But Rachel was telling him it was time to move on, so he was.
Dante parked his car outside Sydney’s house and walked up to the front door, knocking loudly.
It took a good two minutes for the door to open and then there stood Sydney, in her pajamas. In his enthusiasm to get here, he’d completely forgotten it was still early.
“Syd, I’m sorry. It’s not even seven yet,” he apologized.
“It’s okay.” The smile that accompanied her words said she was every bit as glad to see him as he was to see her.
“How’s your arm?” He nodded at the bandaged wound.
“Eighteen stitches.”
“Were you able to get any sleep?” She might be holding up better than most people would, but that didn’t mean he thought she could survive this unscathed. What had happened would affect her—she’d been kidnapped and nearly killed. How could it not?
“I got a little.” The look in her eyes said that sleep had been a struggle. She no doubt had nightmares. “How’re you doing?” She asked, her eyes taking in the myriad of scratches and bandages covering his face and hands, there were many more beneath his clothes that she couldn’t see.
“I’m fine.” He brushed it off. The scariest part for him had been the fear of something happening to Sydney. They’d gotten the pleasantries out of the way. Now it was time to say what he’d come here to say. “Given everything that’s just happened, this might not be the best timing, but I was wondering if you want to spend the day with me. I don’t have to go to work, and I thought we could maybe go to this little bookstore that I know of and then maybe go for a picnic.”
There—he’d said it.
It was out there.
It was done.
Now he just had to see what Sydney was going to say. He hoped she’d say yes. The bookshop idea he was pretty sure would swing her if she was wavering, but he wanted a real yes. The beast inside him had been vanquished last night when he’d fought for their lives. He was ready to be a man again. He was ready to have a life again.
Dante hoped Sydney said yes.
7:00 A.M.
Dante was standing on her doorstep.
Tall, dark, and handsome. He was looking super sexy in his tight-fitting jeans and simple gray shirt, and those dark eyes were mesmerizing, she could stare into them forever. Sydney couldn’t deny that it was hard to resist the urge to throw herself into his arms and kiss him like she had dreamed about in what little sleep she’d had before the nightmares came.
He had a bouquet of roses in his arms, and a picnic basket sat at his feet. Sydney knew that his idea of going to a bookshop was because he knew that she would love that.
And she did.
It was a very sweet idea for a first date.
So, she had Dante here at her house at seven in the morning, asking her out on a date.
This was what she wanted, right?
It was certainly what she had dreamed about last night. She had dreamed that he did a whole lot more than turn up on her doorstep. Her dreams were more along the lines of clothes being thrown off, a lot of kissing, and some passionate lovemaking.
She wanted to take that dream and make it a reality. Only she was pretty sure it was inappropriate to throw yourself like that at a guy you’d just met. It was inappropriate for her, anyway. She didn’t have sex with guys on the first date.
“Sydney? You’re not saying anything. What I’ve learned about you after the last two days, is that you talk. A lot,” Dante said with a small smile.
That coaxed a smile out of her. He was right. It was abnormal for her not to talk. But he’d just asked her out, and as much as she wanted to say yes, she was nervous. It was one thing to want to move on, it was one thing to daydream about how hot the sex would be, but it was another to have fallen for someone so quickly.
And she had fallen for him already.
“I’m really glad you came here,” she started. “I was thinking about you all night, and I am happy you’re here, but I … I can’t because I just can’t … But I want to. I really want to. It’s just, I’m a widow, and you’re practically a widower, and I don’t know how well things will work out. Not to mention the fact that we’re both different. You’re a cop and you work all the time. I’m a librarian whose idea of a fun time is curling up in my favorite rocking chair, snuggled under a blanket, reading a book. I don’t know that you’d really enjoy doing that. So, it’s not that I don’t want to, because I do, I think I said that already, it’s just that I’m not sure—”
Dante—having learned that she truly did not stop talking when she was nervous until someone made her and already knowing the perfect way to get her to stop talking—broke off her rambling by wrapping an arm around her waist, dragging her up against him and crushing his mouth to hers.
Without even thinking, she curled an arm around his neck while her other hand tangled in his dark hair as she returned his kiss and pressed closer.
In that kiss, all her doubts melted away. It was like Mitch’s voice was in her head telling her that it was okay to move on. That he wanted her to be happy, and that if Dante could make her happy then she should grab hold of that and never let it go.
“Are you crying?” Dante asked, pulling back so he could see her.
“Happy tears,” she assured him. “Want to take this inside?”
“Do you really have to ask?” He winked.
“Uh-uh.” She shook her head.
Dante lifted her feet off the ground, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, her lips brushing against his as he carried her into her house.
There were hard parts about moving on but there were good points, too, and this was a good point. It had been a long time since a man had held her and kissed her like all they could think about was ripping her clothes off and making love to her. It was nice to feel desirable again, to feel special and wanted. She was always going to love Mitch, but there was room in her heart for someone else.
There was room in her heart for Dante.
She didn’t know what the future held. She didn’t know if she and Dante would make it as a couple, and while she thought they stood a good chance, even if it didn’t work out, at least she’d have taken the hardest step of moving on.
The first one.
Only Dante wasn’t making it all that hard.
He had told her last night as they sat at the side of the road and waited for his colleagues to arrive about his own loss. They had both reached the lowest lows of life, but the timing was right for both. They were both in that place where they were ready to cherish the past in their hearts and move forward.
Sydney sighed delightedly as Dante laid her down on the couch and stretched out on top of her. There definitely were good parts about moving on, and she couldn’t wait to experience all of them.
The End
Meet a serial killer with an obsession with blood, a woman who just lost everything, and a cop with trust issues and start the Count to Ten series for FREE with One.
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www.janeblythe.com.au
About the Author
Jane Blythe has loved reading and writing since she can remember. She writes dark and disturbing crime/mystery/suspense with some romance thrown in because, well, who doesn’t love romance?! She has several series including the complete Detective Parker Bell series, the Count to Ten series, the Christmas Romantic Suspense series, and the Flashes of Fate series of novelettes.
When she’s not writing Jane loves to read, bake, go to the beach, ski, horse ride, and watch Disney movies. She has a black belt in Taekwondo, a 200+ collection of teddy bears, and her favorite color is pink. She has the world’s two most sweet and pretty Dalmatians, Ivory and Pearl. Oh, and she also enjoys spending time with family and friends!
Fiona Quinn: Relic
Relic
By Fiona Quinn
Author’s Rating:
Language: ** Sexuality: * Violence: **
For your convenience each book in this collection has been rated by the author for language, sexuality and violence, so that you as a reader can make an informed choice.
Our collection includes books that span the intensity range.
Language Intensity:
* - No or mild profanity, if any
** - Stronger profanity, with up to 5 uses of the f-word
*** - Strong language
Sexuality Intensity:
* - Sexual reference or no sexuality
** - Sexual reference which might include some details.
*** - Intense, descriptive sexual scenes
Violence Intensity
* - Violence, but no gory details.
** - Mild violence, fairly detailed with some blood
*** - Detailed violence
Thorn is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
©2018 Fiona Quinn
All Rights Reserved
Fonts with permission from Microsoft
Publisher’s Note:
Neither the publisher nor the author has any control over and does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites and their content.
No part of this book may be scanned, reproduced, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without the express written permission from the publisher or author. Doing any of these actions via the Internet or in any other way without express written permission from the author is illegal and punishable by law. It is considered piracy. Please purchase only authorized editions. In accordance with the US Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at [email protected].
Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
Blurb
Digging for the Truth Can Be Deadly
Brian Is Ex-Special Forces.
He’s working for a security group that only hires the best of the best. His job is fueled by danger and adrenaline, and he loves every minute of it. At least he did up until this minute. When Sophia walks into their briefing room, Brian’s heart stops. Sophia is the woman who spun his world and stole his heart then disappeared from his life.
Now, She Needs Protection.
Sophia is fighting to safeguard Syrian relics from being stolen and sold into private collections by terrorists. Her colleagues are being kidnapped and killed. But the FBI doesn’t believe all is as it seems with Sophia. The Bureau thinks she's helping to sell conflict relics, funding terror, and putting America and her allies at risk.
This Case Will Test Brian’s Conviction, Honor, and Courage
Brian loves Sophia deeply, but which will win the war, his heart or his sense of duty?
1
Sophia
Monday
A remaining sliver of consciousness reminded Sophia that this was a nightmare. She was asleep in her bed in the suburbs of Washington, D.C., waiting for her alarm to release her from the despair of her dream. That dim glow of awareness whispered to her that it was a sweat-drenched sheet wrapped around her legs and not an astronaut’s uniform. Her bunched muscles cramped from tension, not oxygen deprivation. And that ringing sound was her phone, not the satellite she chased in her battle to save herself and her two young sons.
On the next ring, Sophia Abadi snaked her hand out from under the covers and pulled the receiver to her ear. She still hadn’t settled fully back into her body. Part of her floated in a nebula waiting for the call to be over and the dream to continue. “Yes?” she whispered on an exhale. One eye peeked open to take in the early morning, pearl-gray sky.
“Oh good, you’re up!” It was astonishing how chipper her neighbor Penny’s voice could sound at—Sophia squinted at her bedside clock—six a.m. Sophia had another fifteen minutes before her day was officially supposed to begin.
Sophia cleared her throat and came up on one elbow. “Is everything okay?” She was exhausted from her efforts to catch the satellite and discover the secret to survival. A lasting web of anxiety tangled around her throat, making her choke on her words. She turned her head away from the receiver to cough.
“Oh sure, everything’s fine. Just fine.” Penny sounded like she was on her second, maybe third cup of coffee, though the conviviality seemed forced.
Sophia pulled herself around to plant her feet on the ground, steeling herself for whatever Penny had called about at the crack of dawn.
“I simply wanted to make sure that I caught you before you went outside this morning.”
Adrenaline snapped Sophia fully awake. She launched herself toward her window, yanked back the drapes, and peered out over the front lawn, scanning for something amiss. “What did you do?” she breathed out in a barely audible whisper.
“Mmm,” Penny hummed as Sophia jogged down the stairs. “Me and the girls were playing a little Texas Hold’em and having some margaritas last night.”
Sophia threw open the door. Standing in the gentle warmth of a late May morning, nothing seemed wrong.
“We didn’t invite you because you’re not a stay-at-home mom, and we knew you’d have to work today. School’s off for us. Teacher planning day.” Penny was stalling.
“What did you do?” Sophia asked again, knowing that the women in her neighborhood had the maturity level of unsupervised middle-schoolers with the key to their parents’ liquor cabinet—a deficit that was egged on by their ringleader Marla, who had a definite screw loose.
“We played a little prank on you.” Penny’s voice wavered.
Sophia knew Penny was chewing on a hangnail the way she always did when she said something she wasn’t comfortable with. The line was silent as Sophia jogged over the porch, down the brick stairs, and out to her driveway. “Oh, Penny…” Sophia looked down at the outline of a human—like one detectives would chalk around a dead body. This one was spray-painted white. In one hand, a nosegay of pink flowers from her garden wilted; in the other, there was a picture of a hotdog. There was a real bottle of ketchup. The contents had been squirted where the outlined body would have had a heart. “What did you do?” Sophia asked a third time, not quite getting her brain to wrap around what she was seeing.
“Not me. We. We were drinking.” Penny’s laugh seemed artificially bright. “Having a little fun.”
“Is that why the police were in the neighborhood last night? I saw them over at the Sheppard’s house.” The strobe of red-and-blue lights had flashed on her bedroom wall around one that morning. It happened with obnoxious regularity. “Did you ring the Sheppard’s doorbell again?”
“Well, Marla did. The Sheppards, of course, called the cops. Party poopers. The husband was the one talking to the officer. We were hiding in the bushes at Kay’s house, watching the whole thing. Will was beside himself. It was hysterical. I mean, what did he think the officer would do? It’s not like we broke a law. There’s no law against ringing someone’s doorbell.” Her voice lilted with a decidedly southern accent.
The front door to her neighbor’s house across the way pushed open. Will Sheppard peered about before he moved toward his car, his briefcase swinging with each stride, looking every inch like a middle-management drone. He fumbled his door open then caught sight of her.
Sophia suddenly realized she had run from her house in her sleeping shirt. It hung modestly enough that she couldn’t be placed in handcuffs for indecency. But with nothing on underneath, she felt like she was standing there naked. Sophia grabbed the hem in front of her shirt and pulled it lower as she watched Will saunter over in her dire
ction. “Why the flowers?” she asked Penny, wondering how she could retreat to her house without turning. Sophia wasn’t in the mood to commiserate with Will, and he was heading down the hill toward her yard.
“After the police left, we thought it would be funny if you found an outline on your drive, and wondered if someone had been killed on your property.”
“Seriously?” Sophia backed up a step. “You think that scenario is funny? My children are going to see this. Turner’s old enough to ask me what this is.”
“Oh hush, Sophia, we were having a little fun. Kay can sure whip up a yummy margarita. Whoo, boy! We had a great time. You should have been there.” She was giggling, then suddenly stopped, probably realizing that she had said that they had excluded Sophia on purpose. Penny cleared her throat. “It wasn’t until after Marla outlined me that I remembered that you asked us not to include you in our little pranks. Don’t be ashamed of that, Sophia.” Her voice filled with sincerity and kindness. “We all get that you’re kind of a geek, and you probably never got to hang with the popular crowd. It’s not your fault that you didn’t get a chance to develop a good sense of humor. It takes all kinds to make the world go around. Not everyone has to be fun.”
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