Red Hot Alphas: 11 Novels of Sexy, Bad Boy, Alpha Males (Red Hot Boxed Sets Book 2)

by Jo Raven

  “Devon told me you had a conversation about handling the business,” Emily says.

  “Yes? I’m glad he agreed to handle everything, I’m not sure how I could ever have learned all there is to know in such a short time.”

  “He is distraught too at William’s loss. I think it’s a way for him to honor his memory. He is indebted to you for letting him be the manager of William’s estate—well, your estate now. He’s glad he can take care of all this, now that William is not here anymore to do it. He feels he owes it to his son.”

  “I’m confident this should be a family company, and I’m sure no one else can do a better job than Mr. Wayworth. My parents will be happy to give a hand too, if you need anything from a law firm.”

  “Constance, do you know what the family company is about?” she asks.

  “No, I don’t. I have really no idea—no offense intended,” I say sheepishly.

  “None received,” she answers with a gentle smile. “I suppose we’ll have time to get you up to speed on this later. I hope … I hope you will keep an open mind.”

  I have no time to ask about that statement, as she continues with a topic that is close to my heart: “What do you remember about William, when you were young?”

  “I remember that we used to run around my parents’ previous home, exploring the gardens. In the summer, we splashed in the little pond there, where my parents had put all those koi fish.”

  Another wonderful memory. One I had not remembered until now.

  “Tell me more about that pond,” she says, smiling.

  “Well … I loved those fish, but they would gather at the border of the pond only when I would bring some bread crumbs—which my mother ultimately forbade, because I brought too much and I would have overfed them and made them sick. And so the fish lost their habit of coming to see me when I arrived at the pond. I remember I was so sad about it.”

  Emily nods in silence, still smiling, a knowing look on her face.

  “Binniboy had such an incredible bond with those fish. It used to make me so jealous. Every time he was there, the fishes would come.

  “I remember crying one time. I found it so unfair that the fish would ignore me and go to him.”

  “Yes, William had an amazing connection with all sorts of animals,” she says, and I remember the electric blue butterflies as well. “Tell me more.”

  “How do you know there’s more to the story?” I say, astonished.

  “With William, there was always more,” she answers, a mysterious smile on her face.

  I see a glint of happiness in her eyes, and it encourages me to continue telling my memory of that day at the pond.

  “That day, Binniboy—William—took my hand, and we walked into the pond, shoes on and all. It was shallow under the waterlilies, and we crossed to the center of it. And then, all the fish gathered around us, wriggling. We stood in the water together, water up to our waists, our hands still linked, and I put my other hand in the water. The fish kept brushing themselves against it, as if they wanted to be caressed. It was amazing.”

  Emily sheds a tear at my shared memory. She doesn’t seem like she wants to take her hand out of mine.

  “William had a gift,” she says. “It was like this with all kinds of animals, ever since he was a little baby. The first day I took him outside in the park, when he was still a newborn, a dozen birds flew around us—not threatening, although we were very surprised. It was beautiful. Otherworldly. A few of them, very colorful ones, perched on the baby stroller and tweeted at William one of the most beautiful bird songs I have ever heard in my entire life.”

  This memory could have sounded like a fairy tale to me, if I hadn’t lived what I lived yesterday. I am certain she is not making this up, that this really did happen.

  “Come with me,” she says, getting up and pulling on my hand to make me follow her. “I want to show you something.”

  When we get upstairs to her bedroom, Devon Wayworth has already gone to take care of the family business. The bed is still unmade—the help has not gotten up here to tidy up yet.

  She looks happier than she has been the last few days. Talking about William seems to help her cope. As for me, I am eager to hear any stories involving him.

  She takes an old photo album off a bookshelf. We sit side by side on the bed, and she opens it. Slowly, we look at the photos of a very young William: at six months old with a little bird perched on his shoulder. At two, caressing a stag ten times as big as he was. At three, his hands full of various species of snakes—small ones, big ones, long ones, colorful ones. The photo might have been horrifying, except for his gigantic, proud smile, showing some missing teeth as young children do when they’re that small.

  Emily turns the page again, and there is a photo of William and me. His finger is on his mouth as he is telling me not to say a word. In my hand is a red squirrel is holding a nut. The look on my face is priceless: my mouth is forming a perfect O and my eyes are popping at the little miracle it was for me to hold such a pretty creature.

  “I had forgotten about this,” I whisper.

  Emily turns another page, but it is blank. There are no more photos in the album.

  “How amazing it is that he was able to bond with all those animals,” I muse aloud.

  “He had a magical gift.” Emily turns to me, and a serious look comes over her face as she adds: “That’s why I can’t believe an animal is what killed him.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, stunned by the turn this conversation has taken.

  “I mean that there is no way an animal could have done this to him. I have memories of him mesmerizing any animal we came across. Once, he even charmed a bear at the circus when he was four. It was gigantic and could have knocked off our heads in one fell swoop. But it only had eyes for William, it even ignored its trainer and kept coming back to him to be petted.”

  “So, you think that whatever is out there in the woods…?”

  “Is not an animal.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CONNECTING BODIES

  Those thoughts don’t leave me for the rest of the day. What Emily said to me doesn’t make sense in a logical way, but it makes perfect sense based on what I remember from my time with Binniboy. He was so close to every animal that crossed his path—how on Earth could he have been harmed by one of them? But the police report we received was unequivocal: he had been killed by an enormous animal, probably a huge wolf. It made no sense, though—there are no wolves around this parts of the country.

  I scout the cemetery right before sunset, wondering if there is anything I’m missing. Something bugs me to no end, but I can’t figure out what.

  The horrible scent I smelled earlier is almost gone, though it still lingers a little around William’s grave.

  I remember what happened the last time I didn’t come back home when night fell, so I just make a quick stop in front of the head stone before heading back.

  “I don’t know if you can hear me…” I say out loud. “I don’t know if you can come out at all during the day. Maybe I hallucinated the other night—but I really doubt that. I’ll be around later. I really want to see you again.”

  Please be there when I come back. I remember how his arms around me felt, and though I am very curious about understanding the cause of William’s death, I cannot push aside these memories and longing. I want to feel that passion, to be close to someone again and feel those feelings once more. Strike that—I want to be close to William again and no one else.

  When I arrive near the mansion, I can see a few trucks and U-Hauls parked in front of the entrance. I force myself to be proper and not run toward the house. I know what’s in there—my stuff, finally! My parents must have been really diligent, knowing I’d be bored to tears without it. They’ve brought my computer, my books, a lot of my clothes and personal items. The last car is marked with the logo of the most famous internet provider in the country.

  Life is finally going to be bearable in
that big mansion of mine.

  I help direct the movers into the house, relieving the help. Next to my room, there is another guest bedroom that is not occupied. They have a communication door, so I claim it as my own and decide to make it my office.

  I ask for some help from the movers and they empty the room of its bed and its gigantic wardrobe. They deposit all my stuff there, still in boxes, for me to look at later. I roam through the house with two maids to find an unused desk and some bookshelves, which I ask them to empty, and have the movers to bring them into the new room. I also make them take out the double doors between my bedroom and my new office. There: it really feels like my own home in a home I’m not used to. This is my place—more than the rest of the mansion that doesn’t feel like it belongs to me yet.

  I know that tomorrow is going to be a big day. I need to get more stuff, like a television set and maybe a sofa to put in there. I’ll ask someone from the staff to help me, and whatever I can’t find in the mansion, I’ll order online to be delivered here.

  It’s hard to think about the mansion as my own property, not with all the people who were there before me and think of it as their home too. Not with all the memories they have. I cannot impose my tastes and move things around—not so quickly anyway, it wouldn’t feel right.

  I feel the need to respect the way things have always been, though I’m entitled to do whatever I want with the place. All those people are mourning too—I can see it in their eyes, in how they express their condolences. For most of them, this was not just a job. They cared about William.

  So I cannot arrive here and move things around; it would be inconsiderate.

  But these two rooms? They’re mine. I know I can claim this much and make decisions about them without hurting anyone’s feelings. And now I can really feel like I live in my own place. I know it will feel good once I’m settled.

  I open one of the boxes, the one labeled Computer, and take my laptop with me on the bed. The mansion is old, but the way the electric sockets are placed, and the quantity of them, is great. Someone at some point redesigned it for numerous electronics, and it sort of changes my vision of an old, dusty place into a welcoming home that can be livable in this new millennium. Nerdy girl that I am, I’m delighted. I run downstairs and back to my room quickly to get the newly installed wi-fi’s parameters.

  The first thing I do once the laptop is up and running is click my inbox link, but I close the tab right away as I spot dozens of emails waiting for me. Best wishes from people who wrote to me before the wedding—or from people who don’t know about William’s passing yet. I cannot deal with this right now. I’m torn between being crushed after I learned that my husband was my childhood sweetheart, feeling the need to adjust to the new situations that arise, and most of all being completely disoriented about the supernatural occurrences I’ve witnessed.

  I load my favorite search engine, and my fingers hover over the keyboard, wondering what request I could type to help me understand what’s happening with William. I throw in a few keywords and read through a list of websites about ghosts.

  There’s a lot of information there, but the people who wrote it are not all making sense nor agreeing with each other. One thing I read over and over again is that ghosts may linger on Earth, unable to go on to heaven, because they have unfinished business, and I wonder if this is what is keeping William around.

  As much as I appreciate the opportunity to be able to see him again now that I know that he is my Binniboy, I’m upset at the thought he is a ghost. What could be his unfinished business? On the websites, they say that a ghost that stays too long after his death will grow angry with time, not being able to tell his loved ones how to help him. That part I don’t understand—William seemed to be perfectly capable of talking to me when we met last time … I should be able to ask him about this.

  And then it occurs to me … what did William want to do last time? He wanted— he wanted to consummate our marriage. He wanted to hold me and kiss me and make love to me. If this is what he needs, I am more than willing to comply—even though I know in my heart that, once he disappears after he fulfills his unfinished business, I will be crushed with loss. Being intimate is going to be wonderful, I just know it…but it is also going to shatter my heart into a thousand pieces when he disappears forever.

  I close my laptop and lie back on my bed, staring at the ceiling. Outside, the sky is dark, and the house is growing silent. I told my mother earlier that I got my computer and internet back, and she must have told the rest of the household not to worry about me not coming down to have dinner with them. I can be a little bit obsessed with all this, and she knows it. No one has come to find me, respecting my need to spend some time alone. They must have figured it’s no big deal: there’s always a lot to eat in the gigantic fridge downstairs, and I can fetch food for myself.

  I head downstairs as silently as I can manage, hoping that everybody has retired to their own quarters. My eyes have adapted to the darkness in the hall, and I can see where I am walking. The kitchen’s light is off, and I can see the time on the lit electronic display: it’s eleven-thirty.

  I open the kitchen door and go into the night, hoping the sound of my footsteps on the pebbles will not be waking anybody up. I circle the mansion and find my way to the cemetery. Something is telling me I should be more prudent—or at least afraid of that animal they haven’t caught yet—but all I feel is excitement at the idea of seeing William once more.

  “William?” I call as a whisper when I arrive in front of his grave.

  “I’m here,” I hear from behind me as two arms snake around my waist. I turn around quickly and find myself facing William. His face is handsome, his eyes serious and longing. Little blue flames are covering his body, but they are not hurting me where he touches me—they’re making me want him even more, if that’s possible. They’re representing the fact that love can transcend death.

  He bends, and his mouth searches for mine, his hands pulling me close to him and making my back arch to ease into his embrace. All I wanted to ask or to say takes a back seat to the hunger I feel for his kiss. My hands fly up to his broad chest, and I move my lips with his, synchronizing myself to his lust in zero point three seconds. After a minute, we break for air, and I have a hard time breathing slowly.

  “I have missed you so much,” he says in between kisses on my throat and neck. “I don’t know how I was able to stay away from you all this time.”

  At his words, my heart breaks. I love him so much. I realize that I will do whatever I need to in order to appease him and let him move on to the other side, even though I know it will break my heart. He is in pain. He shouldn’t be. Don’t worry, William. I will do whatever you need to be able to rest in peace.

  “I’m here now,” I breathe in his ear. “I want you. Take me like you would have on our wedding night. I’m ready.”

  He gasps and pushes me backwards, still holding me tightly in his arms. We take a few steps toward the tombstone, and I sit on it when I feel it against my legs. He presses on my shoulder until I lie down, the coldness of the stone giving me goosebumps and contrasting with the heat emanating from my body.

  His hands unbutton my blouse slowly, and I feel the weight of his gaze on my breasts. His rough fingers trace their shape and press them, feeling their weight, sneaking under the fabric and pulling my bra up. I want this so much, but at the same time I still feel shy like last time as he looks at me intensely. His mouth finds one of my nipples, sucking strongly on it. He groans as his fingers press into my thigh. I can feel my pussy contracting from the pleasure I feel at his touch.

  This time, he is not as careful as he was last time, when he first touched me. His hands are more adventurous and confident, as he strips me down, leaving me naked under his eyes.

  He’s magically naked all of a sudden, and I can see his full body as he stands in front of me. He is strongly built, ripped, as if he had spent all his life working out. His penis is erect, and
I’m a bit afraid at its size now that I can see it, wondering if it is going to fit into me. He crawls over me, and I feel his manhood poking against my leg.

  He puts his hand down into my folds to make sure I’m ready for him, sending electric sensations into me as his fingers stroke down there. He guides his penis with his hand and pushes slowly to slide in. As I suspected, it is really huge, and I can feel it filling me inside. At first, it hurts a little, but as he moves around it starts to feel great. I start moving rhythmically with him, meeting his flesh with mine repeatedly, and he takes this as an encouragement, upping the rhythm.

  His arms tighten around me, and our hips and cheek muscles are the only part of us that keep moving, separating and then joining again, sliding against each other as one. I feel his breath intensifying against my neck. The feeling of his body against mine, and his penis entering me again and again, are amazing. It feels so good I never want it to stop.

  A few tears escape from my eyes, and I nip at his shoulder, prompting him to give harder thrusts. “Constance,” he groans, “you feel so good.”

  My moans are becoming louder, but I don’t care. I am totally focused on the sensations in the lower part of my body. I feel I’m close to coming; I’m tense as a violin string, increasingly desperate for satisfaction.

  “Tell me when you’re going to come,” he commands, his head buried into my neck. “I want to look at you when you do.”

  “I— I— Don’t stop,” I beg. “I’m almost there.”

  He lifts his head up and stares at me as I reach the border of my orgasm. I can feel it, it’s right there, ready to explode any second now. I feel heat in my cheeks, ashamed at showing that very private moment—even to my husband. I turn my head to the side and close my eyes, and a few seconds later, I shiver all over, arching from the pleasure that radiates from between my legs. My cry of pleasure resonates in the cemetery, and I hear a few nocturnal birds taking flight.