by M J Marino
This time, being intimate with Maceo is nothing like this morning. On the trail, we fucked—hard and desperate—both of us trying to get our fix like addicts. This time there’s tenderness, longing, and an overwhelming desire to draw this out.
I don’t recognize this type of sex. I’ve never experienced anything like it. Once I realize it, I nearly burst into tears.
We’re making love.
Maceo brushes his thumb over the rogue tear falling down the side of my face. He kisses me firmly, affectionately, giving my tongue long fluid strokes with his own.
He quickens the pace of his hips and I fist my hands into his hair, arching my hips up to meet him thrust for thrust. My already heightened libido escalates when I hear his breathing get ragged, and the sound of his pelvis grinding against my clit.
Maceo’s body glistens with sweat and it only intensifies his musky, woodsy fragrance. His scent envelops my senses and makes my blood pulse wildly.
When he brings me over the edge again, I cry out his name. Maceo thrusts up into me and stills. He groans loudly in my ear and I’m filled with warmth as he empties himself deep inside me. He rests his forehead against mine and my eyes flutter shut with satisfaction.
When I finally open my eyes, lazy, I find his, dark and adoring, staring into mine.
“Josephine,” he murmurs, claiming my lips in a searing kiss. He pulls out of me and rolls us to our sides, face to face, pressing his lips gently over my forehead. He pulls me tight against him and I sigh.
His chest feels so warm against my cheek. I press my lips to his left pec muscle. The action must surprise Maceo because he sucks in a ragged breath, like I actually kissed his heart.
“I want more,” I purr greedily.
Maceo gives me a sluggish smile. “Oh, baby, that was only the warm-up. I’m far from done with you. Hard, fast, gentle, and slow are all amazing with you. Christ, it’s like you were shaped specifically for me.” He runs his nose along my neck. “Mmm, you smell good.”
I laugh. “I smell like sex.”
“And if I could bottle it and sell it, I’d make a fucking killing.” He runs his nose along my neck again, kissing the tender skin underneath my ear. “You’re my new favorite scent.”
My God, the words this man uses to melt me.
“You’re mine, too.” It’s so easy to open up to him after he’s fucked me ragged.
His big palm runs down my side, over my hip, and covers my bottom. “God, I love your ass. It’s firm and round and fits perfectly in my hands. And when you walk…”
His reaction makes me giggle. “You’re an ass man.”
Maceo winks at me. “The things I’m going to do will make you squeal.”
Eek! Is it wrong that his comment makes me ache between my legs?
Maceo kisses my neck once more, then props himself up on one elbow. He sighs and looks at me. “Pixie, you’re too precious. The things you make me feel and the way you get in my head…” he shakes his head. “Can you do me a favor?”
“Sure,” I say dreamily.
“You need to promise me you’ll take more precautions.”
“Hmm?”
He runs a hand over his face. “I need you to unlist your address. It’s for your own safety. You’re an extremely attractive woman, and anyone could form an unhealthy attachment to you. It wouldn’t take much for someone to track you down.”
“You mean like you,” I grouse with a chuckle.
“Exactly,” he says firmly. “I travel a lot for my job, and I would feel better knowing your home address is unlisted, especially when I’m away on a mission.”
I nod, thinking of Lorenzo. “I completely agree. I’ve already dealt with some unwanted attention from a past client, he was sending flowers to my home. I don’t want to deal with anyone else knowing where I live.”
“Which brings me to another thing I wanted to bring to your attention. You do realize your social media accounts are public, correct?”
A teasing smirk spreads across my face. “Maceo Tabares, were you Facebook stalking me?”
Maceo’s lips thin. “It’s not funny, Pixie. This shit is serious. I already told you about the missions I take, finding and rescuing victims of sex trafficking. Everything personal about you is out there for anyone to see. Your address is listed. All someone needs is your business card to get your number. Security is my job, and right now you’re a fucking safety nightmare.”
I understand his concern, and honestly, his protectiveness is pretty adorable. “I will change my account settings to private. My business cards are another thing altogether. Maybe I need to get a work phone and keep my personal cell off the card.”
Maceo finally relaxes. “Okay. Thank you. I’m really not trying to be an overbearing asshole, but I told you I have several people who would love to retaliate. I don’t want you to be someone they come after. The more security you have in place for yourself, the better.”
I cup his chiseled face in my hand, and he leans his smooth cheek into my palm, closing his eyes. “It’s okay,” I say. “Thank you for caring about my safety. You’re too sweet.”
Maceo opens his eyes and stares at me with a look of concern. “Pixie…there’s more. I want to keep you safe in every way. I need to tell you—” he starts.
A ping chimes from a cell.
My first instinct would be to ignore it, but not Maceo. He pulls away from me to retrieve his MC cut off the floor. He stares at his phone screen, and his face morphs from concern to all business. Next, he’s pulling his pants up and tugging his shirt over his head. He sits on the bed and does up his boots.
“What’s wrong?” I ask as I sit up, pulling the comforter around me.
“I need to go, Pixie. There’s an SOS.” And it’s the only explanation I’m given, before he gives me a chaste kiss on my lips. “Put those security checks in place, baby.”
He stands and walks out of the room without a backward glance. I hear the front door close and instantly, I feel sick.
What the fuck just happened?
Chapter Five
Josephine
Five days.
Five fucking days since Maceo left me naked on my bed after being whisked away by some strange text message. I have received no calls or texts in response to the several I’ve left him, and it’s caused my emotions to tumble like a rollercoaster.
How could I have grown so attached to him after a single day? I have, and my heart aches for him. It’s baffling.
Maceo said he was a solider for hire. For the first two days, I was worried sick, wondering where he was and what war he was fighting. By day three, I was having a nervous breakdown, thinking the reason I hadn’t gotten a response was because he was either injured or dead. On day four, I was numb and broken inside. And when day five came to a close, I was fucking livid.
My cell rings from an unknown number, and I answer it. It may be business related. “Hello, this is Jo of Holland Build and Design Solutions.”
A rough voice greets me. “Hey, this is Punk, from the Mercy Ravens MC. I’ve been asked to confirm if you’re still planning on breaking ground in two days’ time for the new headquarters.”
I ignore his question. “Where’s Maceo?” I ask in a whisper, fear gripping my very core.
“Atlas? He’s on an assignment overseas,” Punk says nonchalantly. “I talked to him last night and he said he wouldn’t be back for at least another two weeks, three weeks tops.”
My hand is gripping the phone so damn tight, I swear my knuckles are going to bust through my skin. “You talked to him?” I ask with malice.
“Um, yeah. He’s…well, it’s a shit show where he is, and things haven’t been working out as planned. When shit goes south, he only has time to focus on the job,” Punk says cautiously, catching on to my anger toward Maceo’s lack of contact. “I’m sure Atlas would call you if he could.”
“But he fucking called you,” I point out, my voice raising an octave.
What the fuck is thi
s? Did Maceo just want one more go in the sack with me before ghosting me?
Suddenly, I’m embarrassed. I’ve been bombarding his phone day and night with voicemails and texts, and all this time he was brushing me off. I feel so foolish. You fucking gullible idiot, Josephine!
“Shit,” I hear Punk mumble as he realizes Maceo is in the doghouse because he let the cat out of the bag. “Look, he only reached out to me because it was related to a mission. That’s it. When our team’s working, we can’t allow ourselves to have any distractions because it could take our focus away from the job.”
Oh, fuck no! “Bullshit, Punk! I call bullshit. Stop covering for his sorry ass. He could have fucking informed me when he was going, or when his predicted return was, or he could have notified me he wouldn’t be able to contact me while he was gone. He did none of that. Nothing! But he finds time to call you and fucking have you inquire for him if I’m still on schedule for breaking fucking ground on his damn project,” I yell into the phone.
You fucking coward, Maceo! He had to have one of his brothers call me, instead of manning up and doing it himself.
“Fuck, Atlas,” I hear Punk grumble as he curses out his friend miles away. “Look, Pixie—” he starts, but I fucking see red.
“Don’t fucking call me that!” I can’t stand to hear Maceo’s pet name for me coming from another man’s lips. It’s reserved for Maceo alone.
The fuck it is! I shake my head at myself. What the hell is wrong with you, Josephine? Maceo has lost all pet name privileges.
“Fuck, sorry. Josephine, then?”
“Wrong again!” Only Maceo called me by my given name. Not even my family or friends called me Josephine. “You call me Jo or this conversation is done.”
Punk sighs. “Jo, a lot of what we do is classified. Even if Atlas wanted to, he’s not allowed to discuss it with you. He left your place and went straight to the airport where Gauge was waiting with a bag and the crew. He was in the air twenty minutes later. There was no time.”
“Punk,” I say with an exhausted sigh. “He could have sent me a damn text from the plane before takeoff. No matter what you say or how you try to spin it, there’s no excuse for his behavior. Please stop pretending he had no option when he damn well did.”
If he gave a shit about me, he would have made the effort to reach out. But I neglect to explain any of this to Punk.
“Next time you talk to your president tell him the project will start on schedule,” I say in a cold, professional tone.
“Pixie—I mean, fuck, Jo, please don’t be like this,” Punk begs in frustration, but he seems to know it’s futile. “Atlas is going to fucking kill me.”
“I’m sorry, Punk. Please refer my message to Atlas when you next speak to him,” I say before disconnecting.
Immediately after the call ends, I open up my text messages and fire off a final text to Maceo.
*Fuck off, Maceo!*
And then I block him.
Take that motherfucker! I’ve never blocked anyone before, especially a client, but I can’t deal right now. I’m too emotionally flooded to make reasonable decisions.
All at once, my emotions get the best of me and I start yelling at the top of my lungs to let it all out. This of course, sets off Hades who starts tearing through the condo, howling like we’re a fucking wolf pack.
After calming down my dog, I rummage through the kitchen pantry and retrieve a bottle of Eagle Rare bourbon. Popping the cork, I go to grab a glass and stop. I should save myself the hassle of cleaning the cup and just drink from the bottle instead. I take a long pull as I pace my living room. I haven’t felt the compulsion to drink this much since Jacob fucked me over. The burn feels good in my chest, and I take another chug of bourbon.
How? How could I allow myself to fall for another bastard who only used me for his own needs then left me high and dry? Worst part was, I couldn’t blame Maceo. I knew the kind of man he was. I could feel it in my bones—fuck, he admitted to my face he didn’t date—and I allowed myself to go over the fragile edge all on my own.
You know what, fuck that! I can definitely blame him.
Maceo played me like a damn fiddle, saying my heart was safe and making promises to protect it. Lies! I guess the only blessing is that I didn’t invest eight years on Maceo before seeing his true colors. No, I didn’t invest more than twenty-four hours in his presence, only a single day. Plus, five days of mourning for him.
Well, that shit ends now.
First, I need to get my emotions in check and clear my mind. I stumble into the kitchen and set the bourbon on the counter. Flushed from the alcohol, I turn on the faucet and splash cool water on my face. After several long pulls of air, I regain most of my composure.
Emotions in check. Done.
Feeling the effects of the bourbon, I sit my butt at the kitchen island and open up my laptop for the second part of my plan.
I need to figure out how I can get this project done faster than the four-month deadline I predicted. I already have the permits in hand. The city inspectors like working with me. I know I can call after an assignment has been completed and have them out there in no time to give the all clear. But the only way to hustle production is to bring in more man power, meaning I need to hire a bigger crew.
Jared won’t be happy with a little less profit, but my fucking sanity and heart are at stake. He’ll get over it. I shoot off a detailed email to Jared, requesting a bigger crew for the job.
Deadline moved up. Done.
And third, I have to eliminate any contact with Maceo.
Yeah, pretty fucking impossible when he signed a contract. I could pull out, but he could come back at me and sue. Plus, this is a lot of money to walk away from. This is my business and livelihood. I can’t run away this time. But maybe there’s a way to minimize our encounters. The contract did not say specifically that I had to be working with him.
If I brought in another engineer—for consulting work, of course, since I’m not looking to share my business with anyone—I could make this work. It would be a big chunk taken out of my paycheck. It would set me back from expanding my business until I have another two or three projects under my belt. But saving my heart from further damage justifies the decision.
Consulting engineer needed pronto.
Now to decide who I can consult my work out to. My field is brutal with competition. Making friends with others in the same trade rarely happens. I could extend an olive branch to a local engineer, but I don’t have time to waste negotiating with multiple candidates.
The gravity of my situation makes me sway on the barstool as the alcohol takes full effect. Not wanting to hurt myself, I get up and make my way into the living room to park my ass on the couch.
I’m not much for praying, but I’ll try anything. God, it’s me, Jo, and I need an engineer.
My cell pings.
I know it can’t be Maceo since I blocked him. I pick my phone up and groan when Jacob’s name flashes across the screen with a text.
I look up to the heavens. God, you’re fucking cruel.
My attention turns back to my cell. Please, don’t be another dick pic. I click on the picture and see it’s a document—a contract to be exact.
Another text pops up.
*Wondering if you’re interested in coming in from the dark.*
My eyes read through the contract. Holy shit!
If this is what I think it is, my work life could become infinitely better. But I pause. Is this worth having Jacob come back into the picture? It doesn’t hurt me to hear what he has to offer, and I can always say no.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
Jacob has been trying for the past year to get back in my good graces. I refused to answer his calls or return his emails or texts, but I know without a doubt if I call him, he will answer.
An idea starts to form in my head. Jacob is an option for my current dilemma. This could be an even exchange and would solve two problems in one go. I’m going to have t
o swallow my pride and put my hurt feelings on the back burner, but he’s the only person who I know that would take the vacation time, fly out, and get the job done. I know he will say yes to my project if I say yes to his request.
Settling into the couch for what is about to be a very painful conversation, I dial the number I’ve been trying to forget.
“Jo? Is it really you?” Jacob asks after the first ring, obviously relieved.
I fight my nausea. “Yes, it’s me.”
I hear him swallow. “God, it’s good to hear your voice,” he admits.
I clear my throat from emotion. “I received the contract, but I want to hear what this entails from you.”
“Of course, I would expect nothing less. As you may remember, the firm has been taking jobs in other states the last few years to expand our name. We were recently contracted for a major luxury hotel chain and have plans to break ground soon in Denver. My professional engineer on-site has left for a family emergency. I would go myself, but I’m wrapping up a project in San Diego and won’t be available for another week. My other two engineers are currently tied up with their own projects. I can’t stall the Denver project for a week ‘till my PE is available again, and you know I can’t go to the company executives with this shit.”
“No, you can’t,” I say, understanding. The firm would crucify him if he went to the board meeting without a backup plan in place.
“My engineer already set up contractors and vendors, but I still need a licensed PE in the state of Colorado to sign off on the blueprints.
“Jo, I don’t have time to shop around for someone local. This is happening within the week. Look, I know I shouldn’t be asking favors from you after everything, but I’m willing to sweeten the deal. I can get the firm to stop blackballing you. All your contacts—contractors, vendors, engineers, designers, transportation services—would be available for you again.”
Oh my God! This would open so many doors for my business.
“I’ve been following your little startup and you’ve done a lot in a year, but you can’t tell me you haven’t been struggling to find these resources.”
