by Claire Woods
He lifts her up, placing her on the edge and yanks her knees apart.
“Oh, god!” I moan as he buries his head between her thighs.
My fingers move faster over that special spot tingling at my touch, I groan needing more and use my other hand, putting a few fingers in.
Panting his name, I come for the very first time. “Troy,” I breathe at the same time he lifts his head, eyes finding my window, mouth in a smirk.
Our eyes meet through the dark, but I know he can’t see me.
Can he?
He holds our invisible stare until she grabs his head, forcing her mouth on his.
He kisses her, but his eyes stay open, searching my window. But I’ve fallen back to the side, peeking around my lace curtains fluttering in the breeze.
It’s then that I come out of my stupor realizing I had switched my desk lamp on when their voices first woke me.
He could see me, silhouetted, watching him like the virgin voyeur I am. Turning away, feeling disgusted and pissed, my hands sticky and gross, I grab a fresh pair of pajama bottoms and race into the hall bath.
Crying as the cold spray cools my heated body, I wish things were different. I wish I was older, didn’t have braces and budding breasts, awkward legs that are long and not curvy and filled out.
I wish Troy could be mine, but most of all—I wish he’d wait for me to grow up. Shoulders sagging, my hands twist the knob turning off the jets, and I reach out grabbing a towel. Without even brushing a comb through my wet strands, I yank my tee and baby shorts on, open the door and run straight into a hard body in the dark hall.
“What are you doing up, Kate?” He asks huskily.
My nipples tighten, and his eyes drop. With a shriek, I try to cover myself. The water from my hair soaked my shirt turning it transparent. His hooded eyes take in my small breasts and pink nipples straining under his gaze.
I move to brush past him, mortified, but he holds me fast, “Little girls, like you, shouldn’t be curious about things they aren’t ready for.”
“You’re disgusting, Troy. Now get out of my way.”
He picks up a heavy lock of my hair rubbing it between his fingers, head lowering, he stops a breath away from my lips, “You’re a bad girl, Katie.”
“Don’t call me Katie. You know I don’t like it.”
“What do you like? I wonder…”
“What’s going on here?”
My hair drops from Troy’s fingers as if it’s burning him. He shrugs moving into the guest room, shutting the door firmly.
“You’re just as gross as he is,” I tell my brother as he grips some girls hand in his as he leads her to his bedroom.
He ignores me, and I’m grateful his room in on the other side of the hall where at least the sound of his headboard banging won’t knock against my wall.
Sighing, I lock myself in my room, put my earbuds in and listen to Ed Sheeran sing me to sleep.
***
My lips curled the second I saw them planted at the kitchen counter. Ignoring them, I went straight to the fridge grabbed the orange juice and cream cheese slamming them both down on the counter when I recognized the shirt hanging off skank number one’s shoulder.
It was Troy’s old football jersey. The one he would wear when I’d sit in the bleachers with my parents, screaming for him until I lost my voice. She caught me staring and raised an eyebrow.
“Skank,” I mouthed shoving my bagel in the toaster.
“Bitch!” She snarled.
Kyle turned away from the eggs and bacon he was cooking, “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know, Ky. But these two smell and frankly—I wouldn’t be surprised if they snuck in Mom’s room to steal some jewelry.”
He rolled his eyes at me telling them, “Ignore my baby sister. I forgot to give her, her meds this morning.”
I smacked his arm just as Troy walked in head still wet from his shower. My eyes narrowed as he leaned over his hook-up, kissed the side of her neck, telling her how good she’d taste for breakfast.
He looked at me when he said it and my face turned hot.
“Troy,” Kyle warned nodding his head at me.
“What?” He had responded, “Katie’s in high school now. I think she’s not as innocent as you think.”
“She better still be fucking innocent,” he roared slamming the frying pan down on the counter smacking eggs and bacon on plates with a spatula.
“I’m more mature than the both of you,” I muttered as my bagel popped and I took my food outside.
But the minute I sat down facing the pool, my appetite was ruined as saw the scene playing out again in my head of Troy and his paramour making love in the water.
Right then and there—I vowed to make him pay somehow, someway.
Someday I’ll make him beg on his knees for me. Until, then, a little payback wouldn’t hurt, and I know just the way to do it.
“Hey, Freckles. Where were you last night?” He just purrs and rubs against my bare legs. I pick him up, cuddling the fat tabby against my cheek. “Did Ky forget to feed you, sweetie? He pretty much sucks at being a man of the house.”
Freckles licks some cream cheese off my finger, and I cuddle him close squeezing my eyes shut.
I hate being fifteen on the verge of sixteen. Almost a woman but still a girl in so many ways, with feelings I can’t control—yearning for things I want but still too young to receive.
Carrying Freckles inside, I open a can of Friskies and spread it on a plate. The cat meows a “thank you” and dives in. The kitchen’s empty and I jog back upstairs texting my best friend, Casey.
Me: Pool party tonight. My house; invite the entire football team.
Casey: You serious?
Me: Yes.
Casey: I’m on it.
I grin, Casey floats between crowds, being a star varsity athlete, she is pretty much accepted in every clique and knows everyone. Me—I’m the geek with my head always buried in a book or writing in my diary. I hate e-Readers, preferring the smell of paper and ink, the sound of fluttering pages and the cracks of worn bindings from being read through again and again.
But tonight, I’m going to be someone new. Someone who Troy might look at and think—I could be his someday.
Coming Winter 2018
WOLF OF WASHINGTON
THEY CALL HIM “THE WOLF.”
When I danced with him at the New Year’s Eve ball, I sensed the danger in him. It lurked right below the surface of his Armani tuxedo. But when he held me in his arms; his touch was gentle fire, snaking along my skin.
I was attracted to it. To him.
His grey eyes burned as they lazily traveled over my form-fitting gown and naked arms. I sensed his hunger as he peered through his mask, down to the swell of my breasts.
“Dance with me.” He commanded.
I was playing Cinderella, and it was a ball. The most exclusive New Year’s Eve ball in the world; invite only, where the elite mixed amongst themselves, parading behind masks and clothes suited for royalty—in the Golden Age.
My best friend Sasha found herself unexpectedly swept off her feet by a pro rugby player she met doing a swimsuit shoot in Australia.
It was strictly prohibited; against the rules—to pass on your invite, but she was always a rule-breaker while I was the straight-laced one.
But just for one night—I wanted to be the rule-breaker.
He pressed me closer to his chest, his erection firmly nestling between my thighs as we swayed to the music
It felt divine to be wanted—craved by a man like him.
He held me in his arms, murmuring sweet words into my hair in a language I didn’t understand. They wove around me like a spell; seducing me. I pressed closer against him, and he growled low in his throat.
The wolf wanted his woman and that woman was me.
He danced me over to the glass doors without me even realizing, sweeping me outside and into the moonlight.
“A full moon on N
ew Year’s Eve?” I murmured in wonder.
His teeth nipped my ear as he stood behind, keeping me warm in his tight embrace.
“What’s your name?” I had asked… for the third time. And like the other times I had asked, he didn’t answer.
He turned me in his arms, claiming my mouth like Troy claimed Helen. But I don’t have a face that would launch a thousand ships. But he couldn’t guess whose face was under the delicate mask made of silk and beads that shimmered in the light. Only my best feature showed; green eyes framed by lashes so long I often get accused of wearing a false set.
I felt like an imposter; a fraud.
I’m an ordinary woman cloaked in an amazing gown. And thanks to Jenny Craig and CrossFit—it fit me like I was born in it.
His mouth moved over mine, urgently deepening our kiss.
“Wolf.” He turned. For the first time, I noticed the men standing guard in the shadows.
“What?” he rasped.
“He’s on the phone.” He tightened his hold on me before letting go.
“Stay here.” He demanded, ripping off his mask. He was talking so intently on the cell his man had given him, that he didn’t notice my gasp or see me slowly inching to the stairs leading from the balcony to the wooded garden below. My prince charming was a beast, the most ruthless man in D.C.—maybe even the world. His face was all hard lines and sculpted bones, bred from generations of royals only breeding with the best in the gene pool.
He was magnificent. Terrifying. I fled like little red riding hood, desperate to escape before he took everything from me.
I was gone, running through the branches full of sparkling lights, fumbling in my purse for the valet ticket. His roar was so loud not even the ringing bells and cheers of midnight could drown it. Pounding footsteps and the shouts of his men quickly followed.
The wolf was stalking his prey.
But he was to be denied.
I got away, barely. Of all the things, it was a cocktail waitress who saved me. I yanked her by the arm, begged her to trade places as I raced inside a side door and into a coat room. She was worried about her tips until I grabbed a few hundred dollars in change and shoved them in her hands. Five minutes later, she was still struggling to get the zipper of the gown to go all the way up as I slipped out of the room with my ticket in hand.
Guards with radios flanked every exit. But I passed by unnoticed. For they were looking for the great beauty, cloaked in an equally beautiful golden gown, not a serving wench with a baggy uniform and a hanging head.
I handed the valet my ticket, and he arched a brow. “What? I punched out early.” I had challenged. He finally left to fetch my car.
The hairs on the back of my neck rose, the wolf was ten feet behind me, questioning why the best guards on the continent hadn’t found me yet.
They assured him it was just a matter of time. Voices shouted with triumph. I had been spotted. I was about to be secured. He raced up the stairs, taking them two at a time, at the same time my Volvo stopped at the curb. I looked back one last time. He was on the second-floor balcony, holding his head in apparent agony when they brought the imposter to him. I pushed the doors open, jumped into my car and hit the gas.
My eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, half expecting a fleet of dark cars giving chase.
But I had escaped the most dangerous man in town. Thank God, he had taken off his mask. I was drunk on his scent, pulled under by his masculinity and almost did something stupid. I would’ve gone blindly, right into his lair. And I know with certainty once he found out who I was one of two things would’ve happened. He’d tie me to his bed: making me his personal sex slave, or leave me in a dungeon, holding me captive while demanding answers.
He’s the ruthless “Wolf of Washington, but I’m just an average woman; the plain Jane who ran away from him.
But I still had one night.
I danced, kissed and was held by him, for one night.
It’s with resolute certainty, I know without a doubt—his eyes will haunt my dreams for the rest of my life.
Year after year will go by, and as the clock ticks down to midnight on New Year’s Eve—I’ll remember the magic of the one I danced in his arms until the magic of time turns to dust.
***
Wolf
I still smell her on me. Her taste is still in my mouth.
I hunger for her.
Thirst for her kiss.
“Dammit.” The glass of Scotch that was in my hands hurls across the room smashing against the brick wall of the fireplace. Flames shoot outwards as the alcohol burns. Shards of glass glitter like the diamond in my hand.
It’s the most brilliant one I’ve mined. I’m keeping it for the one woman who will rule my heart… hell rule my world.
I’ve never been the one to bed a thousand women, then leave discarding them like trash.
No. I always craved my mate. I’d cherish her. Keep her close—kill anyone who tried to take her from me.
My fists clenches so hard, the rough-cut stone slices my palm as I walk to the floor to ceiling window and peer out into the city below. The flags from embassy row, ripple in the wind, the dome of the Capital building rising like a full moon behind. I take my cigar out and lit it. Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply seeing her standing in the crowd. Even with her face hidden, she stood out from all the rest.
She was the fair maiden at a ball in the fairy tale. My fairy tale. And dammit I want my happy ending with a bride in my bed.
I’m forty-two. I need an heir. But something felt missing with every woman I’ve dated. There was no spark. No heat. No longing to take them in my arms and never let go.
She’s out there. I will find her.
Unlocking the balcony doors, I step out and grip the icy, wrought iron railing. The cold burns just as much as the heat.
Two hours, twenty-five minutes and ten seconds. That’s how long it’s been since I held her in my arms. My face nuzzled her hair. My tongue dueled with hers.
I had her.
She was mine.
Until my mask came off. She saw who I was. Who I am. The wolf. Ruthless hunter. Royal Ambassador by day and diamond trader by night. Although dealing in diamonds in only half true. It’s a front. A façade to conceal what I’m really after… finding the arm’s dealer supplying the pirates off the Somali Coast. The one’s responsible for killing my parents, leaving me alone in the cold world of aristocracy.
After they died, my cousins Andreas and Matteo become my brothers. I’d kill or die for either one of them and they would do the same for me.
“Wolf. We tracked down the hidden code printed on the back of the invitation to the ball… it was Sasha Bennet’s.”
“It wasn’t her. I’ve met her before. She was unremarkable.”
“Only you, would find a world-renown supermodel unremarkable,” Andreas snorts.
“Well cousin, you know I have eclectic tastes.”
“Sasha’s in Australia. Should I get the gulf stream ready?”
“No. My woman is here. She’s hiding right under my nose. Not a half a world away. Did you get her number?”
“I did.”
I snuff out my cigar and hold out a hand. He places the slip of paper in it and I waste no time taking out my phone and tapping the digits in.
“H-hello?” She answers breathlessly.
“Where is she… who is she?” I demand.
“Who is this?”
“You know who this is,” I growl in response.
“Wolf?”
“Ah, so she told you who held and kissed her all night… why did she run Sasha?”
I hear her sharp intake of breath and wait… I hold my phone out in disbelief. She hung up on me. She dared to hang up on… me?
“Call the pilot and fire up the jet. You’re going to the land down under. Get answers for me Andreas. Tie her up if you need to.”
He raises an eyebrow, “This woman really did something to you, didn’t she?”
; I turn back to the city below my feet, bury a fist in a pocket and bow my head, “She did.”
“What if you find her and it’s all for nothing? She could be married… a shrew—hell she could be ugly as hell. You never even saw her face, Marco.”
“I didn’t need to. Not when I felt her soul. When I held her in my arms, her touch burned me like a brand. I will find her.”
“I have no doubt that you will. I just hope she’s everything you think she is… for your sake. And if I have to kidnap Sasha Bennett to help you… well that’s going to be a delight, for sure.”
Thank you for reading Gabe and Callie’s story! If you love them as much as I do—please leave a review! They help new authors like me so very much!
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