by Wyatt, Dani
He’s tall, but a little shorter than me, and while you wouldn’t exactly call him fat there’s definitely a rounder look to him than when we were both military, him in the Air Force and me in the Rangers.
I think it’s what they call a ‘Dad-bod’ these days and from what I gather, it’s all the rage. So much for six packs and hard bodies I guess.
He’s since had enough of military life and got out to start his private security firm which has done pretty fucking well from what I can see.
“I’m not a fanatic, I just like the classics,” I answer slowly, distracted by the thudding in my chest as I scan the room. The opulence of the space, as well as the elegance of the estate, makes me feel uneasy for some reason like there’s some undercurrent of danger that has nothing to do with the show being put on.
Maybe it’s that I’m just not comfortable around the extravagance. Growing up, my parents were salt-of-the-earth types. My father worked at the Stroh’s factory until it closed in the mid-eighties. From there, he and my mom ran a bar in Owendale, a small town in the Michigan thumb. The pride in their eyes when I signed up for the Army was only surpassed when I was accepted into Ranger training.
Unfortunately, they never got to see me graduate. A fire took the bar and both of them with it as they slept upstairs in the living quarters they called home, leaving me pretty much alone in the world, which, for the most part, besides missing them, I’m okay with.
There was insurance money. And I sold the bar, or what was left of it, but that money still sits in an investment account. I can’t seem to bear to touch it.
It grew into a hefty sum while I was incarcerated so by most standards with that money, and what was bestowed upon me by the mob boss whose son I helped out on the inside, I’m technically considered rich. Although, it doesn’t mean much to me, just gives me the freedom to figure out what’s next now that I’m out.
It would have killed my parents to see me go to prison, so it’s a small consolation but there, nonetheless. After eighteen months, it's an adjustment being out again and around all these people, so that’s not helping. It’s only been a couple weeks since my release, and my senses are still on the inside, looking around for danger. Not knowing who’s friendly and who’s a threat.
Dimitri takes a sip of his drink and shakes his head. “Your new neighborhood has you movin’ on up. Still can’t believe Castori gave you that house. And the million to go with it. Pays to save a mobster’s son.”
Tension clutches my chest. “Leave it alone.” Dimitri is the only one that knows what happened and how I landed in the house across the street from my new neighbors. Part of the agreement is I keep the details secret.
The last two weeks, getting glimpses of her, have been the best and hardest of my life, no pun intended. And standing here, waiting to share the same air as her, has a voice in my head telling me I’m about to figure out what I’ve been waiting for my entire life. Because when I saw her in her black spandex body suit, running down the sidewalk at one in the morning, my heart changed. It’s not just the twitch in my dick she’s awoken; it’s the twitch in my heart that has me scared shitless.
Besides that, running by herself that time of night is dangerous. After the first night, I couldn’t stand it and bought a pair of high-powered binoculars and followed her at a safe distance, making sure she was safe until she was back behind the gates of her house.
“Wow.” Dimitri elbows me and jerks his head toward the entryway of the grand ballroom. “Would you just look at that.”
Fuck.
There she is. Every head in the place turns, and a weird kind of stillness descends as she—and what I’m hoping are her parents—enter though the archway that separates the ballroom from the marble entry of this enormous estate.
There’s this ethereal glow around them, and I glance up to see if there's a spotlight aimed at them, but there’s nothing.
I say “hoping” they’re her parents, because honestly, I can’t tell if the woman standing with them is her mother or her sister, and the man only looks barely old enough to be her father. Maybe it’s just a good-looking family, or maybe it’s a lot of cosmetic surgery, but I’m praying to God that’s not her boyfriend or husband because if he is, I’ll have a lot of explaining to do when I knock him the fuck out and drag her back to my lair like a fucking caveman.
There’s an explosion in my chest, and in a flash my blood is like fire in my veins, making my heart pound and my cock thicken.
I want her.
No, that’s not right. I don’t just want her. I can’t think of any scenario where I could be without her.
And we’ve never even spoken a word.
This is crazy.
“Are they real?” Dimitri says on a disbelieving laugh. “They don’t look real. They’re actors, right? Like, I bet if we get closer we’ll recognize them from some movie or—”
My feet are already moving me through the crowd, without conscious instruction from me. It’s like I’m on a rope and she’s winding me in; there’s a tug in my center that’s impossible to resist. I can’t take my eyes off her plump lips, blood-red now just as they have been when I’ve watched her before. Her skin is flushed a perfect pink, and those blue eyes make me feel like I’m falling towards her, towards my own demise, but I don’t care.
Suddenly, there's no air, my lungs burning as I break through the crowd, watching them as they graciously greet the children, seemingly unaware of the press cameras flashing all around. Her smile so luminescent, I look up again for the spotlight that doesn’t exist.
I ache at the sight of her red satin dress, hugging her curves up top, pushing her tits upward, and the image of my teeth marking her soft flesh flashes through my mind, like I’m some sort of monster with a newly discovered bloodlust.
“Jesus. She’s fucking unbelievable.” It’s Dimitri’s voice to my left. I glance over to see his eyes trained on what’s mine, and a flood of white fire erupts behind my eyes, blinding me with rage.
“Don’t fucking look at her,” I growl, lowering my stance, ready to tear his limbs off as I reach over and grab him by the tie.
“What the fuck?” He steps away, batting my arm down. “What’s wrong with you?”
He fixes his tie glaring at me while smoothing the lapels of his jacket.
“Right now, you’re what’s wrong with me.”
“Don’t be a prick. I’m not touching her, just admiring the scenery. I’m a man, you know. We do that. Not that you ever do.” He shakes his head.
I rein in the anger that grips my throat as I look around and see most of the other men in the room doing the same, and I wonder how I can drag her out of here without being arrested. The thought of them lusting after her is making me sick. I want to build walls around her because I know what they are thinking, and no one gets to think of her in that way but me.
They work their way through the crowd, and it’s the man I assume is her father who first catches my eye, tipping his head as if he can read my thoughts before smiling as he extends his hand.
“I’m Rudolf Ardelean. Thank you for attending. You are?”
The other woman comes to his side and takes his arm, giving me a soft smile. “I do believe this is our new neighbor, am I correct?” She raises her brows, and I note how oddly colored their eyes are. His are a deep burgundy, almost red and hers a mixture of green, red and both hinted with a gold rim. “I’m Amber Ardelean.”
Almost transfixed by her gaze, I manage my name. “Maxim Forsythe.”
I pull my eyes away only to find myself staring at their daughter, watching as she crouches down in her red ball gown talking to a group of children. When she stands and turns, her eyes wander upward until they are fixed on mine, and her lips open slightly as if some wonderful sensation has just taken her by surprise.
Distracted, I barely notice Rudolf taking my hand to shake until I turn back. Did I offer it to him, or did he just take it? His touch is ice-cold. “Brilliant,” he says. “I’v
e wanted to meet you. I do apologize I haven’t come over to welcome you to the neighborhood. You are having a bit of work done on the old place, I notice. Lord knows it needs it.” He chuckles. “I’m afraid I never saw the last owner use it once.”
His manner and look remind me of Robert Redford in the Great Gatsy and for that matter, his wife a bit of a Daisy with her southern accent and propriety.
“I only ever dealt with the agent,” I say, at least aware enough to keep to the cover story as I’ve promised. “I think the owner might have died and the family was trying to offload some real estate. Cheap.”
“Ah, that would make sense. Still, it’s a good house. Solid foundations laid down in the forties.” Rudolf speaks like he saw it firsthand. “They knew what they were doing in those days.”
“I suppose they did.” I swallow hard as his daughter steps to his side, and he places his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close.
“This is my daughter, Seleme. Seleme, meet our new neighbor, Mr. Forsythe.”
She holds out her hand, and I take it in mine, the first touch of her warm skin sending me into a near convulsion as my cock takes no quarter, rising to press against the belt of my trousers. Luckily, I’m wearing a suit, so I’m praying the jacket covers most of the obvious, but there’s something in the glint of her eyes that tells me she knows.
For a split second, time stops.
“Hello,” she says, a little breathlessly, biting into her bottom lip in a way that has my heart about to leap from my chest.
“Hi!” Dimitri steps into our circle. “Quite the gig you’ve got going on here.”
“He’s my plus one,” I say, trying to apologize for the interruption, and when their eyes question, I clarify: “He’s a friend, I don’t have an actual plus one.” I look at Seleme and finish. “So to speak.”
I swear there is relief in her face as Dimitri introduces himself. “I believe my company has done some contract work for your firm before? I’m the owner of Parker-Scott Security, Dimitri Parker-Scott.”
Her father nods. “Yes. I know that name. You’ve done some investigating for us before, as well as client personal security. Very good work if I remember correctly.”
“Thank you, it’s always a pleasure to meet a satisfied client.” Dimitri clears his throat. “If you ever need any more security work done...”
“Well, the nature of our business means security is always—” Rudolf draws a sharp breath as his wife kicks his ankle pointedly. “But tonight is not for business. Eat, drink, enjoy yourself. Call me next week. We can discuss further business then.” He smiles and turns to plant a kiss on his wife’s cheek, and she turns to Dimitri and me with a satisfied yet disarming smile.
As my eyes latch onto Seleme’s, a zombie waiter steps forward and bows slightly, holding a tray of bubbling champagne flutes, a plastic eyeball floating in each. Dimitri exchanges his empty glass for another, and the waiter brings the tray to Seleme. Her eyelids dip as her delicate fingers slip around the base of a glass, but she watches me from beneath them, and I nearly lose my shit.
Next, he offers the tray to her mother and father, who both smile politely before waving him off without partaking.
My mind swims with thoughts of that red dress in tatters on the floor after I’ve ripped it from her body. Of her fingers wrapping around my shaft as I see them now around the glass. Of her pulling my cock toward her lips, ready to take her first lick...
I grit my teeth as I force my eyes back to her father, remembering all the times in the last two weeks I’ve calmed myself as best I could with my own hand. I know now, having touched her for the first time, that there will be no relief ever again without her.
“Well, then.” Rudolf nods toward Seleme, then back at Dimitri and me. “We'd best be moving on. The pumpkin carving contest will start in a few minutes. Will you both be carving tonight?”
I glance at Seleme to find her smiling at me, and my heart races, sure that the heat between us must be something everyone is feeling. It can’t just be me.
“No, I don’t think so,” I reply, but Dimitri chuckles then slaps a hand on my shoulder with a hard squeeze.
“Yes, he’s signed up. You should see his work with a knife.”
I snap my head around to glare at my friend.
“What? I signed you up.” He shrugs. “You know you’ve got knife skills; I want to see you do your magic on a pumpkin head.”
“Brilliant.” Seleme’s voice snuffs out any vitriol I might have been tempted to fling toward Dimitri. “May the best woman win.”
With that, her father places his hand on her lower back, and they work through the crowd as I watch. They stop and greet guests, and I want to kill every man that comes near her, but first I’m going to take out my friend. I turn to see him sipping his champagne, eyebrows pulled up, looking at me over the rim of the glass.
“What the fuck, Dimitri?”
He raises one hand, palm upturned. “You need to lighten up. What have you done for fun since you got out? Huh?” He blinks, waiting for my answer, then grins when I don’t give one. “Exactly. And tell me you don’t have knife skills, Ranger Boy.”
“Dishonorable discharge, remember? A little thing called prison? Maybe I don’t want to be reminded of all that.”
“Fuck dishonorable discharge, and fuck prison. You’re a fucking hero as far as anyone with any sense is concerned. Without you, innocent people would have lost their lives, and that CO of yours can suck my—”
“Stop.” I hold a hand up, pointing at his laughing eyes, a scowl twisting my face. “I’m not talking about it, and neither are you. Moving on.”
“Yeah, well. I’ve known you since you were a kid, and as much as I’d like to think I taught you everything you know, truth is, your ability with a knife is all you.”
He’s right. Since I was a little kid, knives have always fascinated me. Much to my mother’s horror, I took to knife throwing when I was about ten, and from there, I learned to carve, balance and do nearly every knife trick in the book.
In the Rangers, it served me well, saving my ass more than once in close quarters, most recently during a rescue on a deep security mission in Afghanistan. A mission that turned to shit when my commanding officer decided to sell us out. If the enemy hadn’t been so incompetent at checking me for weapons, I wouldn’t be here right now.
Not that I had any proof. I was the only one that knew he was the traitor, and when it came down to his word against mine, I guess his carried more weight.
“Hey.” Dimitri snaps his fingers. “You gotta take your place, man.” He nods toward the front of the ball room where long tables skirted with black fabric are lined up.
Pumpkins stand in rows on each, some with children standing behind them, adults poised behind them to help, and others with adults on their own, smiling at the crowd. There are numbers in front of each pumpkin, and I groan as Dimitri shoves me forward.
As he does, it’s Seleme that I see. Her eyes flit toward me, and there’s a flush on her chest as she steps behind the center table, taking her place at one of the largest pumpkins, that incredible red dress striking against her creamy skin.
I make my way forward to a man with a clipboard, an ax sticking out of his head.
“Name?” He asks as I reach the tables.
“Maxim Forsythe.”
He runs his finger down the page and smiles. “Forsythe, yes. You are all set, pumpkin number thirteen.” He points. “Right there, second table on the second row.”
I blow out a long breath and work my way behind the excited youngsters as they assess their pumpkins, and the crowd hums with interest as they gather to watch the spectacle.
But for me, she’s all there is, seeming to glow in the electric light from a crystal chandelier right above her head. I know I’ve saved everything for her. I take my spot at number thirteen, trying to control the low growl that seems to be a permanent new noise I make whenever I see her.
I don’t fucking
care. I’ll growl the rest of my life if it means she’s close to me. If it means I get to look at her.
Because she will be mine. I don’t know how, but I know it will happen.
And soon.
Because there’s not a lot of wait left in me. The torture I’ve felt, knowing she’s so close yet so far from me, is something I cannot endure much longer.
A voice comes over the loudspeaker, setting out the rules of the contest as the lights in the room dim and spotlights highlight the contestants. There’s a knife beside the pumpkin, but that won’t do. I draw my own pure silver blade from the side of my boot and place it on the table, ready and waiting. It’s served me well all my life, a gift from my parents when I graduated high school.
Silver knives are rare and not always practical, but like the money still sitting in the account, it makes me feel they are still with me.
Seleme is center stage, both here and in my heart, as the announcer finishes and sets us all free to hack at our orange vegetables while the crowd watches in rapt silence.
Before long, pumpkin guts, stringy slime and white seeds spread over the floor, the people and the tables. But still she stands flawless, making me think there is nothing dirty or dangerous in this world that could touch her.
Except me.
Three
Seleme
MY VISION OF WHAT I’VE planned for my pumpkin is secure in my mind as my hands move with precision, but my heart is in my throat.
Maxim is one table away; I can feel him. Smell him. The pull is getting stronger with every passing moment.
The difficulty I’ve had running past his house at night is nothing compared to what’s been happening inside me since he took my hand and looked directly into my eyes.
I shiver, even though I’m warm, my fingers moving automatically on the slick inside of the pumpkin, but all I can think of is the intensity of his eyes. The sheer size of him, towering over me, and the thought that went through my mind: that he is the most beautiful human I’ve ever encountered.
