“He’s amazing,” Clifford said. “I counted at least a dozen different styles. And did you see the pictures of the geese and crows? They didn’t look like anyone else’s stuff. They must be Hank’s own style.”
“He’s really talented,” Annette said. “I’m not surprised he hasn’t made a name for himself though. An innocent like that? The art world would eat him alive.”
“What can we do about that?” Clifford said. He dropped his voice to the point he was barely whispering. “Without Hans, it looks like he won’t have any income at all.”
“You could be his patron,” Annette suggested. “Check in on him, make sure he’s got supplies to paint. Food in the house. Stuff like that.” She paused. “And then when he does paintings you like, buy them. Or sell them to your friends. For more realistic prices.” She shrugged. “I’m not sure how that all works, but I bet Madison will be able to set something up.”
Clifford nodded. “I wonder if we could get him to move somewhere less…remote.”
“You can’t be upending his life like that,” Annette said. “Some people need to be where they are in order to be happy.”
“I can hear you two talking,” Hank announced from the doorway. “And it’s after dinnertime, which means it’s almost bedtime. I can’t let you sleep in the house because how will you hide from Hans?”
Annette and Clifford looked at each other. They had no answer for that.
“But you can sleep on the back porch,” Hank continued. “Hans never goes back there.”
“All right,” Annette said. She stood up. “Why don’t you show us where we’ll sleep?”
Chapter 16
“I can’t believe you never slept in a hammock before,” Annette said. She was nestled up against Clifford’s side, one arm thrown over his chest. “For all your money, you’ve really never lived.”
Clifford moved his hips experimentally, starting the hammock swinging gently from side to side. “I don’t know about this. It doesn’t seem very safe.”
“It’s perfectly safe, as long as you don’t tip us out,” Annette laughed. “Just hold still and relax.”
“That sounds suspiciously like ‘lay back and think of Britain’” Clifford quipped. “If you can’t fight it, you might as well enjoy it.”
“Sleeping in a hammock is enjoyable in its own right. And we’ve got a beautiful view from here.” Hank’s back porch was simple, extending some distance over a rocky landscape that sloped sharply away from his home. Tall pines grew close by. There were bats wheeling through the night sky, dipping as they caught insects on the wing.
“Tell me those aren’t vampire bats,” Clifford said.
“They’re not,” Annette said. “Vampire bats live where it’s warm. South America, places like that. Up here, the bats eat bugs and fruit. So we’re safe on both counts.”
Clifford relaxed. “That’s good to know.”
“You’re really nervous,” Annette said, astonished. “You go to the world’s largest, most dangerous cities without a second thought, but a simple night under the stars in Maine has you freaked out.”
“You’re not scared?”
“There’s nothing to be scared of,” she said. “There’s nobody around for miles except you, me and Hank. And he’s asleep.” Already they could hear Hank’s snores emanating from the interior of the cabin; he’d gone to sleep promptly after telling them bedtime was ten PM sharp.
“We clearly don’t agree on what ‘nothing to be scared of’ means,” Clifford said. “What if there are bears out there? Or mountain lions? Or weasels?”
Annette burst out laughing. “Weasels? Really?” She moved to embrace Clifford more intimately. “You need to stop worrying about wild animals.”
“And your plan is to distract me with sex?”
“Mmm hmm.”
Clifford smiled. “This plan may just work.” He moved his hips slightly, raising his pelvis to meet Annette’s grip. “All of a sudden I don’t care about weasels at all.”
“Really,” Annette said. She undid Clifford’s zipper, moving his silk boxers to the side and freeing his stiffening shaft. “How about now?”
“I seem to have lost my fear of mountain lions,” he said. Annette moved her hand, stroking and squeezing until he was fully erect.
“Let’s see if we can get rid of those bears.” She rolled on her side, sliding her skirt up so her bare flanks came up against Clifford’s rigid flesh. “How’s that sound?”
He sank into her depths with a grateful sigh. “It sounds super to me.”
“Just go slow,” she said. “We don’t need to go falling out of this hammock.”
“I can do slow.” Clifford kissed the side of Annette’s neck. “It’s hard, because you feel so damn good, but I can do slow.”
Annette pushed her hips backward, setting a leisurely pace for their lovemaking. “I like slow.”
“God, so do I,” Clifford groaned. His grip on her hips tightened; in the morning, Annette would find a ring of small bruises. “This is so good. You’re so good.” He thrust a little deeper. “I think I’m falling in love with you, Annette.”
Hearing that took Annette’s breath away. She froze for a moment, and then relaxed back into the rhythm of their lovemaking. “Me too,” she sighed, repeating herself as her orgasm approached. “Me too, me too, me too.”
Chapter 17
The sun came up early. Annette and Clifford rolled out of the hammock carefully. They were both a little sore and stiff from a night sleeping outdoors. Annette was stretching when Hank came onto the back porch.
“You guys have to hide now!” he announced. “Hans will be here before too long. Don’t ruin the surprise!”
“I guess that means we’re not getting any coffee,” Clifford said to Annette. Hank said nothing, turning on his heel to re-enter his cabin.
“Don’t ask him for anything,” Annette said. “We don’t want him to change our mind and tell us to leave.”
Hank reappeared at that moment, carrying a mug of coffee. He thrust it into Clifford’s hands. “I will need that cup back because it’s my favorite cup,” he said. “So drink fast.”
Clifford took a sip of the coffee and winced. “Wow,” he said. “That’s hot and sweet.”
“Three spoons of sugar in every cup,” Hank said. “That’s what makes a boy sweet and strong.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
The sound of an approaching vehicle filled the air. “That is Hans coming!” Hank said. He snatched the coffee mug from Clifford’s hands. “You guys need to hide right now.”
Clifford and Annette positioned themselves on either side of the cabin’s back door. Clifford texted his police contact, showing Annette the message that said two units were on their way.
“Hank!” Hans said. “I have come to see you. Do you have the paintings I asked you to do?”
“This one is ten dollars and this one is ten dollars and this one is ten dollars and this one is ten dollars,” Hank began.
“It looks like they’re all here,” Hans said. “I can’t stay long and visit with you this time, cousin. I have places to go and people to see.”
“But you’ll miss your surprise if you leave too soon!”
Hans’ voice grew very serious. “What surprise, Hank?”
Clifford took this as his cue. He opened the back door and stepped inside. “Hello, Hans.”
Hans paled. “Oh, my God. How did you find me here?”
Clifford shook his head. “The question you should be asking is how come Wilbur Ross’ goons aren’t here first?” He smiled. “Someday he’ll learn how to hire quality help.”
“I can get you your money,” Hans said. “Well, not all of it. But most of it. Sixty percent of it.”
“Somehow I don’t imagine you have that kind of cash on you,” Clifford said. “And I’m not willing to take a check.”
Hans was trembling. “I can get it though. Honest to God I can.”
Hank looked trouble
d. “This is not a good surprise.”
“You think?” Hans snapped at him. “You moron, you’ve ruined everything!”
Hank froze. His eyes filled with tears.
“Don’t be an asshole to him,” Clifford said. “He’s got a real genuine talent that you’ve been exploiting shamelessly. If anyone’s a moron here, it’s you.”
Hank had been following conversation carefully. He crowed with glee at Clifford’s pronouncement. “You’re the moron, cousin! Not me.”
“We’ll talk about that another time,” Hans said. He turned on his heel and started for the door. “I’ve got to go now.”
“What about my hundred dollars?” Hank wailed. “You said it was ten dollars for this one, and ten dollars for that one, and ten dollars…”
“Shut up!” Hans lost his cool and broke for the door. He opened it, only to find himself face to face with a Maine State Trooper.
“Hans Grüber, we have a warrant here for your arrest.”
“I have to say you clearly went above and beyond your job description,” Madison said, raising her champagne glass high. “A toast is definitely in order. To Annette!”
“Hear hear!” Moshe Feigenbaum was beaming. “I knew you were something special when you first came to work for us. But I never dreamed that I would be reading in the New York Times about you single handedly capturing a dangerous fiend!”
“Well, it was hardly single handed,” Annette said. She’d had more than a few glasses of champagne at this point, and it seemed very important to her that she be very clear about what happened. “Clifford was there. And the police did the actual capturing thing.”
“Pfft!” Moshe dismissed her concerns with a wave of his hand. “You are a star. Nobody can tell me different.”
Clifford laughed. “Don’t argue with Moshe, darling. He’s a very wise man.”
Annette blushed. She was still adjusting to Clifford acknowledging their relationship in front of others. It felt strange, but good. Also strange but good was the experience of checking her bank balance: since Madison arranged for the three million in reward money to be paid to her, Annette was a rich woman in her own right.
“I guess you’re right,” she said.
“It’s going to be hard to go back to shopping for surrealists after such an adventure,” Moshe said.
“I’m looking forward to it. And there is an artist I want to talk to you about, Moshe. We discovered him in Maine. He’s a little different, but very, very talented.”
“What artist isn’t different?” Moshe said. “If you think his work is interesting, it’s probably worth taking a look at.”
“We’ll bring a few pieces down next week,” Annette said.
“Don’t fill up your calendar just yet, darling,” Clifford said. He set his phone down, looking very serious.
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“That was Wilbur Ross, of all people.”
Madison’s eyes went wide. “What did he want?”
“He’s calling for help.”
“We can’t help with the Hans situation,” Madison said. “He’s going to have to go through the same process we did to recover his money.”
“No,” Clifford said. “It’s not that. Someone’s stolen his entire collection of Warhols right off his walls.” He turned to Annette. “And he wants us to find them.”
THE END
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Mated
Courtney Clein
Mated
Copyright 2016 by Courtney Clein
First electronic publication: January 2017
All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to person, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Warning: Due to mature subject matter, such as explicit sexual situations and coarse language, this story is not suitable for anyone under the age of 18. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older, and all acts of a sexual nature are consensual.
Mated
1 Lost and Found
Miranda rolled out of bed lazily when she heard a loud knocking on the large oak door of her bedroom. Yawning, she took her silk robe from the wooden rack at the left side of her bed and did a quick glimpse of the digital clock on her computer table which read fifteen past four in the morning.
Rubbing her eyes, she approached the door and made a loose knot on her robes before opening it. She thought that the reason for waking her up at that hour better be reasonable.
“Mira,” called a familiar hoarse baritone voice.
A large figure emerged in her blurry vision when the door swung open. The hallways were dark and if weren’t for the light emitted by the moon she wouldn’t be able to recognize her father. He stood six feet and two inches, making her feel like a dwarf with her five feet and seven inches height. He had thick and long dark wavy locks that were tied into a pony tail and his eyes were gray which she took after him. His shoulders were broad and looked strong despite his age. But what really caught her attention was the change of her father’s looks. It was as if he had suddenly aged.
“Papa,” she whispered groggily. Her annoyance faded when she saw him smiling down at her. She jumped on her feet and gave him a tight hug.
She hasn’t seen him for a whole season. And she missed him so much.
Studying for college far from home was something she personally chose but Miranda didn’t know it was very hard to be away from her only family – her father.
Miranda Walker was the only daughter of Marco Walker, fifty-seven years old, and a successful businessman. He raised her alone when her mother died after giving birth.
When she was just a child, her father would always remind her to be a good girl and to follow the rules in their household – to not ever wander in the woods at the back of the mansion. Her family owned a large chain of estate properties and the Wakerlin – the grounds around their old mansion – was the biggest. Miranda always wondered what it was like to see and explore the forest. But being the obedient child that she was, she never dared to get near the place – not even once.
Growing up in a rich clan was not very nice. It’s not that she was not grateful of living a lavish life. But she felt lonely along the way. Because technically, she grew up by herself with all the servants attending her and she could barely see her father at home.
But he was the only family she has. And she loves him.
“I missed you,” she murmured before moving away from her father, sniffing his familiar scent.
“Want to take a walk?” he asked, pushing the strands of her brunette hair to her left ear.
With gleaming eyes, she nodded in response. She had a long flight back home but she wouldn’t mind the jetlag. It was very seldom to spend quality time with her busy father. After all, she has the entire summer break to get herself some rest.
“I’ll just get dressed. Wait a minute,” she said and skipped on her heels, closing the door shut again. Quickly, she slipped in her morning exercise attire – jogging pants, sweater and rubber shoes.
It didn’t take five minutes and she was already taking the pathways to the garden with her arm encircling her father’s. The moon was full and the stars were bright. And she felt happy and light.
“How’s school?” Marco asked.
“Great! My classmates were cool a
nd my roommates are nice. But…” she bit her bottom lip when she remembered her failing subject.
“But?” she heard him chuckle a little.
“But my professors aren’t really that nice,” she muttered shyly. She knew her dad understood what she meant.
“Of course, Princess,” he paused and heaved a deep breath, “not all people are nice.”
She crumpled her face. “I just wish they’d change a little.”
“Change is something we cannot control, Princess. People would change not because they wanted to,” her dad answered meaningfully, making her grimace.
“Are you okay, Papa?” she asked, stopping in her tracks and faced her old man. He was staring up at the dark sky. And with the reflection of the moon in his eyes, she thought he was just acting like the wise man that he was.
He gave her a nod and a gentle kiss on the forehead before motioning her to continue walking. Just like that, they shared a comfortable silence for about an hour.
When the first sun rays cracked into the dark sky, Miranda felt her father kissing her hair softly.
“Happy birthday, Princess,” he spoke, smiling down at her small figure.
Feeling a rush of excitement, she felt her eyes growing blurry. “I thought you have forgotten again.” Her voice cracked.
“How could I forget? You’re my Princess. I love you, sweetheart. I’m sorry for being a bad father.” He spoke, wiping the tears away from her face.
“No, you’re a great father, Papa. I love you, too.”
Though feeling curious about the sudden sweetness, Miranda couldn’t stop herself from getting emotional. It was like everything she had yearned for so long was already coming true. She may not be able to turn back the time but she could create new memories with her father.
It was not yet too late.
Pacing back and forth in her father’s large office, Miranda took quick glances on her wristwatch. All the visitors for her birthday party have taken their leave. It was already past midnight and her father was not yet back.
Romance: The College Bad Boy: A Young Adult Romance Page 82