Take the Storm: Episode 6

by Rebecca Zanetti

  Hell, it was after midnight. How busy could he be? Her hands grew sweaty and she wiped them on the cheap skirt before starting to type. IF YOU CARE AT ALL, YOU’LL MEET ME TONIGHT. I’LL MAKE IT WORTH YOUR WHILE.

  Silence. More silence. Thunder clapped above the car, and she jumped. Finally, her phone lit up.

  IT BETTER BE GOOD. MEET ME AT THE CABIN.

  Her chest relaxed. Oh, he was still hers, and she needed to remind him how good they were together. All of his distance lately was just from business and from being married to the wrong woman. That boring twit didn’t understand him and thus couldn’t help ease his stress.

  Dakota knew all about easing his stress because he’d taught her. She’d learned so much from him, and she knew she could give it all back. She could take care of him, could become his everything and still get the life she deserved. Balls, political fundraisers, and big houses with servants. It was exactly what her father would want for her.

  Humming softly, she pulled back onto the road and drove around the lake, taking note of a large bonfire still crackling on the far shore. Must be the high school kids having a party. High school was only a couple of years behind her, but it felt like a lifetime ago. She was in an affair with a powerful man, and her future lay bright in front of her.

  Finally.

  She reached the cabin and drove around back to hide her car beneath a series of pine trees, just as he’d taught her. Being in the shadows was temporary for her, and soon she’d be in the limelight. She could make Sebastian so proud of her, and once she was living in mansions, she’d let her dad come and stay with them. He’d worked so hard his entire life, and it’d be nice for him to take a break and relax.

  She and the senator could do that for her dad.

  Singing softly, she stepped onto the mud and then swore as her high heel dug in. Gripping the door handle, she yanked free and tried to tiptoe around the structure to the wide wooden porch fronting the lake. The interior was dark, so she was alone.

  She took time to scrape off her heel and then sat on the rolling porch swing, her gaze across the lake at the bright fire. Several shapes danced around, but it was too far away for her to be able to identify anybody. Was her perfect sister, Mallory, there?

  Dakota sniffed. Probably not. Mal was most likely at home studying algebra or something equally boring. Dork. Although, when Dakota became the senator’s wife, she’d be nice to her sister and invite her to visit their mansion. If Mal stopped being such a judgmental wench, of course.

  Not their mother. That witch could shrivel and die. The clumsy oaf had somehow convinced half the town that Hector Alvarez was a wife-beater, and that couldn’t be further from the truth. Now that he was gone, Joanne actually seemed happy and was even wearing makeup. She hadn’t tripped or fallen once. Those injuries had probably been self-created just so Joanne could blame Hector and make the townspeople hate him.

  Dakota would make such a better wife than Joanne ever had.

  Rain began to patter down around her, and she hugged herself, dry under the porch roof. Finally, a car purred down the lane, its lights off.

  Her breath sped up.

  Sebastian’s BMW crawled by the cabin and parked in the back. Seconds later, he strode through the rain, so tall and powerful her heart just stopped. “Get inside,” he said, moving past her and pushing open the door.

  She faltered. Her throat clogged, and she followed him inside, waiting until he’d drawn all the drapes and turned on the kitchen light. “I’m sorry—”

  He turned around suddenly, anger in his brown eyes. “You threatened me.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I didn’t mean it.”

  He didn’t speak and just studied her with no expression on his face.

  The rain increased in strength, and she tried to hold his gaze, but she gave up and looked around. God, she loved the cabin. The main room held a heavy maple table that could fit about sixteen people, a fancy kitchen with stainless steel appliances, and a gathering room with plush chairs and the biggest stone fireplace she’d ever seen. Finally, when the silence was louder than the storm, she turned back to him. “I’m sorry. If you let me, I can make it up to you.” Her voice turned flirty at the end.

  His face softened, and a new tension filtered through the room. “What in the world are you wearing?” His gaze raked her.

  Heat filled her face, and she tried to tug down the skirt. “Um, I thought you’d like it.” Maybe Marcus had been right. “Do I look, I mean, like a whore?” Fear quaked down her skin on the heels of vulnerability. She shuffled her feet. One of her heels was still dirty.

  He slowly smiled.

  Her heart turned over.

  “No, you look incredibly sexy.” His voice lowered to a guttural tone.

  She grinned, the entire world brightening. Yeah. She was sexy, and everything was going to be all right. “Thank you.” She took him in. Pressed black slacks, blue golf shirt, also pressed, and impressive muscles shifting beneath both. He worked out regularly, and his body was nicely cut. His salt and pepper hair made him look intelligent and rich. “You’re the sexy one here.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t ever threaten me again.”

  She nodded, pushing out her breasts. “I won’t.” Fluttering her eyelashes, she pretended to glance at his pockets. “No present for me tonight?”

  He slowly shook his head. “Bad girls who threaten me do not get a present.”

  She stuck out her lower lip. “It feels like you’re not interested in me anymore, Sebastian.” Her eyes widened, and she stiffened. Why had she said that? She needed to be smooth and not needy. A man like him would be turned off by neediness.

  He crossed his arms. “You’re a grown-up, and you need to act like it. My job is demanding, and you know it.” Disappointment turned down his lips. “Or maybe you can’t handle a real man and should go back to boys.”

  Hurt pierced through her more at the disappointment than the harsh words. She slowly began to unbutton her tight shirt, gratified when his eyes flared. Oh, he’d taught her well how to interest and then please him. She was back in control. “I can handle you.”

  “Prove it,” he said.

  * * * *

  Sebastian watched her fingers tremble as she unbuttoned the white shirt to fully show the red bra that had already been on display. He’d lied, of course. She definitely looked like a whore. Not like the new intern his mother had just hired for the campaign staff.

  That girl was barely eighteen with soft eyes and even softer skin. When he’d shaken her hand earlier, he’d almost come in his pants. Her blush had been so pretty and innocent, he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind. When he had her, and he surely would, he might even be her first.

  For now, the girl shrugging her shirt to the floor caught his attention again. Dakota was stunning, and oh, so willing. A pretty blonde with serious daddy issues Sebastian had taken full advantage of. But he’d about used her up, and his attention would soon wander.

  Not tonight, though.

  Tonight he’d finish what they’d started and get everything he wanted.

  She reached for the front clasp of her bra, and he held out a hand. “Wait.”

  Warmth and power rushed through him at how quickly she stilled. To think that this silly piece of ass had once rejected him with a laugh and a snarl.

  Now he fucking owned her.

  She watched him with wide eyes, desire and a desperate need darkening them to almost black.

  “Turn around, slowly. Let me see every beautiful inch of you,” he ordered.

  Pleasure curved her lips, and she turned, arms at her sides. A flash of red from beneath her skirt caught his attention. “Take off your skirt.”

  She obeyed without question, dropping the flimsy material to the floor.

  He breathed in, letting desire flow through him. She was truly beautiful in a trailer trash way, which is exactly how he wanted her to be. All of that lush, firm flesh only held briefly by the young. Plus
, she was amazingly flexible. He’d thought Ginny Moreno had been flexible when he’d had her feet behind her ears, fucking her hard, but Dakota beat her hands down.

  At the thought of Ginny and the bastard she carried, the kid that just couldn’t be his, he frowned.

  Dakota faltered. “Sebastian?”

  He threw thoughts of Ginny and her baby into the abyss, where they both belonged, and concentrated on the desperate treat in front of him. “Don’t stop,” he said.

  Dakota took a step away from the table, and he shook his head.

  “The bedroom?” she asked, standing in all red. Red shoes, red panties, red bra. The color of sin.

  “No. The table,” he said, reaching for his shirt and drawing it over his head. Since it was merely a golf shirt and not one of his dress shirts, he tossed the material on the floor.

  She swallowed and glanced back at the table. “I’m betting you never do your wife on a table.”

  He snorted. His wife was a stunning, older blonde he didn’t do anywhere or any time. Except for the couple of times they’d had to screw to get kids, the woman didn’t want anything sexual to do with him. “You’re not my wife,” he retorted.

  Hurt filled her eyes, and she quickly blinked it away. “I mean more to you than she does.”

  He paused. Unease filtered through his lust. “My wife is the perfect politician’s wife. I’m not leaving her. Ever.” God, the girl had to get that, right?

  Dakota’s chin lifted. “If she was so perfect, you wouldn’t need me so much. You’d be home with her, happy like you are with me.”

  Damn, the girl was stupid. The demand in her tone meant they had to end things soon. But there was still tonight, and he intended to make the drive out to the cabin worth his time. “You do make me happy, Dakota. Usually.”

  Her head jerked. “Usually?”

  It was almost too easy. The time for seducing and building her up was over. She’d given him almost everything. Yet almost wasn’t good enough for Sebastian Rush, even though he was already getting bored. “Yes. Usually. You’re a sweet girl, but I’m a man who needs a woman. You have to know that.”

  Fire flashed in her big lonely eyes, and she ran her hands over her bra. “I am a woman.”

  His groin tightened. “Think so?” he murmured.

  “Yes.”

  He released his belt and slowly drew it through the loops to drop onto the floor. “Think you can keep me?”

  “I know I can.” Confidence filtered through Dakota’s voice in direct contrast to the wariness now in her posture. She clasped her hands together.

  “All right. Turn around and bend over the table.” He smiled, his lids half lowering.

  She hesitated.

  “Or go home,” he finished.

  Her mouth dropped open, she glanced at the door, and then her shoulders went down. She swallowed and turned to walk on the ridiculous heels to bend over, her cheek on the table, her face turned toward him. Her uncertainty did nothing but increase his desire.

  “You want to be mine, Dakota?” he asked quietly.

  “Yes.” Her voice trembled.

  “Good,” he responded, unzipping his pants and crossing the distance between them.

  CHAPTER 5

  Marisol Moreno stepped out from under the shade of the giant oak tree in the center of town, shielded her eyes with her hand, and surveyed the group repairing every board in the gazebo in preparation of Founders’ Day. The storm of the night before had passed over, leaving the air crisp and the ground damp. Even in the warming Texas sun, she shivered. “We need the ground to dry in time.”

  Her best friend, Tara Douglas, flipped open a page on her clipboard and made a huge checkmark. “Dry grass. Got it.”

  Amusement flittered through Marisol, and she grinned. “Smart aleck.”

  Tara chuckled and tossed curly brown hair over her shoulder. “Stop worrying. The day of the festival will be perfect. We have tons of folks volunteering to help get ready, and the weatherman assures me we’ll have fine Texas weather for the next few weeks, with maybe just a couple of storms. So let’s just relax a little.”

  A group of lawyers jogged down the courthouse steps over to the north and then turned to head toward the Cuppa Joe Bakery. It was a good thing that Lacey was at work today and ready to sell some muffins. Sales were a bit down, and Marisol had a mortgage to pay. But she’d promised to help with the Founders’ Day preparations, so she’d had to leave work for a while.

  The breeze picked up, and Tara shut her clipboard. “Let’s go grab lunch at Bluebonnet.”

  Marisol glanced toward the gazebo and caught sighed of a dark head bent over, concentrating on hammering nails. Her heart began to pound faster. “Um, okay.”

  Tara followed her gaze. “Hmmm. Cute, right? My cousin gets tougher looking every time I see him. Has Patrick been working out?”

  Heat slithered into Marisol’s face. “How should I know?”

  “Right.” Tara turned and rolled her eyes. “You’re the color of Hedda Garten’s sofa with the crazy damask pillows. Are you two finally, you know?”

  “No. We are not finally you knowing.” Although last night, she’d really wanted to. Marisol began to turn just as Patrick stood up, his gaze slamming into hers. She took an involuntary step back.

  “Wow,” Tara whispered.

  Wow, indeed. Marisol wanted to run, but her sensible tennis shoes remained glued to the spot. Patrick wore faded jeans across powerful legs and a blue T-shirt that brought out the stunning color of his eyes, even at that distance. His shoulders were wide, his chest broad, and just looking at him made her salivate. “He’s not mine,” she murmured.

  “He could be,” Tara countered, slipping an arm through Marisol’s. “Either go over there and plant one on him, or let’s go to lunch and talk about this issue of yours.”

  Marisol swallowed. “Lunch. Yeah. Let’s do that.” Yet even as she began to turn, she could feel his gaze remaining on her. So she lifted her head and allowed her friend to lead her out of the park and down the street to the cafe. Finally, when they were out of sight, she released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

  “Man, you have it bad,” Tara muttered as she pulled open the door to the cafe and ushered them both inside.

  The smell of bacon and hamburgers filtered around, and Marisol led the way to a booth in the back. They both ordered their favorites from a teenager with purple streaks in her hair, and then Marisol took a deep drink from her sweating water glass.

  “Talk,” Tara said, her gray eyes serious in her strong, intelligent face.

  Marisol shuddered. “Patrick wants more.”

  “No kidding. Geez.”

  Funny. “How can I give him more?” Marisol shook her head, tears pricking the back of her eyes. “I really care for him, I do. But right now, Ginny is pregnant, living with the Salts, and falling in love with Logan Murphy. And I swear, there’s something going on with her I can’t figure out. Something’s wrong.”

  Tara lifted an eyebrow. “Something more than everything you just said?”

  Heat rushed down Marisol’s torso. Her ears burned. “Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know. But I do know that I’m totally failing her, and my parents would be so disappointed.”

  Tara reached over the table and grabbed her hand. “That couldn’t be further from the truth. Come on, Marisol. You gave up your entire life to raise those kids, and you’re doing the best anybody could do. Give yourself a break.”

  “I can’t,” Marisol whispered, her stomach aching. She should have ordered something bland instead of the spicy chicken salad. “And Luis? For goodness sakes. He came home last night drunker than a wino on a binge, and it was from sucking down White Lightning.”

  Tara gasped and sat back. “Where in the heck did he get ahold of moonshine?”

  “I don’t know,” Marisol admitted, failure all but eating her whole. “He was still snoring away this morning, and I let him sleep. Poor guy nearly puked up his liver last
night.”

  Tara grimaced. “I bet he won’t drink again.”

  Probably not. Marisol brightened a little. “Good point.” She bit her lip. “I found condoms in his room, and he said they were just in case, but what do I know? He’s a teenaged boy. I hope if he’s having sex, he’s using condoms, but considering he’s also drinking moonshine these days, he might be having sex and not using them.” She shuddered.

  “Sounds like a normal teenaged boy and parent issue,” Tara said softly.

  Marisol took another drink of water, her throat dry. “I guess. But how can I handle them, keep the business going, and give Patrick any attention at all? I mean, I’m just not up to it.”

  Tara frowned. “Is that it, or are you afraid to take a chance?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you lost your parents young, and then you had tons of responsibility drop onto your shoulders. I mean, I can’t blame you if you’re afraid to get close to anybody again.”

  Marisol coughed. “That’s not it.” She couldn’t meet Tara’s eyes.

  “Isn’t it? What if you got together with Patrick, had a couple of adorable little blue-eyed babies that spoke Gaelic, and then he got hit by a bus? I mean, isn’t that your biggest fear?” Tara unfolded her paper napkin and dropped the utensils on the table, her voice gentle and tentative. “It would be my fear if I were you.”

  Was that it? Was she just a big old wimp? “I don’t know, Tara.” Marisol scrubbed both hands down her face.

  “Listen, I get it. Your self-esteem isn’t that great right now, and part of that is Ginny’s attitude toward you, which you can’t help. Someday she’ll understand how hard you’ve worked, but not now. Not yet.” Tara sat back as the waitress deposited their salads.

  Marisol reached for her fork. “I don’t know what I’m going to do about Patrick, but I do know I’m tired of talking about it. How are you and Bryce doing?”

  Tara took a deep breath. “Just fine. We’re great.”

  Humor bubbled up through Marisol, and she let out a short chuckle. “Ah. Fine.”

  Tara rolled her eyes. “I know. Lame. I wish I could tell you how Bryce and I are doing, but I’m just not sure enough to even reach a conclusion there. Sometimes it’s so hard.”