, but he found her clit and her eyes flared wide. He wished he was on his knees, that it was his mouth touching her. He loved to do this for her, loved to see her shudder as he touched her. “Big is bad,” he whispered in her ear.
She laughed and he grinned back at her. “Big is a lot to, ah, accommodate,” she said.
But as he continued to play, she shivered again, and it was like her body was holding tight, living for every touch he gave her.
She squirmed, pushing down her body so she was seated more solidly. Oh, yeah.
“You’re my woman now,” he said.
“Luke, we can’t—” Her tone was meant to put him in his place. Luke the kid, Luke who is misguided. Fuck that.
A bead of sweat ran down from his hairline. He needed her to shatter for him. He needed her soft and wet and compliant and not telling him he couldn’t, they couldn’t…
When she was in pieces, he could finally get into her bed. He wouldn’t nail her as dirty and raw as he liked it, but only because he knew she’d never had it that way. His princess was relatively innocent.
She ground herself against him when he thrust, every second ticking with an almost audible impact, her eyes wide, the bead of sweat running down his cheek, crystallised like slow amber. It lit him off so suddenly he began pounding into her while she left a line of scratches on his back. He grunted, hands digging into her hips. She’d have bruises in the morning, like he would wear her scratches. She might want to put this aside, but her body would remember him.
“Can’t!”
“Oh, yeah, you can.” Relentless. This was a storm that came in from the sea, that all you could do was live through. Just their bodies sliding down the wall as he pressed his fingers against the top of her sex, tapping like relentless rain, her eyes going dark, swallowing his reflection as she climaxed. He felt her contracting around him, brought down, brought down to his level, to his hands stained with engine grease, to the kinky things he hungered to do to her.
He came in a scalding rush, marking her, wishing he could inscribe a symbol on her soul, on her skin. Mine.
He held her, feeling every part of her was his.
But then while he still trembled, arms burning, Sian stiffened, vibrating horror. He could almost hear her thoughts—what had she done? He was her little stepbrother and she had let him fuck her. And more than that, he had made her come.
“Sian—”
She scrambled off him. He caught her, held her gaze.
“It’ll only happen again.”
“No, it won’t.”
“Yes.”
He let her go, watched her snatch up her dress. Her door slammed a second later.
He guessed he wasn’t going to be invited into her bed. Not tonight anyway.
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About the Author
Jan Irving has worked in all kinds of creative fields, from painting silk to making porcelain ceramics, to interior design, but writing was always her passion.