Caught in the Middle

by Desiree Holt

  After she left, Ben closed the door and leaned on Dexter’s guest chair. He pointed to Dexter then to himself. “Did you tell her something I should know about? Am I missing something?”

  Dex handed a bottled water to Ben. “Nah. She assumes any man who isn’t bowled over by her raging beauty and scintillating personality has to be gay.”

  He lifted his glass to Ben in a toast. “Somewhere out there are nice women for us.”

  Ben swished his drink and stared into it. Then he cleared his throat.

  Dex looked up, and the hand holding his drink hovered midair. “Not that I’m not enjoying this male bonding surprisingly enough, but I get the inkling you have something on your mind. Spill.”

  Ben gulped down his drink then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Well, yeah. You should know Char’s in love with you, not me.”

  Dexter reeled. The last thing he wanted to talk about was Charity. She was right up there with Simone for busting his balls. He thought about not answering, but that was childish and a dead give away to how deeply he still ached for her.

  A wry chuckle escaped his lips. Of all the people with whom to have this conversation, he couldn’t believe it was Ben. But then again, Ben was the only one with all the lurid details. “Okay, I’ll bite. What makes you think so?”

  Ben tipped the bottle to his lips and poured the last drop of water down his throat. Then he stuffed cheese and crackers in his mouth. After he repositioned himself, he scratched his jaw. “Because she shot me down flat when I tried to propose.”

  Dexter almost fell off his chair, and he stared at the younger man. “You what? She what?”

  “Oh, yeah. Talk about the kiss of death. She still wants to be ‘friends’.”

  “So what makes you think she loves me? She hasn’t told me.”

  “The way she looks at you when she thinks no one’s looking. She’s still got it bad for you, buddy. If you feel the same, go get her. I’m not a threat.”

  Dexter wasn’t so sure and besides, he was still smarting. “I don’t know. She’s wilder than me—”

  Ben thumped his thigh. “She’s almost as big a prude as you. We all got caught up in the moment that night. Let me ask you something?”

  Dex wasn’t so sure he wanted to answer, but he nodded and folded his arms across his chest.

  “Do you love her?”

  He searched his soul and couldn’t deny the answer. He stretched and stared at the ceiling. “Yeah. Unfortunately.”

  “Then stop being a doofus and go get her, man. She’s too good to stay single long. Or are you the big dork I’ve always thought you were?”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” Ben grabbed more cheese and crackers for the road and headed to the door. He saluted smartly and tapped his heels. “Oh, and take a shower. You reek.”

  ———

  Char massaged her aching neck after another gruelling night in the OR. All she wanted was a hot shower then to fall into bed and sleep for a week. Unfortunately, she only had two days off, but it would have to do.

  “Nurse Reynolds, can I have a moment with you?” Dexter blocked her way from the scrub room, an indiscernible look in his eyes.

  God, he looked so tasty but so aloof she couldn’t stand it. Hot and sweaty and eager to get out of here and get human again, she tilted her head and looked cross-eyed at him. “Can’t it wait? I’m dog tired.”

  Dexter leaned against the door and refused to let her by. He put his fingers up in a Boy Scout salute. “It won’t take long. Scouts’ honour.”

  “Please be quick. I’m about to fall asleep on my feet.” For emphasis, she yawned and patted her mouth.

  He crooked his finger at her then swaggered to his office and held the door wide for her.

  She felt a trap and hesitated outside his door. “Am I in some kind of trouble? Is Amy waiting in there to ambush me? Can’t you just tell me here and be quick about it?”

  He towered over her and crossed his arms over his chest. “Only if you want everyone to overhear.”

  She checked both directions down the dim, deserted hallway and splayed her hands wide. She looked askance at him. “Yeah. It’s a real rush hour. Suit yourself.”

  He cracked a charming, lopsided grin and bowed. “Entrez-vous, mon amour.”

  Mon amour?

  Her pulse raced, and she almost swallowed her tongue. She did a double take to make sure she was with Dexter and not someone else. But it was Dex. “Did I get sucked into an alternate universe? Or am I getting hard of hearing?”

  Or maybe one of them had gone crazy? He couldn’t have called her ‘my love’. He wouldn’t do that. He’d hardly been able to look at her.

  He put his hand at the small of her back and ushered her into a place that definitely didn’t look like his office. Rose petals blanketed the floor. Soft coloured lights and romantic music transformed it from an office to a den of…what? Love?

  She bit back a guffaw and turned questioning eyes on him. “What’s this all about?”

  He closed the door with a soft click, advanced on her and captured her hands in his. “Us.”

  “What?” She choked on the word, disbelieving her ears, sure now she was caught in some cruel time warp or maybe she was delusional.

  “As in ‘you and me’.”

  A cynical laugh scraped her throat, and she heaved a huge, tired sigh. She rubbed her forehead. “There is no ‘you and me’.”

  “I’d like there to be. Ben told me you shot him down and why. He thought I should know.”

  Anger hummed through her veins. Was she ever going to repay her ‘friend’ Ben this ‘favour’. She backed up and came up short against his desk. “Okay, so I told him I wasn’t in love with him and just want to be friends. So?”

  “And that you love me?”

  She searched his eyes, but she didn’t find any answers. Not wanting to be humiliated, she said, “I didn’t say that. He was extrapolating.”

  Dexter closed the gap between them and trapped her with his arm on either side of her. He leaned so close his breath mingled with hers and her eyes crossed to see him. “Well? Did he extrapolate correctly? Are you in love with me?”

  As she decided whether or not to confess that she was madly, deeply, and crazy in love with him, he got down on his knees and extracted a blue velvet case from his pocket. In front of her astonished eyes, he opened it to reveal the most gorgeous, breathtaking diamond solitaire she’d ever laid eyes on.

  “I love you. I’m in love with you and I want to spend my life with you, Charity. Will you do me the honour of being my wife?”

  In shock, she couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move or speak. She could only drown in his beautiful, intoxicating, deep-brown eyes.

  “Char?”

  That pulled her out of her reverie, and she took the box and gazed at it open-mouthed. “Do you think it’ll fit me?”

  Dexter stood and pulled out the ring and held it before her. With a plea in his voice, he asked, “Is that a ‘yes’?”

  In rapture, she smiled and nodded her head and squealed, “Yes! Yes! And Yes! I’ll marry you.”

  He crushed her to him and took possession of her lips. After he’d drunk long and deep like a man dying of thirst, he pulled back just far enough to gaze into her eyes. “Will you forsake all others and be all mine?”

  She took the ring and tried it on but it was too loose.

  “It was my grandmother’s. We can have it sized to fit.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes and a lump choked her. He really did love her. “So you forgive me about the auction and that night? You won’t hold it against me?”

  He cradled her against his heart and rested his cheek against hers. “That was the past. From here on out, it’s just you and me, babe, forever and ever.”

  About the Author

  Ashley Ladd lives in South Florida with her husband, five children, and beloved pets. She loves the water, animals (especially cats), and playing on the co
mputer. She's been told she has a wicked sense of humour and often incorporates humour and adventure into her books. She also adores very spicy romance, which she weaves into her stories.

  Email: Chinara@aol.com

  Ashley Ladd loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.total-e-bound.com/.

  Also by Ashley Ladd

  Shipwrecked

  Wishcraft

  The Perfect Gift

  Confessions of a Nympho

  Wild Fantasies

  Brit Party: Best Mates

  Liquid Heat

  Submissive Dreams

  Heart and Soul

  Naughty Boys

  Christmas Miracles

  Last Man on Earth

  Secret Admirer

  Night of the Senses: Welcome to Paradise

  BETWEEN TOOTH AND PAW

  Kim Dare

  Dedication

  To everyone who learns to look past all the generalizations and stereotypes

  and who begins see the people around them for who they really are.

  Chapter One

  “This is an incredibly stupid idea.”

  “It is the only way.”

  “If they kill each other off, that is one thing. But, I will not condone throwing the girl in the middle of it all.”

  Jasmine Neal knelt naked in the middle of the hotel bedroom. Her training had long ago instilled in her that during a scene a submissive’s gaze should never rise from the floor. Unable to look up and see anyone’s face, she watched various pairs of expensive shoes walk around her as a dozen eyes trailed over her skin, examining her body from every angle.

  Forcing herself to stay still under their casual inspection, she made yet another attempt to work out which voice belonged to which pair of circling shoes.

  “Perhaps she will be a good influence on them.” A woman’s voice. High heeled stilettos—very expensive but discreetly so—they fitted the cultured tone of voice perfectly. Old money, a vampire perhaps.

  “Huh!” That exclamation, no doubt, belonged to the scuffed loafers. The edge of the man’s trousers had frayed where they’d rubbed on the floor. Poor perhaps or, more likely given the situation, a man who was simply careless of clothes and appearances. Perhaps, a man who felt more at home in a fur coat than a tailored suit—a werewolf.

  “Then perhaps she will distract them,” the woman suggested.

  “The situation has been explained to her and humans are far more resilient than you give them credit for. I have every confidence she will survive the encounter.”

  Jasmine didn’t need the help of footwear to identify that voice. She knew Mr. Washington’s voice very well. Harsh, commanding and undeniably dominant. Even if she hadn’t known already, she would have guessed he’d wear military boots—each one always polished to a gleam by another person’s hands. A submissive’s hands. In this particular case, by her hands.

  “It is all the damn humans’ fault anyway. All those stupid stories about how much vampires and werewolves hate each other. It puts ideas into our children’s heads. We’ve lived in peace—each species happily minding its own business for hundreds of generations and now we are brought down to this!”

  A new pair of shoes came into her view. Black lace ups. Polished, but not excessively so. Well made, but not by any designer of note. Nondescript, just like the voice she attached to it.

  “She is their physical type,” Mr. Washington said. “She’s been well trained and she knows what’s required of her. She’ll follow her orders.”

  “She is still only one woman,” that was Mr. Nondescript. Jasmine struggled to attach a species to him. Zombie? Ghoul? Maybe the man was even another human. It was possible a human besides Mr. Washington had made it onto the council of elders—highly unlikely, but possible.

  “Do not underestimate women,” the high heeled possible-vampire said from somewhere behind Jasmine. “There are many times when more can be accomplished by a smile from a woman than by the threats of a hundred armed men.”

  “I’d prefer to be in the middle of those armed men, if I was going to be the one stuck between those two brats.”

  “Threats have had no success with Hayden,” the scuffed loafers said. Jasmine changed his species label from possible-werewolf, to definite-werewolf. An alpha werewolf who didn’t like members of his pack disobeying him one little bit. The growl in his voice came through loud and clear.

  “Nor Stafford,” the lady sighed. “Oh well, bring them in. If nothing else, she might keep them out of trouble until tomorrow morning.”

  Some signal passed above Jasmine’s head and footsteps hurried from the room. The men and women who made up the council of elders wouldn’t have rushed to follow anyone’s command. A servant must have left the room then—or perhaps another trained submissive like herself.

  The position she’d been ordered to assume would have given her a perfect view of anyone entering or leaving the room, if she had been allowed to look up. A few seconds later she heard the door open again and saw two new pairs of shoes stride into her field of vision.

  One vampire, one werewolf. She’d been told that when she agreed to take part in the scene and it wasn’t hard to guess which one was which.

  The vampire stood on the right—designer shoes and tailored black trousers. On the left stood battered trainers that had obviously been pushed off and on the wearer’s feet without him bothering with the laces, topped by ripped jeans. He wasn’t wearing socks either, she noted.

  Jasmine looked for other clues about the men. Long years spent never looking anyone in the eye during a scene had given her a lot of practise at reading people from the knees down. The men were both tall.

  Risking glances up as far as the men’s waists, she could see the werewolf carried more muscle, and that he was also an inch or two taller than the vampire. But, from her place on the floor, Jasmine would bet her life that neither man would have a real advantage over the other if it came down to a fight between tooth and paw. And both of them were ready to brawl right then, each man had already adopted a stance which would allow them to attack at any moment.

  Tension poured off each man. They stood just a few feet from each other, facing the council. Technically they faced her too—although they were so caught up in hating each other, she doubted they’d even noticed her small, naked presence in the middle of the room.

  “Hayden Griffith, you understand why you have been called before the council?” a voice asked over her head.

  “Yes,” a deep voice said, betraying a trace of a Welsh accent. The voice came from above the scuffed trainers—from the werewolf.

  The other man tensed, obviously perceiving an insult in being addressed in second place. A moment later the council asked him the same question.

  “I understand,” he said coldly. “And is the lady the prize? Rather inappropriate, don’t you think? They might have to live like animals, but perhaps the more advanced species could try to maintain a higher standard?”

  The werewolf, Hayden, crouched down. Jasmine caught the movement out of the corner of her field of vision and looked towards it. For the first time in years, she made a novice’s mistake and looked a dominant man straight in the eye during a scene.

  Hayden held her gaze. Jasmine caught her breath, unable to look away from the deep blue eyes. He tilted his head to the side, a shaggy blond mop of hair falling across his forehead as he studied her. His chest rose and fell as he inhaled deeply, taking her scent from the air. He smiled at her.

  “She is not the prize,” a voice said behind her. Still trapped in Hayden’s gaze, Jasmine couldn’t focus on the words well enough to work out who the speaker was, but whoever it was went on. “She is a participant in the challenge. She has been selected from all the humans to represent the part they have played in this mess.”

  Hayden frowned and looked away, gazing over her head to meet the eyes of those who he might consider his equals. “I’m not fight
ing her,” he said.

  “If the pup is scared a woman can call him to heel too easily,” Stafford said. “Then he is more than welcome to forfeit.”

  “A female wolf would not be a problem. Humans are too fragile to fight. They break too easily. I won’t fight her,” Hayden repeated.

  “And I do not fight women,” Stafford said. “Of any species.”

  Sure no one in the room was paying the least bit of attention to her, Jasmine glanced up and stole a look at Stafford. He was dark, aristocratic and perfectly styled. Like Hayden, he was well over a decade younger than her. He was also looking down his nose at Hayden, as if the werewolf were something he’d scraped off his designer shoes. A glance at Hayden, still crouched down to bring his eyes to a level with hers, showed he was making a great show of ignoring the vampire. He caught her eye and smiled at her again.

  “You said there would be a contest between us,” Stafford snapped at the council. “What are the terms?”

  “Stand,” Mr. Washington ordered.

  Jasmine rose to her feet, each movement made graceful by effort of long practise and knowledge of the appropriate punishment sloppy movements earned. Naked, with not even a collar to show for her submission, she stood before them, long blonde hair trailing down her back in loose waves. As Hayden also rose to his full height, Jasmine extended her hands, palms up, the way she had been instructed to do.

  “Stafford, Hayden, step forward. Extend your hands. Each of you, put one hand into hers.”

  Stafford’s right hand and Hayden’s left hand were duly placed on her palms. She could tell by the way the two men stood, by the way they moved, that each believed they were undertaking the start of some sort of challenge ritual. They faced each other solemnly across her as Mr. Washington walked around them and took up his place facing her.

  Jasmine knew the dominant was good at what he did. He could be quick when he wanted to be. He took one step forward. A flash of silver, a flick of his wrists and a set of handcuffs had secured two wrists together.