by Lexi George
It was, Addy realized once she’d recovered from that mindblowing kiss, Brand’s way of staking his claim. Primitive and medieval, perhaps, but thrilling all the same. And dangerous. She already had a crazed demon after her, and now Brand’s groupies were glaring at her like they’d like to snatch her bald headed. Myrtle Glenn Hollingsworth looked like she wanted to take her shoe off and beat Addy to death with it. And Myrtle Glenn was married. Too bad, she thought, resisting the urge to stick her tongue out at the older woman. Myrtle Glenn and the rest of those women would have to get their own “inter dimensional demon hunter smack your lips he was so gorgeous” dude. This one was hers, at least for now.
The forklift rattled across Muddy’s lawn and stopped in front of the statue. Wilton Miller, the city attorney, pulled up and rolled down his window.
“Mayor Tunstall, Mayor Tunstall,” Wilton hollered, waving at the mayor through the open window. Slamming the car in park, he jumped out. Miller was on the shady side of forty, with a balding pate and very hairy legs that hung out of a pair of cargo shorts like two skinny, hirsute caterpillars. He hurried to the mayor’s side. “I’m glad I got here in time. I’ve been out of pocket and just heard what happened.” He took a swipe at his glistening head and brow with a handkerchief. “As city attorney, I advise you not to allow anyone but the State or the County to move this statue. If someone was to get hurt, the city might be held liable.”
“Lawyers,” Chief Davis said in disgust. “You can’t turn around without one of the blood suckers trying to sue you.”
“I’m trying to prevent a lawsuit, Chief Davis,” Wilton protested. “Did anybody check the weight limit capacity on that forklift? Suppose you manage to get that statue on the truck and have an accident on the way downtown, and Jeb ends up in somebody’s lap? The City gets sued, that’s what.”
Mayor Tunstall blanched. “Wilton has a point. We’d better leave Jebediah here until we get this thing sorted out.”
“In the meantime, I would advise you to post an officer to watch the statue,” Wilton added. “You don’t want a bunch of kids to get hurt trying to steal Jeb’s head.”
“Oh, for the love of—” Chief Davis took off his hat, ran his hand through his hair, and then slammed the hat back on his head. “You’re right, Wilt, that’s the kind of thing a bunch of stupid kids would do. I’ll make sure the damn thing’s guarded.”
The flatbed and the forklift were removed, and an officer posted across the street to keep an eye on Jeb. Bitsy went home but came back later that evening to visit with Muddy.
“Addy, your mama’s coming up the sidewalk,” Muddy said from the back bedroom.
“For crying in the beer.” Addy ran to put Dooley and Mr. Fluffy in her bedroom. She did not want to try to explain a talking dog or a flying cat to her mama.
“Not a word,” she warned Dooley. She shook her finger at the cat. “And you stay put. I mean it.”
She hurried back into the living room.
Bitsy buzzed through the front door like a bluebottle fly in her turquoise linen walking shorts and matching top. “Oh, Mr. Dalvahni, I didn’t realize you were here,” she said. Addy could have sworn the barometric pressure dropped. Mama was a force of nature that caused atmospheric disturbances wherever she went. “What a pleasant surprise to see you again. How long did you say you plan on being in town?”
Mama had that “I’m looking for a husband for my poor old maid daughter, and tag you’re it” look in her eyes. Poor Brand might be a ten-thousand-year-old demon hunter, but Mama was a matchmaking succubus from hell.
“Never mind about that, Bitsy,” Muddy said, charging to the rescue. She’d showered and changed clothes after her nap and wore a pair of casual slacks and a top. Addy flashed her great-aunt a grateful smile. If there was one person who could take the wind out of Mama’s sails, it was Muddy. “I want to know what’s going on between you and Carl E. Davis. I saw you two canoodling under the tree at lunch.”
Bitsy flushed. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, Aunt Muddy. Carl and I are friends.”
“Too bad for you then. That Chief strikes me as a man with lead in his pencil.”
“Lord, Muddy, the things you say!” Bitsy looked ready to die from embarrassment. “What will Mr. Dalvahni think of us? He’s not used to your sense of humor.”
Muddy gave Addy a sly glance. “Oh, if I were a betting woman, I’d bet Mr. Dalvahni has canoodled a time or two. What about you, Addy? You think Mr. Dalvahni has done any canoodling recently?”
Whoosh, Addy felt her face grow hot. If Bitsy was a force of nature, Muddy was that times ten. Unpredictable as lightning and as dangerous. Muddy had saved her from Bitsy, but who would save her from Muddy?
“Muddy, why don’t you tell Mama your big news?” Addy said, grasping for a lifeline. Life was like that with Bitsy and Muddy. Great White shark or combine, take your pick.
Bitsy perked up like a hound dog on the scent. “What news?”
Twenty minutes later, Bitsy rose to take her leave, her attention diverted for the moment from her favorite game of Find A Man For Addy, and firmly focused on Muddy’s upcoming nuptials. Addy had expected Mama to be horrified that Muddy was marrying the town drunk and, according to popular opinion (and Mama’s), a bona fide nutter. But the groom came from old money, and that cured all ills. “Addy, of course, will take care of the flowers,” Bitsy said, “and I will host a bridal luncheon in your honor at the club. I must remember to call tomorrow and book a room, and then see about invitations . . . oh, and have you thought about registering?”
“Amasa’s all the gift I need,” Muddy said firmly.
To Addy’s surprise, her mother’s expression softened. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Muddy? I know Mr. Collier has money and is from a fine family and all, but sometimes that isn’t enough. He’s . . . well, he is a bit eccentric, and then there’s his drinking.”
Mama putting Muddy’s happiness before social position? What was the world coming to? And, what did she mean “sometimes that isn’t enough”? Had Mama been unhappy with Daddy? Her parents’ marriage was something Addy had taken for granted. She’d been barely twelve when her father died. She remembered him as a kind but remote man, his attention focused on his business, no hobbies, and no outside interests except Corwin’s. Didn’t hunt, didn’t fish, and didn’t play golf. Death had been his life, so to speak, and his obsession with work had, undoubtedly, shortened his life. But had it also killed his marriage? Viewing her parents’ union through adult eyes, Addy realized that Mama must have been lonely at times. Maybe that’s why she threw herself into the social whirl, to fill the void. The realization that she might not know her mother at all was an uncomfortable one.
“Go ahead and say what you’re thinking,” Muddy said. “You think Amasa’s a fruitcake and drinks too much. Truth be told, we’re all a little crazy. Some of us just hide it better.” She gave Bitsy a swift hug. “As for the drinking, Amasa says he’s quit, and that’s good enough for me.”
Bitsy wiped her eyes. “I’m real glad to hear it.” She picked up her purse and noticed Brand leaning against a wall on the other side of the room. “You didn’t answer my question, Mr. Dalvahni. How long you plan on being in town?”
“I do not know.”
“Hmm,” Bitsy said. “The strong, silent type, aren’t you?” Addy could almost hear the wheels turning. “Where are you staying?”
“I stay near Adara.”
“Hmm,” Bitsy said again. “Got you a room at the Hannah Inn, have you?”
“That’s right, Mama,” Addy said quickly before Brand could answer.
“Well, Mr. Dalvahni, have Addy bring you by the house one night and we’ll have supper.”
Brand bowed. “I am honored to be invited to your domicile.”
“My goodness!” Bitsy said. “Well, you’ve got good manners, even if you are a Yankee.”
“Brand’s not a Yankee, Mama.”
“Of course he’s a
Yankee, Adara Jean. It’s plain from his accent he’s not from the South.”
Addy opened her mouth to argue and shut it again. People fell into two categories in Mama’s reality. They were either from the South or they were not. If you weren’t from the South, you were a Yankee. Or maybe European. That was as exotic as Mama got. Her world vision ended there. Neat, tidy, and easy to manage.
“Brand’s European, Mama,” Addy heard herself say.
She saw Brand’s eyebrows shoot up and shook her head in warning.
“That right?” Bitsy said. “Well, I knew he wasn’t from around here.”
And with that, she sailed back out of the house taking most of the air and half the electricity with her. Addy could have sworn every lightbulb in the house dimmed when Mama left.
The bedroom door flew open.
“Addy, Addy, Addy!” Dooley bounded up to Addy like Argos greeting Odysseus after a twenty-year absence.
“Hey, Dooley. Who let you and Mr. Fluffy out of the bedroom?”
“Stupid cat open door, Addy.”
Muddy came back from seeing Bitsy to the door. “Addy, why’d you let your mama think Mr. Dalvahni is staying at the Hannah Inn?” She swatted half-heartedly at the kitten flying around the room.
“What else could I say? It’s the only place in town.”
“That place is a flea bag. There are pubic patterns on the sheets.”
“How would you know?”
“That’s where they caught Francine Deason with that new dentist from Namath Springs. He was filling a different sort of cavity, if you know what I mean.”
“Please,” Addy said. “Francine Deason taught me third grade. You’ll give me nightmares.”
“Where are you staying tonight, Mr. Dalvahni?” Muddy asked.
“I stay with Adara to protect her from the djegrali.”
“That’s real nice of you, Mr. Dalvahni.”
“I do not stay to be nice. I stay because it is my duty—”
“But, Mama can’t find out, Muddy,” Addy cautioned, interrupting him. “She’d have a heart attack.”
“—and because Adara has promised me hot monkey sex,” Brand finished.
“Hot diggity dog,” Muddy said.
Chapter Twenty-five
As promised, Chief Davis put a man on duty across the street from Muddy’s to keep an eye on the statue. Dan Curtis volunteered for the six-to-midnight shift and made a nuisance of himself by “checking” on them every half hour.
“Next time the doorbell rings, let Addy answer it,” Muddy said after her fourth trip to the door. “That Curtis boy has the hots for her.”
“What is this ‘hots’?” Brand asked.
“He wants to do it with her.”
“Do what?”
“You know, the mama and daddy dance.”
Brand’s expression remained blank.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” Muddy made a circle with the thumb and forefinger of one hand, stuck her finger in the hole and moved it in and out. “Get it?”
Brand scowled. “You mean he wants to have sexual congress with Adara.”
Muddy gave him a thumbs-up. “Bingo.”
Addy heard a deep rumble in the distance. Lightning flashed, and a deafening clap of thunder shook the house. Dooley yelped and tried to ram her eighty-five-pound body under the couch.
“No,” Brand said.
Addy patted him on the chest. “Relax, big guy. Congress is not in session.”
“I do not understand.”
“She means she’s not having sex with you tonight, not as long as I’m in the house.” Muddy’s eyes twinkled. “Addy’s a bit of a fuddy duddy. She’s embarrassed because I heard y’all going at it this morning.”
Addy’s cheeks burned. “Please, Muddy, don’t remind me. I’m thinking of moving to New Zealand so I don’t have to look at you again.” She turned to Brand. “Relax. I don’t want to have sex with Dan Curtis or anyone else but you. Why would I? Next to you, every other guy on the planet is dog poop.”
Brand’s eyes darkened. “Adara.”
Addy backed away. “Uh uh. You’re gorgeous and irresistible and you make me crazy, but I am not having sex with you tonight. Muddy is right. I can’t have sex with you while my great-aunt is in the house, not when you make me sing like the Morman Tabernacle Choir.” She shrugged. “Maybe it’s because I am a fuddy duddy like Muddy says, or maybe I don’t want to share what we have together with anyone else.”
Brand looked thoughtful. “I see.”
“That is so sweet,” Muddy said, wrinkling her nose. “I think I’m going to puke.”
Later that night, Addy left Brand on the couch and retired to her bedroom alone. Dooley flumped on the floor beside the bed and went to sleep. Dogs could do that, Addy reflected, listening with envy to Dooley’s gentle snoring. Turn the switch and sail off to Dreamland. Mr. Fluffy buzzed around the room for a little while and settled on the floor next to Dooley. Folding his wings, the kitten curled in a ball between the Lab’s legs and went to sleep.
The door down the hall clicked shut, the signal that Muddy had gone to bed for the night. Quiet settled around the house. Turning on her side, Addy stared into the darkness. For some strange reason, her eyes burned. Must be allergies, she thought, snuffling. She sure as heck wasn’t crying over that big jerk sleeping in the living room. He was respecting her wishes, damn him. She was disappointed and sad and lonely, and angry at herself for being such an emotional wreck. She said no to sex, and she meant no . . . didn’t she? A tear trickled down her nose and landed on the pillow. Who knew how much time they had left together? One day soon, maybe tomorrow, he would leave her. She sniffed angrily and wiped her eyes. Maybe he didn’t want her anymore. Maybe he . . .
“Adara, why are you crying?”
She was so wrapped up in her little pity party she hadn’t heard him come in. He stood by the bed looking down at her with a perplexed expression. He was shirtless and barefoot. His jeans were unbuttoned and rode low on his lean hips. Her befuddled gaze drifted from his heavily muscled chest to the sculpted plane of his abdomen. God Almighty, he was beautiful. And ripped. He didn’t have a six-pack. He had a whole freaking case. She followed the narrow strip of dark hair that trailed down his taut stomach and disappeared into the top of his jeans. Her eyes widened when she saw the thick bulge that strained against the denim. Somebody was glad to see her.
“Oh, no you don’t, bub!” She shot upright in bed. “Super Slut Puppy has turned in her cape for the night.”
“Who is Super Slut Puppy?”
“I am, when I’m around you. You turn me into some kind of sex maniac. I can’t help myself.” She glared at him. “It’s not like me, I’ll have you know. I don’t act this way. I don’t understand it.”
“I am very glad to hear it.” He gave her a sexy grin, and she was done for, fried to a crispy, crackly crunch, too stunned to protest when he stretched out on the bed beside her. She gaped at him, hardly noticing when he pulled the covers back, baring her to his gaze. “I do not like to think of you with other men,” he said. “The very thought fills me with rage and sets my brain on fire. And then you know what happens.”
“Y-you burst into flame?”
He traced a pattern along her thigh, and slipped her T-shirt up, exposing her stomach. “Yes, Adara Jean.” He leaned closer. “You set me on fire. I have the—how did your aunt put it?—ah, yes, the hots for you.”
“You do?”
“Most definitely.” He hooked his hand in the waistband of her panties and slid them off. “All day I have burned for you, wanted to be inside you. I was close to despair when you told me you would not have sex with me tonight. I need you, Adara.” He brushed his lips against hers. “I want you. Let me in.”
Her resistance crumbled beneath the tender onslaught. “My aunt,” she gasped as he slipped his finger inside her. “She’ll hear. I can’t—”
“Shh.” Lowering his head, he nuzzled her breast through the cotton T-s
hirt. The combination of his finger inside her and the damp heat of his mouth on her breast was almost too much to bear. She clenched around him, shuddering. “No one will hear,” he said. “I have placed a shield around us.”
“A-a shield?”
He sat up and knelt between her legs. Pushing her thighs apart, he looked down at her. She should have been embarrassed, should have felt exposed, vulnerable. She did not. How could she when he looked at her that way, all hot and hungry, like she was the most beautiful thing he’d seen? He made her feel beautiful, sexy . . . seductive. He made her ache for him.
“Pull your shirt up, Adara.” His deep voice made her shiver. “I want to see your breasts.”
She obeyed, dragging the T-shirt over her breasts.
“Put your hands over your head.”
Again, she obeyed, offering herself to him, legs wide, breasts bare, and arms above her head like the shameless wanton she was. But only for him. Only with him.
He looked down at her spread out before him, his expression intense, strained. “I’m going to kiss you, Adara Jean.” Slowly, he trailed his fingers through the thatch of blond hair between her legs. “Here.”
He bent his head and put his mouth on her, licking, suckling, stroking the sensitive flesh first with the tip and then with the flat of his tongue, driving her out of her mind, sending her spiraling out of control, making her forget everything but the exquisite pleasure of his touch. Super Slut Puppy took her cape out of mothballs and sighed. She moaned, she begged, she pleaded. And, when she reached the top and went over the edge, she screamed, brazen hussy that she was.
With a muttered curse, Brand shoved his jeans down and thrust inside her, moving his hips in a rocking motion that sent her spiraling into another climax. He came a moment later with a hoarse shout.
Their cries of ecstasy echoed around them loud enough to wake the dead.
Or a dog.
Or a flying cat.
Certainly loud enough to wake a certain bawdy old lady.
But the shield held. The quiet of the house remained unbroken by the scuffle of paws, the flap of wings, or a single huzza huzza from Muddy.