Accidental Lover (Wolven Moon Book 3)

by Dany Rae Miller

  “Cherie, look at me.” I wait for her to raise her head. “Your problems and worries are my problems and worries. You got that? From now on, you come to me with every single one of them. I am not going to allow you to push me away any more. I’m done with that.”

  As she studies my eyes, head tilted, something inside that overachieving brain clicks. Albeit the fucking anxiety is still there, but surprise flits across her face. And there’s a hint, a spark of trust. I kiss her lightly.

  You’re mine.

  “That’s audacious and arrogant of you.”

  “Yup.” I kiss her, again.

  And I’m yours.

  End of discussion.

  “What if I’m really pregnant, Victor?” She places both palms on her belly. The protective act nearly undoes me.

  I put my forehead to hers. “It sounds like a major health risk. And the thought of anything happening to you —.”

  I close my eyes, see the child I pictured while buried deep inside Cherie.

  Not yet, little one.

  When I reopen my eyes, she’s studying me, again — intently studying me. “I’m not willing to risk you, not at all.” I rise to my feet. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” I hold out a hand to help her up. “Are you hungry? I brought breakfast.”

  She accepts my hand, shakes her head. “My stomach is in too many knots to eat.”

  “I understand. Go take a shower, then. I’ll go to the drugstore.” I turn toward the door.

  Cherie keeps my hand, pulls me back. Resting her head on my chest, she wraps her arms around my waist, squeezes.

  I cradle her head. “I promise, I’ll do everything in my power to make it right.” I kiss the top of her head. “Go.” I give her a gentle shove to the bathroom. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Walking down the hall, she takes the clip out of her hair. The blonde silk falls down her back.

  At the drugstore, I buy one of each pregnancy test that Cherie’s doctor recommended — and several boxes of condoms. The irony of the combination is not lost on me, nor, judging from her raised eyebrow, from the checkout lady.

  My phone chimes. It’s a text from Cherie.

  Stand down. Got my period.

  I sigh — relief? Disappointment? I tell the cashier that I don’t need the tests after all. I pay for the condoms and go. Back at the condo I let myself into Gabby’s. The food on the breakfast tray is ice cold. I take it to the kitchen to reheat it.

  “Hi.” Cherie appears in the kitchen in a robe and a towel around her head.

  “Hi.” I kiss her fresh, clean face. I like my girl best without makeup. She looks so young — her eyes gigantic and bluer without all that crap around them. “Feeling better?”

  Big breath, she nods. She doesn’t look better.

  I drop more bread into the toaster. “Sit. I’m forcing you to eat.” I set a cup of coffee in front of her, spread butter on the toast.

  “I’m not —.”

  “Silencio.”

  The microwave beeps.

  “I’ll grab something in the employee cafeteria later,” she says.

  I put a plate of scrambled eggs in front of her. “You’re taking a sick day.”

  “I’ve worked one day. I haven’t earned any sick time.” She picks at the eggs.

  “We’ll make an exception.”

  “No, Victor. Physically, I’m okay. I need the distraction of work.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She nods.

  Both our phones buzz with a text from Gabby. She’s being released in an hour.

  “Okay, sweetness. You get ready for work. I’ll go get my cousin.” I take my car keys out of my pocket.

  “You’re quite a boyfriend. Do you know that? Jen’s a bigger idiot than I thought.”

  I smile. “Are you saying girls who fuck with my mind are idiots?”

  The trace of a smile on her lips is nice to see.

  “I suppose that’s what I’m saying.” She gets serious. “Thank you for being here with me through this.”

  “Mi ninfa, where the hell else would I possibly be? You hurt, I hurt.” I caress her face. “Are you sure you want to work today?”

  With a resolute nod of her head, she says, “Yes.”

  “I don’t approve.” I kiss the tip of her nose. “But, if that’s what you want, you’re on the desk your entire shift.”

  Where I can keep an eye on you.

  One last peck and I’m out the door.

  chapter forty-six

  TOTAL EXHAUSTION ISN’T enough. I can’t sleep. Trevor Noah’s jokes are mere background noise to the gazillion thoughts that won’t leave me be.

  I think the pregnancy scare was more than a scare. At the onset of my period, the blood was thick, dark, clotted and much heavier than normal. My intuition tells me I miscarried this morning – and I grieve. Inexplicably, I grieve for a child I never thought I wanted.

  Equally disturbing and inexplicable, my hopes and dreams shifted putting one man at the center. Romantic, thoughtful, sexy, Victor.

  Unexpectedly tender and calm today, faithfully by my side, he was a rock — my rock. I needed him. I need him now.

  Hand fisted, I lift my arm and knock on the wall three times. In less than a minute, he’s opening my bedroom door.

  “You knocked?” He whispers, doubt and uncertainty on his face.

  I nod. “The Daily Show’s on.” I lift the covers, inviting him into my bed.

  Exhaling a deep breath, he quietly closes the door and slips in next to me, gathering me into his arms.

  “Did I wake you by knocking?” I snuggle closer to him.

  “No, mi pequeña.” He kisses my temple. “Apparently, I need you draped across the entire bed to sleep.”

  I smile. He says the sweetest things. Tears pool and fall before I can wipe them.

  “Hey, hey. Don’t cry, sweetness. Please.” He slides down so we’re nose to nose. “Please don’t cry.”

  “I can’t help it. It’s just been such an emotional day.”

  “For me, too,” he says.

  I wipe an eye so I can see him clearly. “You were excited this morning.” I study the gold flecks in his chocolate eyes. “I saw it on your face when you first thought I might be pregnant.”

  “Yeah.” A sheepish grin spreads over his face. “For a moment, I was. The thought of having a bambino with you made me deliriously happy. Then reality came crashing down. It’s way too soon for us anyway.”

  Us?

  “Way too soon for you,” he adds with a light kiss on my nose.

  “I would’ve had to get ready in hurry,” I murmur.

  Eyebrows creased, he traces my wet cheek with a finger. “You would’ve kept it? Gone to term with a baby, I mean.”

  Unbelievably, yes.

  “If it were a viable pregnancy. How could I do otherwise with your child?”

  His eyes glitter with moisture, shock and love flit across his expression.

  “I’m sorry.” I cup his face.

  “You have nothing to be sorry for, peaches.” He kisses me.

  We watch TV for a few minutes.

  “How many kids do you want?” I ask him.

  He shrugs. “Twenty, twenty-five.” He smiles, flashing his creases.

  I giggle at the absurdity.

  “Oh, Cherie. It’s so good hear that sweet sound after this fucked up week.” He slides his nose along mine. “What about you? How many kids do you want?”

  “I didn’t want any at all. Having kids meant getting married.” I shake my head. “I didn’t want that before.”

  “Before?”

  “Before today,” I clarify, softly.

  “And now?” A frown furrows his brow.

  “I’m reconsidering.” I gaze at his mouth, trace his full bottom lip with a finger.

  He lifts my chin, making me look at him. “Reconsidering marriage or kids?” He asks the question then stills, holding his breath.

  “Both,” I whisper
. There. It’s out there. Rejection and unimaginable heartache risked.

  A triumphant grin lights up his face. “Oh, sweetness.” He kisses my eyes, cheeks, the corners of my mouth. “That makes me so happy.” He narrows his eyes menacingly. “Happy that is as long as you consider them with me, only me.” He nibbles on my lips.

  I smile. “That’s very audacious and arrogant of you.” I kiss him — slow and sweet. As long as I’m in confession mode, I may as well go all the way. “I’m scared.”

  “Of what? Not me.”

  “God, yes, you.”

  “I’m just loving you, Cherie.” He kisses me reassuringly, possessively. “Nothing but loving you,” he whispers before his lips are back on my mine, kissing me, softly then desperately then softly again. On and on we go as I kiss him back. With a deep breath, he tucks me under his arm and clicks off the TV. “Go to sleep, peaches.” Feeling warm and safe in his arms, it’s easy to comply.

  We don’t want to leave Gabs alone overnight, so Victor’s been staying here every night for the last couple of weeks, although, only for watching TV and sleeping. If our cuddling gets too heated, he gets uncomfortable and stops. It’s not that he doesn’t desire me. I feel his hunger hot and hard against me all night, every night. But he won’t follow through.

  After the pregnancy scare, he’s been skittish — even though we’ve been safe from the very next day when I started the higher dosage pills.

  Just back from a morning run, I watch Victor sleep, debating whether I should wake him and try to seduce him. Yes, is my answer. I kiss one sexy crease, then the other. I want him. Now.

  He smiles without opening his eyes. “Buen día, dream girl.”

  “Good morning, handsome. I’m getting naked and into the shower. Join me?”

  He cracks his eyelids, swallows. That he wants to is written all over his face, along with apprehension.

  “I won’t break, Victor.”

  One brow raises in consideration.

  I sigh loudly and lift my sports bra over my head in front of him, then turn toward the bathroom. “If you won’t satisfy me, I may have to look for another lover.” I tease.

  He laughs. “You know I’ll kill anyone who touches you.”

  I smile and strip my shorts in the doorway. “A girl’s got needs.”

  “You’ve have become a ninfa,” he accuses playfully.

  “Hmmm. You must take responsibility, Mr. Santana. After all, my inner ninfa was awaken by you.” Still in the doorway to the bathroom, I show him my backside and bend over to slide my panties down.

  I hear a growl, the duvet being flung off the bed and then footsteps behind me. I do a little victory dance to the shower and turn on the water to heat.

  “Are you sure you’re ready?” He murmurs. Hands on my hips, he kisses below my ear.

  I turn to face him. “I just want you. Is that so wrong?”

  “Aw, Cherie.” His arm winds around my waist, then his big hand pulls me flush against him. His other hand strokes my cheek and jaw, then moves to cradle my head. “It’s so fucking right I can hardly stand it.” His voice husky, he pulls us under the water.

  Then, finally, his mouth joins mine in the first real kiss in weeks. I feel his hot desire rising for me. My tongue duels with his, desperately coaxing the hunger that I taste just on the tip of his tongue. At last, his fever comes alive, his mouth devouring me in carnal worship.

  His lips leave mine and go lower. He tugs a beaded nipple into his mouth. I cry out at the sensation. “Victor.” My fingers twine into his hair, holding him there. He eases a finger into me and presses the heel of his palm firmly to me, igniting my passion further.

  “My dream girl, I want you so much.” He moves his magic mouth to my other nipple. He teases the sensitive peak with the flat of his tongue for long, torturing moments.

  On tippy-toes, I grind on his hand and slide my thigh up to his hip, needing him inside me now. “Please,” I beg. “I’ve missed you so, baby.”

  He growls. “Hard and fast, Cherie?”

  I nod, anticipation alone curling my toes. He lifts me by my behind, and lowering me, sinks oh so slowly into me. I wrap my legs around him, and in that instant, shatter — lost in a million brilliant shards of light.

  “Aw, yeah, peaches, just like that.”

  Half a dozen lightning fast slams and he climaxes. “Cherie. Cherie. Cherie.” He says my name like prayer.

  Our early morning tryst brings my Latino lover out of his temporary hiding place in a big way. We make love twice more that morning.

  Later, at work, I often feel Victor watching me. Not just watching me, but watching parts of me — my mouth, my legs, my hips and my behind when I walk. Amazing how I can feel the heat wherever his gaze lands on me. Amazing how I don’t mind his ogle.

  Instead of going to the employee cafeteria on my final breaks each night, I’ve fallen into a pleasant pattern of wandering to the main kitchen to visit with Michael.

  His friendly smile, hot herb tea and a little special bite to eat usually await me. And, just like at The Broadmoor, Moon-bow squirrels away the latest hotel industry newspapers and magazines for me.

  Tonight, he already sits at the small cafe table hidden behind a shelf loaded with sacks of flour, sugar and grains. Along with tea and dessert, there’s also a bottle of Grand Marnier at the ready.

  “Rough dinner crowd tonight?” I grin.

  He doesn’t smile, just pours a glass of the honeyed liquid for me. “Drink.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Drink.” He repeats.

  I sip half the glass, taste the sweetness on my tongue and the warmth as it glides down my throat to my stomach.

  “Okay, I’m fortified,” I joke. “Give it to me.”

  Michael smiles. “Where did you consider interning to get away from Santana?”

  I had told Michael a watered down version of events, focusing on the complicated relationship between Victor and me — boss and employee.

  “The Graces,” I murmur.

  “That’s what I thought.” Reaching to the shelf behind him, he brings forward the current issue of Hotels Magazine.

  Narrowing my eyes as I read the cover, I swig the rest of the liquor.

  “Hit me, again.” Michael refills my glass. I chug it all in one go.

  “Excuse me, Moon-bow.” I march, magazine in hand, from the kitchen straight to Victor’s office.

  “Hey, sweetness.” Victor smiles at me.

  I slap the magazine on his desk. “You bought The Graces?”

  He grimaces and purses his lips. “No. No, I didn’t. I bought a few shares.”

  “Oh, just a few shares?” I turn the cover to read the headline verbatim. “V. Santana Purchases Controlling Interest in The Graces.” I spin the magazine back toward him. “The article says you recently invested significantly in the spa.” I emphasis the word recently.

  Shaking his head, he holds his hands up. “A third is not a controlling interest. Their terminology is inaccurate.”

  I roll my eyes, but deliberately keep my voice low. “When did you buy it?”

  He sighs, frowns. I’ve never seen him frown. “The day you left me.”

  “Victor, I didn’t leave you.”

  He swallows. “Yeah, you did. I didn’t know if you were coming back” — he flicks the magazine — “or going to work there.”

  “So, you just bought it?”

  “Yup.”

  “That’s kind of stalker-like, isn’t it?”

  No longer contrite or guilty, he regards me with amusement. “Totally.” Flashing his creases, he smiles. “In my defense, I was out of — ”

  A harried security guard appears at the door. “Mr. Santana, we’ve got an evolution on four in the south wing.”

  Holy hell. Fire at The Avalon.

  We both switch gears in an instant. Victor grabs the master walkie talkie from the dock on his desk. “Evolution phase one,” he says to me before following the guard.

&n
bsp; “Yes, sir.”

  For phase one, the front desk and security staff notify managers of each department to locate their evolution boxes and verify that their walkie talkies are working, and to standby for further instructions.

  Since The Av is full tonight, the concierge begins checking availability at other hotels and B&Bs for guests that have to be relocated.

  “Evolution, phase three,” Victor’s calm voice comes over the radio. “Telluride FD notified. Cherie Valentine is desk lead.”

  On a scale of one to five, five being an inferno and one being an ashtray on fire, phase three is a significant fire with evacuations underway.

  No doubt that when fire sirens and flashing lights appear outside, guests in other wings will wake and panic. That means all hands on deck immediately.

  Front desk staff disperses to their assigned evolution posts. As desk lead, I’m posted in the security office with the head of security. A good place to put me since I’m not as familiar with the grounds as other staff.

  It’s my responsibility to keep track of staff whereabouts as they take care of guests.

  “Desk lead to all, check-in for evolution phase three,” I murmur into the radio. As each department gives their status via walkie talkie and name of the guests they’ve evacuated to safety, I make notations on a form and check-mark them on a list.

  As that happens, I watch the monitors. A fire engine and several paramedic vehicles arrive, there’s a flurry of activity in the ballroom and the south wing, and I watch Victor, wet from the fire sprinklers, going room to room in south. The fire in south has spread to the floor above.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a tendril of smoke in one of the monitors. Oh, God. It’s in the mezzanine. “Desk lead to master, evolution mezzanine,” I speak as calmly as I can into the radio.

  “What?” The security chief mumbles. I point to the screen. In the shot is a figure. It looks like a woman in a cloak. Mademoiselle Beatrice? Kennedy? Before I can get a really good look, the figure exits the floor via a fire stair.

  On another monitor, a ball of fire builds in the main kitchen.

  “Holy shit!” The security chief presses the radio button. “Security to all, evacuate, evacuate, evacuate,” he exclaims into his radio. “This is not an exercise. Evolution phase five. Repeat. Evacuate, evacuate, evacuate. Evolution phase five.” He pushes a button setting off alarms and sprinklers throughout the entire hotel.