by Bebe Balocca
Here we go, Jamie thought anxiously.
He crawled on hands and knees to the rim of the cavern and waved down. “I’m all right!” he shouted. “No problem, guys. Sorry to have alarmed you. You can get back to work now.”
“What the hell are you doing?” Jamie whispered, mortified. “You can’t tease these kinds of people! They’ll throw you to the dogs, Peter!” She bit her fingernail and willed her queasy stomach to calm down.
The man by the pool chuckled. “All right, then, Mr Paul. You gave us quite a scare. We were under the impression that you were on a camping trip, sir, and so were quite alarmed to see someone who resembled you on the surveillance cameras. Fellows, all is well here. You may return to your regular posts.” Jamie heard a couple of woofs and some mutterings—“never even knew this place was down here”—as footsteps retreated back up the hallway.
“What?” Her mouth fell open. “Mr Paul?”
Peter swung his feet out and chatted with the unseen man below him. “Yes, Rick, and I apologise for that. I wanted to personally interview Miss Davis here and I thought it would be especially informative and entertaining to do so when she didn’t know my identity. I feared that if I let you know I was here, the guards would catch on and reveal my secret to Miss Davis.”
“I see,” the man replied. “I’m so pleased that you are safe. Will that be all, sir? If so, I’ll be on my way as well and leave you to your interview. Would you like the waterfall turned back on?”
“Sounds good, Rick.”
“You have got to be kidding me!” Jamie sputtered. “You nearly scared me to death for no reason at all! I was terrified of dogs and lock-ups while you were just chuckling away at your own private joke?”
Water trickled back over the entrance to the alcove then began to gush into the pool at its full strength.
“I’m sorry,” he mouthed at her and flashed that hot-jock grin.
Jamie crab-walked closer to him and smiled. He shrugged—that charming bastard—and started to turn back to her. She caught him in the hip with one swift kick and sent him flying through the curtain of water and splashing into the pool. The startled expression on his face was so priceless that it almost made up for the torment he’d put her through. Almost.
She climbed out of the alcove, descended the stone stairway behind the waterfall and slipped into the churning water. With the music from Jaws thrumming in her head, she skimmed the bottom of the pool and headed straight to his feet with the deadly accuracy of a torpedo. One swift yank and he was dunked again.
When he popped up, sputtering, she stood before him with her arms crossed over her bare chest. “That was really uncool, Peter,” she spat and jabbed her index finger at him. “Although your name isn’t even Peter, is it, Mr Paul?”
He slicked his hair back and acknowledged. “Yeah, it’s Marcus, actually. Marcus Paul. Pleased to meet you.” He smiled sheepishly. “And I know you’re mad. I would be, too. It’s just…” He sighed. “I’ve learnt to be a bit paranoid, I guess. I wanted to learn more about yoga from a professional, but I can’t take classes like a regular person and I can’t just invite anybody to the estate. Security, you know, and the paparazzi bug the hell out of me.”
Jamie grunted, unimpressed.
“I could have let my assistant Rick meet you and interview you, but, ah…” He coloured and licked his lips. “When I read your information and saw your photos, I didn’t want him to have all the fun. I went to a few of your classes to see you in action and I loved what you did. Your Camel Pose got my attention, but it was the Plough Pose that nailed it for me. When you laid on your back, lifted your legs over your head and folded your body in two, I thought I was going to die and go to yoga heaven, right then and there. I’ve been looking forward to some one-on-one instruction from you for weeks.”
She narrowed her eyes as she remembered a certain bearded guy in baggy sweats who’d darted in after class had begun and split the second it was over. Marcus Paul, billionaire, had disguised himself to exercise with her? Was this the golden nugget nestled into the blackest lie? “So you really are interested in learning yoga asanas?” she asked. “From what I saw, you were more interested in exercises that don’t require any special training.”
“Is it my fault that you’re an exceptionally attractive woman?” he countered. “Besides, I don’t seem to recall you protesting the positions we tried out together, Miss Davis.” He took a step towards her and placed his hands on her hips. Jamie felt his shaft brush against her tummy and suppressed a smile. The fizzy bubbles tickled her skin and she imagined that they must feel awfully nice on his intimate parts, too.
“Marcus, huh? And here I am, all used to calling you Peter.” She inhaled sharply when he pulled her to him. Jolts of electricity sparked where her bare nipples grazed against his chest. “Marcus…” He lifted her wet hair from her neck and placed it gently behind her shoulder. “I like it.” She tilted her head at him and confessed, “You don’t look like a tech nerd, you know? You look like a dude who spent a lot of time throwing a football and not so much in front of a computer.”
“What can I say?” he grinned. “I’m good at computers. Maybe not so comfortable about nosy crowds, gold digging girls and people asking me to invest in their start-ups, but totally at ease with a keyboard and a screen.” Marcus ran his hands up her ribs and rolled her nipples beneath his thumbs. “And I’m feeling very, very relaxed around you, Jamie. Must have been those yoga positions we did, huh?”
Her stomach fluttered when his cock, now semi-erect, rubbed against it. “Mm-hm, I guess so,” she said.
“So, you wanna teach me some yoga?” he asked. “Maybe venture into the woods with Zeus, Apollo and me? Take a little trip to Costa Rica on the Gulfstream? There’s a Blue Zone just outside of Nosara, I hear, if you’d like to ride some waves with me.” He planted kisses down her neck and collarbone. “We could do some great stretches there, Jamie.”
He pulled her nipple into his mouth and swirled his tongue over it. “Try some new positions, perhaps?” he murmured into her skin.
Jamie stroked the damp locks on his head as he laved her skin. This is crazy, this is crazy, this is crazy…but then again, I’m not tied down by anything here. Meghan could keep an eye on my bungalow for me. And I’d be a fool to turn away the gifts the world has to offer, right Madame Callais?
He stood upright and pressed his erection into her stomach. “You might have to put up with a weird rich-guy quirk or two. I like my privacy and I like getting out into nature probably more than most men. I’m a travel nut, but always incognito, and often at the drop of a hat. More than a little impulsive, but that’s only because I know what I want.” He stroked her lower lip with his thumb. “I’ll ask you to quit your jobs while you work for me, but I’ll compensate you well. You won’t regret it.”
Marcus lowered his lips to the side of her face and flicked his tongue into the whorls of her ear. “I don’t just want you to teach me yoga, you know,” he whispered. “Be my lover, Jamie.”
She was dizzy with the wild ride he’d given her. She’d gone from seduction to terror to righteous fury, all in one morning—and she realised that perhaps she wasn’t thinking straight. Right now, however, the answer seemed perfectly clear. Perhaps he was a bit unconventional, but he was hot and willing and a billionaire, for Pete’s sake. Jamie traced her hands down his muscled back, gave his sculpted rear a squeeze and nodded.
“Why not, Marcus?” she answered. “After all, I’m extremely flexible.”
Also available from Total-E-Bound Publishing:
Prescott Woods: Bubbles and Troubles
Bebe Balocca
Excerpt
Chapter One
He was tall, lean, and corded with muscle. He slipped through the shadows like mist. Carmen chased him, frustrated, and called out. He’d disappeared into the rustling leaves, and she felt utterly bereft. Would she never feel his touch again?
She whimpered in the silence of the woods, lon
ely and cold. He was gone, and she was alone.
Then he was at her back once more, solid and warm, towering over her. Carmen leaned into him, overwhelmed with relief and longing.
“You’re back,” she breathed. “You came back for me. I hoped so much that you would.”
He cupped her breast with his right hand and slid his other down her belly. The skin of her abdomen warmed and moulded to the shape of his fingers and palm.
His erection pressed into the small of her back and he moved his left hand lower, yanking down her skirt and panties. Carmen’s breaths quickened. She reached behind her and drew him closer, gripping the clenched cheeks of his bare ass with her hand. “Yes,” she whispered.
He stroked between her legs, teasing the edges of her pussy lips with the lightest of touches, before sliding his fingers inside. Carmen arched against him and felt wetness flow from her cunt over his knuckles. She writhed in his embrace, twisting her spine so that his hardened shaft ground against her lower back. He shoved his fingers deep within her, stretching her, and Carmen spread her thighs wide. She covered the hand that fucked her with her own, urging him to push deeper and faster.
Abruptly, he forced her to her knees on the woodland floor. Carmen caught herself with her hands and gasped to feel the tip of his cock nudging the entrance to her pussy. She lowered her weight onto her elbows and thrust her ass high into the air.
He entered her with one aggressive stroke. His shaft, impossibly thick and long, seemed too big for her, but her dripping wetness eased the snug entry. “Fuck, yes,” Carmen whispered. She feared that she might split into pieces, skewered by that magnificent organ of his. It was a delicious, searing, perfect pain.
She flattened her chest on the ground, bending in two. The dry leaves rustled beneath her, delicate and feathery on her sensitive nipples, as his thrusts shook her entire body.
“Come inside me,” she murmured. “Fill me up.”
He trembled and stopped briefly, pulling out with elaborate slowness, and gripped her waist tightly. Eager wetness coated Carmen’s lower lips.
Then he shoved it all in, fucking her furiously, and came with a roar. She fell into her own shuddering, raging climax. The walls of her pussy contracted in rhythmic spasms, matching beat-for-beat the spurts of thick fluid that gushed from his shaft.
Carmen bucked against him, drawing out her orgasm, and scraped her tits on the leaf-strewn forest floor.
* * * *
Cock-a-doodle-doooo!
Carmen exhaled and pulled her slickened fingers from between her legs. Cool grey light flooded the room.
Once more, that huge stray cat was sitting outside her window on the ledge, staring in.
“Like what you see, kitty-cat?” Carmen asked.
The fluffy grey cat meowed, brilliant blue eyes flashing, and leapt away. Carmen made a mental note to buy some cat food at the store and try to convince the big tom to stick around. Recently, she’d noticed signs of mice in the chicken coop—she could use a good mouser.
Life on Carmen’s little farm meant rising at the crack of dawn, but she loved every day of her life in the eastern Kentucky country. She stretched with a satisfied groan and then used a tissue to wipe off her sticky fingers.
* * * *
“Come on, girls! Breakfast time!” Carmen opened the door to the henhouse and scattered scratch feed over the ground. Agatha, the dove-grey Silkie, and Bella, the black-and-white speckled Andalusian, trotted over and began pecking away. Scarlett and Melanie, the fluffy, fancy Faverolles, stuck close together and approached cautiously. The other birds sometimes bullied them. Carmen thought they must be jealous since Scarlett and Melanie were by far the prettiest chickens in the flock.
Gretel, the robust black Jersey Giant, sidled up next to Carmen. Gretel was as friendly as she was hefty. Suellen, the orange New Hampshire Red, worked her way in between Agatha and Bella. Spare Tire, the Bantam rooster, hopped down from his favourite black rubber perch and strutted around his girls. Carmen’s mellow golden Labrador, Dax, exited his doghouse and sat by Carmen’s feet with a proprietary air. He and Spare Tire had an uneasy truce. Both felt it was their job to protect the girls—the chickens and Carmen—and Carmen had made it clear that peace between her boys was the only option. Dax locked eyes with Spare Tire and huffed, then trotted back to his doghouse to observe the scene from the comfort of his cedar chip bed.
Rewind it all five years and Carmen would never have imagined that she’d be living here in this old cabin next to the woods, with six chickens, a rooster, and a big yellow dog as her foster children. Not to mention working at an organic vegetable co-op. Oh, and belly dancing. I’m a regular hippie, she chuckled to herself. City-boy Ian would be totally appalled.
How things change, Carmen thought, scattering another handful of grain for the flock of chickens. Five short years ago she’d been on the career fast track in Chicago. She and Ian had both been corporate lawyers living in Lincoln Park. Ian was handsome, glamorous and driven, so being his girlfriend had been an ego-enhancing thrill ride. Carmen had loved going out on Ian’s arm and knowing that all eyes had been on the lean, elegant, fashionable man beside her. Their weekdays—and often weekends, too—had been busy and challenging with legal work, but free time had been nothing but sweet. Fabulous restaurants, the best wine, erudite friends, and trendy parties—Carmen had known she had it made. When Ian had taken her to Fishbone Alley on their three-year anniversary, Carmen had hardly been able to contain her excitement. She had just known he had been going to propose, and it was just like Ian to pop the question in their favourite restaurant.
That night, Ian had shown her just how little she knew. “God, I never saw it coming,” Carmen muttered, watching Agatha and Bella take a break from pecking the ground to sip from their water dish.
Ian had waited until after dessert before dropping his bomb.
“I’m glad we had a last special evening together, Carmen, because I wanted us to share a final night together.”
Those calm, cool words of his had sucked the blood right out of her face. “Final?” she’d asked, baffled.
“I’d like you to meet someone,” Ian had said. He’d beckoned over her shoulder. Carmen had turned and had seen the head chef of Fishbone Alley walking to their table. Chef Morgan Greenway had worked his way across the crowded dining room, smiling broadly at Ian and greeting customers, then had given Carmen a brief nod.
The stocky chef with the face of a seasoned boxer had marched right up to Ian and Carmen’s table then he’d taken Ian’s hand in his.
Carmen’s head had spun. “Are you kidding me, Ian? After three years of being a couple, you’re telling me that you’re into men? Seriously?” She’d scrunched her nose, trying to make sense of what had been before her. “You’re into chefs?”
Ian had cleared his throat. “Look, Carmen, I know it’s not fair to you. It’s just something I discovered about myself. Well, with Morgan’s help.” He’d locked eyes with the chef. The two men couldn’t have looked more different—Ian, with his delicate, aristocratic features, and Morgan, who looked fresh from a brawl in the alley—but they’d clearly shared a bond.
Carmen’s reaction had surprised everyone, including herself. She had laughed.
Ian and Morgan had exchanged confused looks. Carmen had stood up and had tossed her napkin down onto the table.
“I should have seen it coming,” she’d managed to force out between loud guffaws. “You’re just a little too pretty, Ian, and a little too fashionable for a straight dude. The funny thing is that I thought you were going to propose tonight.” Tears of laughter had squeezed out from Carmen’s eyes and she’d gripped her shaking sides. An embarrassed hush had fallen over the restaurant. “I’m going to leave you the cheque though, or maybe you can ask your boyfriend to take care of it.” Carmen had collected her purse and jacket. “You boys have fun with whatever you do next, okay?”
Carmen had walked past a couple of stunned tables before wheeling back around t
o Ian. “Give me three days in our house,” she’d announced, “to clear out my stuff. Don’t come home at all, and don’t call me. I don’t want to see or hear from you ever again. I want the house sold immediately and I want half of the profits sent to me through my parents. You’ve got their phone number, right? From those Christmases we spent with them?” Carmen, seething, had swept her gaze around the packed restaurant. Expensively dressed people had filled each table, and every single shocked eye had been on her. The cruel hilarity of the situation had overwhelmed her. “I’m grateful, Ian”—she’d laughed bitterly—“because I see now that I don’t belong with you, and I don’t belong among these people, and I don’t belong in this city.” Carmen had marched to the front door with her head held high, had walked out, and had never looked back.
She was snapped out of her reverie by a soft, insistent nudge. Gretel, determined to get at a cricket between Carmen’s feet, had wedged her chunky black bulk between her ankles. Carmen tossed the last of her grain to the chickens and replaced the cup in the feed barrel. She eased down into her padded swing and stared into the Prescott woods.
In the five years she’d lived there, Carmen had only made a few short forays into the woods. Somehow, she felt out of place there, even intimidated. She’d attributed it to the fact that she was, in fact, trespassing, and decided to listen to her instincts. Those woods were better left alone. Besides, there was plenty of nature to explore in and around Charade, and plenty of wildlife, both human and animal. Gretel, appetite satisfied at last, clucked and looked up at her with curious black eyes.
She lifted the chunky black chicken to her lap and stroked her glossy feathers. The June morning was already balmy, and soon temperatures would climb into the mid-eighties. The shadowy woods would be dark and cool, though…
Carmen shook her head and gently placed Gretel on the ground. Those woods were off-limits, both because they belonged to Calvin Prescott and because of the creepy vibe they gave her.
She picked up her basket and entered the chicken coop to collect the eggs. Oddly, the chickens had had another light day of laying. Normally, the girls would give her at least four or five eggs every day, and frequently more. Often, Gretel was good for two or three all by herself. The last week or so, however, Carmen had only found two eggs in the coop every morning. She checked the latch on the coop’s door. It was secure and hadn’t been gnawed by an animal. Besides, if animals had been getting into the coop, they’d have bothered the birds. And Dax, of course, wouldn’t tolerate anyone messing with his chickens. She looked back at the little flock. They all looked robust and relaxed as they explored the fenced backyard. She scanned the edge of the woods for any sign of the huge grey tomcat. “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty,” she called out, but there was no sign of the furry grey feline. Apparently he’d gone off to wherever he went when not peeking through her window. Carmen shrugged and went inside to get dressed for the day.