Crown and Anchor Series: Book 1-4

by Kerri Ann

  “My boyfriend should be here any minute, and he gets very jealous.” Bending down to place my coat on my travel bag, I feel seductively dangerous.

  His pants are slightly tented, so he works his erection to the side, tucking it down, and I feel a bit naughty. Stroking the front of his pants, patting the bulge that awaits me when we’re alone, I taunt his resolve. I’ve never been adventurous in public, but there’s no time like the present.

  Stopping my hand with a growl, he whispers close. “I’d love nothing more than to bend you over and fucking make you scream, but we have someone waiting.”

  Shit. I forgot. I’m still unsure about this, but if he’s happy, I’m happy.

  “How’s your mother?” I try my best to say it nicely, but it feels forced nonetheless. I decide to just roll with it. “So, why would your mother want to join you to get me?”

  He doesn’t answer right away, but I feel his disappointment that I’m not happier about the circumstances. “It was a good day. Let’s take it a step at a time, Siren. It’s a work in progress.”

  “So let me get this straight. You and your mother had a day of talking and laughing?” Falling behind me, she stops. “How much did it take to drug her into submission? Normally a hatchet, flame thrower, or bazooka is the only thing stopping you two from murder, from what you’ve said. Even a hardened motorcycle gang wouldn’t stop you two from killing each other.”

  “Really, it’s all good, Siren.”

  Walking out to the waiting, shiny, brilliantly expensive Bentley, my steps slow. It gleams like a beacon of extravagance, and my own shortcomings. Leaning against it, relaxed and calm, totally serene looking in a black catsuit is Marca Crown, with a wide grin on her face. I thought I’d never see such a sight in my presence. Honestly, I’m afraid to venture another step.

  “Hello, Circe. Nice to see you.” Nice?

  “Hi, Mrs. Crown.”

  “Please, call me Marca. I’d like it very much if you’d call me that.” Her smile is genuine, clear, and lovely. The normal Linus cloud has lifted from her features, showcasing happiness.

  “Okay. Hello, Marca.” Her smile reaches to every part of her face, which feels kinda creepy. I might not have been around her much, but talking to Wyatt, hearing from China, and seeing her in public the few times I have, this is not the woman I’m now meeting. I’m used to Mrs. Crown, the Jekyll to Mr. Hyde. Marca Crown, gleeful and happy, is not a person I know.

  She opens the back passenger door. “Circe, would you mind taking the back seat? I’m sorry, but I get awfully car sick in the back.” This is when the clamps around my heart fasten their hold. This is when I normally collapse in on myself, turning to my own dramatic history. The sights, the sounds, the smell of the blood and the tang of it as it coated my nostrils all comes back. For that very reason, I avoid cars, and I especially avoid the backseat of anything.

  Sunshine to a deep moonless night. Air to lack of. Can she see the seething fear as it creeps into every crevice of my body? The last thing I want to do is fall apart in the middle of the airport terminal with Marca Crown watching me disintegrate.

  “Circe? Are you okay, dear?” I don’t see anything. I can only feel my blood rushing through my veins, heating me, making my heart rate soar.

  “I got this, Mom,” Wyatt says. It seems like he’s so far away, like he’s screaming down a football field to me.

  “Circe, sweetheart. I’m here.” His hands roam, moving up and down my back, attempting to soothe me. Thankfully, it helps a bit. “Honey, it’s me. I’m here, and you’ll be okay. I promise.”

  His gentle ministrations back and forth, rocking me further into his embrace has a calming effect. The darkness of that day is consuming me. I could feel every cell of my soul as it turned in on itself, eating its pain, its fear. There’s an unending need to run from everyone—from Wyatt, his mother, and the surrounding atmosphere of the airport. Every motion, sound, and even the heaviness of the moist air is terribly uncomfortable.

  Collapsing against the side of the car, pulling in as much air as I possibly can, I soak in the care from Wyatt. Faintly, I hear the fear in his voice, his need to help me, and his wavering timbre as it warbles against my hysterically heated soul.

  “Breathe, Circe. It’s okay. Just breathe, sweetie. Everything will be fine.” Taking in the smog-filled air, I try to relax like he said, willing my body to calm down. I use every training exercise I’d been given. Every breathing technique, and every relaxation cue I could think of to release the pent-up pressure in my constricted soul.

  Marca doesn’t know about Kiresa and Shelby, the accident, and nothing about my past that pertains to these soul-crushing moments.

  It’s not her fault I’m like this right now either; it was a benign request.

  Willing myself to concentrate on the present, to the point where I can be at ease once more, I feel the pressure leaving bit by bit. Fuck, I hate panic attacks.

  “That’s it. That’s my girl. Relax, sweetheart.” Wyatt’s tender growly voice is becoming the anchor pulling me to shore. As he becomes clearer, I feel the pressure lessen. After a few more moments, I’m able to gather my control, feeling almost myself again. This, by far, has been one of the worst attacks I’ve had in ages. Taking another deep breath, easing myself up off the ground, I rest my hands on the surface of the smooth car until I’m standing.

  “Thank you, Wyatt. I’m better now,” I say, even though it’s not totally true. “Sorry about that.”

  The look on Marca’s face is that of incredulity. She’s completely befuddled about what just occurred. Honestly, if I didn’t know the story behind all my awkward and uncontrollable panic attacks, I’d probably look the same. It’s actually comical that Wyatt’s illness was dismissed and shuffled under the covers by his mother, but she’s worried about me? My panic was addressed, clinically assisted, and I still feel so out of place when someone asks me to go to the backseat of a car.

  How does he truly cope? I sometimes wonder if he had never touched that bike as a kid, and hadn’t found an outlet in sexual promiscuity, would he be in an institution?

  “Are you sure, dear?” She honestly cares for my well-being, and I never thought that would happen. Nodding, I try to smile. Wyatt looks me over, looking for the lie that I’m not okay, even though I say I am.

  “Really. I’m okay, love.” It’s the first time I’ve called him that, and the look on his face shows it. I’ve held off on thinking something big could come of us. Grinning wildly, sweeping me up for a kiss, I feel awkward in front of his mother. Right now, the contact is what I need to get over the attack, and I need to know that he’s there, that this isn’t just a nightmare.

  Clearing her throat, Marca smiles at us as when we break away. “You’re going in the front. No arguments, Circe.” Stating it emphatically, she opens the front passenger door. Thanking her, as I still try to calm my busy heart, I move to hop in the front.

  Taking my bag, Wyatt places it in the back, before opening the rear door for his mother. Giving her his hand, gently and gentlemanly, he assists her into the back before closing the door.

  Walking around to the other side, approaching the door, Wyatt asks, “You sure you’re okay, Siren?”

  I will be. It’ll just take a few minutes more to be back to perfect.

  “I’m good, really.” The best I can offer is a half-smile, but I give it anyways, knowing Wyatt doesn’t need strife on a day when things are going so well for him. He’ll be concerned about me instead of enjoying things.

  “You’re a shit liar, Circe Maco. But I’ll let it go for now.” I am a shit liar, and even worse at hiding my emotions when they’re in turmoil. My face is readable—every pain, joy, and curse is presented in my reactions.

  Shrugging, he pulls the door open and hops in. Pushing the button to start the car while we all put on our belts, he pulls away from the curb. Once we’re led into traffic, I feel a sudden sense of foreboding. This is the start of something different for all of us
, a different point in all our relationships.

  Will this be a breaking point, or a building block? Can this be what his Dad had hoped for when he created the will?

  I guess we’ll find out.

  WYATT

  Heading over to the airport, Mother and I spoke more about Circe, James, and China. We talked about what we should do for the week that we’d all be sequestered together, and we talked about the future. It was nice, because she explained more about what I should expect. There was no yelling, no blame, and no fits by either of us.

  The airport was packed to the gills when we arrived, but what would you expect for a Sunday evening? I’d parked the car in short-term waiting, as Mother decided to stay with the car while I walked inside to meet Circe. She was giving me space to tell her that she’d joined us, and I appreciated it.

  Knowing what terminal to expect her in, I’m here flashing a gigantic bundle of white roses, like any full-blooded, heartsick idiot. With the biggest grin and gorgeous set of flowers, I wait. I wanted to see the color rise in her cheeks. I wanted her coming off the plane with a grin, and more importantly, I need her happy to see me.

  I thought my mother and I would never have a conversation like we did today. I thought I’d never feel a connection to her, and I thought for sure we’d never, ever, have a moment of clarity between us. Circe needs to see it. My mother and I getting along is a feat of epic proportions. I almost think of it as an anomaly that will never happen again.

  Waiting at the row of other expectant friends, family, and airport drivers, I smile as I see her appear through the double doors. Lugging that cuter than cute, tiny Louis behind her, she’s the only thing I see. She wouldn’t let me buy her a big one for her birthday last month because it seemed ostentatious to her. After a while, I relented, and purchased the smallest traveler I could find. Spoiling her was what I’d had in mind when I returned home from India, and after dealing with the funeral. Really, I wanted to buy her a matching set, the whole kit and caboodle, but I was cautious. I know her past, and that she’s tried to be more than a material woman, so I yielded. She reminded me that her style wasn’t what drew me to her at first. That horrid and disgusting jean jacket, the slouchy T-shirt that fell off her gorgeous frame like a tarp, and those hideous jeans that hid every ounce of her beauty was like hiding expensive taste in a dark lit shack. I saw the woman beneath then, just as I do now.

  One look at her striding with grace and poise, and I have a hard time hiding my hardening cock. As she steps out of the throng of passengers milling through the doors, I’m quickly drawn to her. Those sea green eyes still penetrate me like lasers, seeing right through to my soul, past all the bullshit and bravado. Her flowing cascade of strawberry blonde hair frames her exquisite face, making many a man in the arrivals turn and stare.

  Sorry, she’s mine, boys. Go get your own.

  Today, she’s wearing an off-white T-shirt dress that hangs just low enough to be modest, but high enough to be erotic. With brilliant blue heels accenting her lovely legs, it makes her the girl that everyone turns to look at as she passes through the bustling airport. She has no idea how stunning she is. Truly, she’s a classic looking woman that could stop traffic like Marilyn or Gretta Garbo. And she’s mine.

  Soon, I’m making her mine for good. I know it may seem awfully fast, and simply crazy, but I have that in spades. I can pull off crazy with the best of them. Knowing what I want in my life for good, she’s it.

  I’d told my brother of my plans. Looking towards popping the question, I’ve kept the two-carat rough cut diamond solitaire with me, just in case the romance suits me, and we’re in a good enough place to make it happen. Spontaneity is key.

  As long as she says yes, who cares if I flub it all up.

  “Hi, handsome. Who are you?” Do I ever get sick of hearing her butchered American accent? That gravelly, chopped-up sound that’s not quite foreign, and not quite Cali gets me hard instantly.

  Placing the flowers in front of my khakis, hiding my hard-on from any gawking passersby, we walk through the crowd as our banter reminds me of how much I missed her.

  “Hi yourself, Siren. What brings a girl like you here?” I kiss her deeply, causing the growth in my pants to increase. Tucking it to the side, hiding it as best I can, I smile when she’s breathless.

  “My boyfriend should be here any minute, and he gets very jealous.” She grins wickedly, bending down to place her coat that she was carrying across her travel bag.

  Extending her hand, stroking the front of my chinos, she knows exactly what to do to turn me into putty in her hands. Nothing like a charge of public exposure. It’s like crank to me. I’d love nothing more than to pull her into a broom closet for a quick moment, but Mother is outside, waiting in short-term.

  “I’d love nothing more than to bend you over and fucking make you scream, but we have someone waiting.”

  “How’s your mother?” She asks with a grin. It’s slightly forced as her face falls. I know exactly what she’s thinking. I’m disappointed and gleeful all at once too. The joy she had for seeing me slowly seeps away. “So, why would your mother want to join you to get me?”

  About five hours ago, I’d have said the same fucking thing. Now, though, I’m glad, and this could be progress in our future relationship. “It was a good day. Let’s take it a step at a time, Siren. It’s a work in progress.” I take her bag from her, pulling it behind me as she follows me out of the terminal.

  “So let me get this straight. You and your mother had a day of talking and laughing?” Falling behind me, she stops. “How much did it take to drug her into submission? Normally a hatchet, flame thrower, or bazooka is the only thing stopping you two from murder, from what you’ve said. Even a hardened motorcycle gang wouldn’t stop you two from killing each other.”

  I laugh deeply. I can’t blame her because it’s true. Dad, or one of the team, had drugged us almost weekly over the past six months. I’d hated it, but it was better than one of us coming to blows. “Really, it’s all good, Siren.”

  And then, it wasn’t.

  WYATT

  As I pull into traffic, hopping on the freeway, away from the airport and towards my mother’s house, I see Circe slowly and gradually relaxing in the seat. I’ve had panic attacks before, but I’ve never seen one like Circe just had. Thank God I was able to be there for her for once. It took me and Mother by surprise, but I think she’ll be all right now.

  She looks out the window, taking in the familiar sights of the state. Maybe she sees it as a homecoming, not as a tourist. We’ve talked about it at length, and I think it’s a fear of being so close, yet so far away. When she ran all those years ago, her fear was that of never seeing them again, even though it was her who left. She’s not a hardened bitch, and whenever she thinks of her mother, her father, and everything that’s missing in her life, part of her is regretful. She ran without thought or wonder of what the future might hold.

  Looking out at the milling cars, at the traffic that was snarling to a dead stop on the way over, we venture out of the airport where things begin to free up.

  “I think we should go out to dinner. A late one, at least, after you pick up Jamieson. What do you think?” Glancing in the rearview mirror at my mother, her face shows no malice or contempt. Even after today, it still feels foreign to see her relaxed and openly looking for a way for her children to have a satisfying moment with her.

  As I merge into the HOV lane and pass a few of the slower vehicles that were lazily heading down the freeway, I mutter about them. “Let’s go a bit over forty-five, dude.”

  “Wyatt!” Circe chimes in as I admonish the driver. “What do you think about dinner? Your mom asked.”

  “Sorry. Yeah, okay. I think you might have to be the one to ask Whiskey, though.” Her crestfallen face shows her unhappiness when she realizes I’m asking her to converse with Whiskey one-on-one. They don’t talk, ever. Since Dad’s death, I think that particular relationship will be strained even
further.

  Resigning that I won’t be the rift fixer, she huffs, blows out a tight breath and nods. “You’re right. Thank you, Wyatt.”

  Smiling up at the mirror so she can see me, I turn to Circe—my Siren, my love—smiling. God, I have to tell her soon. I need to say it before I burst. She’s become a major part of my life in a short period of time, and she hasn’t really had an opportunity to see my mother and I in a heated battle. This could cause her to run for the hills if this truce ends abruptly. Taking her hand in mine, she clutches the bundle of roses closer, giving them a hefty sniff.

  “Thank you for these. They’re beautiful.”

  “You’re beautiful. And you deserve them.”

  A playful confusion streams across her brow. “And why, Mr. Crown, did I deserve these?”

  As the traffic starts to speed along at a consistent clip, I consider what to say that’s not corny. I’ve never done this, and it’s all so foreign to me. “You’ve ensnared me, my Siren of the Sea. I had to find a way to entice you away from the waters to make you mine.”

  “Such a smooth talker. What will I do with you, mister? Should I throw you back to land and leave you alone? Or pull you under the waters and hold you forever? Decisions, decisions.” It’s rhetorical, and I love that she’s thinking of keeping me.

  With traffic moving smoother as we’re away from the inner city, towards the rolling hills of Malibu, the highway lights flick on.

  With her here, I’m gleeful. Circe’s coming to my family home, where I grew up, and where I intend to tell her that I want to spend the rest of my days with her. That perfect ring I found on Rodeo is custom, petite, and an understated beauty, just like her. It’s two carats rough, and I knew it was meant to be hers. Mother doesn’t know, but I can’t wait to share the news with her.