by Thianna D
Dale fell over. She heard a thunk when his gun toppled to the floor. "Fucking bitch!" he yelled.
She slammed on the brake, pushed open her door, and leaped out with the car still rolling. It crashed into a parked vehicle.
An officer rushed out of the building. "What the hell—"
"He's got a gun!" Abby screamed.
Controlled chaos ensued. In a flash, shouting policemen with weapons surrounded her car. She was hustled out of line of possible fire. She couldn't see Dale anymore, but she sensed the danger, and then the release of it when he surrendered by throwing the gun out the window.
As the police dragged him away in handcuffs, he shot her a look of betrayal. I can't believe you did this to me.
Delusional. Would he ever be able to climb out of the pit into which he'd fallen? Despite the hour of terror he'd subjected her to, she couldn't bring herself to hate him. Love, respect—those he'd killed long ago. But pity remained.
Harris sprawled on his sofa, trying to focus on a TV program, when his cell began to play. The Lauder residence number popped up. Abby! The tension dogging him for days relaxed, but then a slow anger unfurled. She'd refused to answer his calls.
"Abigail," he tersely answered the phone.
"Harris, it's Quincy Lauder."
He sat up straight. "Yes, Mrs. Lauder—Aunt Quincy."
"I'm so sorry for calling you this late." Her usual bright, cheery voice quavered.
"Don't even think about it," he said. "What's wrong?" He kept his voice even, calm, but his heart thumped. He could think only of one reason why Quincy Lauder would call him this late in the evening.
"Abby never came home."
He shot off the couch. "How late is she?"
"Several hours. I expected her before dark."
The sun had set three, four hours ago.
"You tried calling her, of course?"
"Somebody else answered her cell."
"What?"
"She phoned me before she left Denver. I tried her cell, and a stranger answered. Said he'd found her mobile lying in the street. I'm worried, Harris."
He was too, but he couldn't let it show. He had to remain calm and in control for both of them. For Abby. "How long ago did you speak to her?"
"About five hours ago."
Fuck. "Did you call the police?"
"No. I didn't think it would do any good."
She was right. Corbin's Bend didn't require policing, the co-op board pretty much ran the town. And calling Denver PD was pointless. No one would follow up on an adult a few hours tardy who'd lost her cell phone.
And he hoped that's all it was—a case of a lost phone. Car trouble.
"I'll go look for her," he said. "Probably she's stuck on the highway shoulder with a flat tire." He forced conviction into his tone. He needed to believe that. "You have my cell number—call me if you hear from her."
"I will. Thank you."
Harris grabbed his keys and dashed out.
Crawling at twenty miles per hour below the speed limit, he swept his gaze left and right for signs of Abby's car. Although only exits were lit, a near full moon shone, which enabled Harris to get a make on the vehicles that zoomed past and scan the shoulder for disabled ones. Ten miles out of Corbin's Bend, still no sign. Too soon to worry, but his hope flagged anyway.
Still fifty miles to go before he hit the outskirts of Denver. He had no idea what he'd do if got there without seeing her. He refused to consider that possibility or the ramifications of what it might mean. What if she'd been mugged? Had been in a serious car accident?
Fifteen miles out, a one-eyed compact car with a familiar shape and lightness of color streaked toward Corbin's Bend. Lone driver. No passengers. Abby? Had she driven all the way to Denver and back with only one headlight? That wasn't safe. Harris slowed, checked his mirrors, and then spun a U-turn, kicking up dust as he sped across the dirt meridian.
He raced after the vehicle. Let it be her.
A mile ahead, he caught up to the car and followed it to town.
The car's driver stopped at the first traffic signal. Under the street lights, he recognized the back of Abby's head. Relief weakened his knees. He flashed his headlights, and when she checked her rear view mirror, he motioned for her to pull over.
She nodded and pointed to the curb up ahead.
While he waited for the green light, he called Quincy.
"She's okay. We're on our way home," he said.
"What happened?"
"Don't know yet. She's driving into town. I'm behind her. We'll be there soon. I'm going to talk with her first."
"Okay. Thank you, Harris."
After the light changed, Abby scooted through the intersection and pulled up to the curb. Harris zoomed in front of her and parked. He shoved open his door and stalked toward her car, noting her headlight hadn't burned out, it had been smashed. And her front bumper too. She'd been in a minor accident. All the more reason she should have called.
Abby tumbled out of her vehicle.
Now that she had arrived home safe fury swelled. He rarely raised his voice, but he couldn't help yelling, "Why didn't you call? Do you have any idea how worried—"
Abby flung herself into his arms and burst into tears. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
Anger cooled as quickly as it had heated. He hugged her trembling body and stroked her hair. "I'm sorry I yelled," he said. He drew her to her car and leaned on its fender, held her while she cried. Answers could wait.
Sobs faded to sniffles, and she brushed at her eyes. "Dale pulled a gun on me."
"Son of a bitch!" He tilted her chin to peer into her eyes. "Are you all right?"
She nodded. "It wasn't loaded. But I think they're going to press charges for felonious assault. I've been at the police station for hours."
He hugged her and breathed in her scent, pressing a kiss to her ear. He wanted to never let go—and he wanted to pound her ex-husband to a pulp.
"I think he'll get jail time for this. Maybe he'll get the help he needs."
Harris didn't care if her ex rotted in prison. Actually, he hoped so. He glanced at the smashed front end of her vehicle. "How did your car get damaged?"
"My car rolled into a parked pickup truck at the police station. Can I use your phone to call Aunt Quincy? She's probably very worried."
Something wasn't adding up. Harris frowned. "I already informed her you were on your way. What happened to your phone? Your aunt said a stranger found it."
"Dale threw it out the car window so I couldn't use it."
He couldn't believe what she'd been through. "How did you get away? Where did you run into him?"
"I met my friends for dinner before I left Denver, and he was hiding in my car when I came out of the restaurant. He's been stalking me. He knew about you, about us. I was afraid he was going to kill me and then himself. But he had me drive around for almost an hour."
Harris inhaled and released his breath. She'd been in such danger. "Then what happened?"
"I took the back streets and drove behind the police station and pulled into the staff lot where the public isn't supposed to park. That's when I hit the truck. The cops came out and arrested Dale."
Harris jerked. "You took a big chance. You didn't know the gun wasn't loaded then."
"No. But I had to do something. I think he just wanted to scare me." Abby raked a hand through her hair. "He succeeded. I meant to call from the police station, but in all the excitement, I forgot." She hung her head. "I'm sorry I didn't return your call from earlier."
He lifted her chin with his fingertip and pressed a kiss to her mouth. "I'm sorry too—for many things. Let's go reassure your aunt, and then go to my place. We need to talk."
Chapter 12
Would you mind if I cleaned up?" Abby stood in Harris's living room and peered at him. The long day, the drive, being in the police station, being threatened at gunpoint made her feel grimy, dirty. She wanted to wash away the experience before she and Harris had
their discussion.
"Go right ahead." He padded over to her. "But first things first." He drew her into a bear hug. "I'm glad you're okay."
She buried her face against his throat, absorbed his warmth and strength. She'd managed to keep her wits together through the abduction, the police interviews, the drive home, but when she'd spotted Harris, her control had shattered and she'd dissolved into a blubbering basket case.
She inhaled his scent and rubbed her nose against his throat. God, he smelled good. Felt good. Arms around his waist, she squeezed.
He hugged back and then thrust her away. "Go! Take your bath, while I can still let you." He swatted her bottom.
In the shower, Abby stood for a moment to allow the hot water to massage her tense muscles, but then rushed through washing and jumped out. Indecision and avoidance had flown out the window with her cell phone during the terrifying car ride. Fear she'd never see Harris again had reshuffled her priorities.
Loathe to don her old clothes dampened by nervous perspiration, she grabbed Harris's terry robe off the hook and slipped into it. His scent, woodsy and masculine, further calmed her, suffused her with even more optimism. How could anything positive not result from a man who smelled that good? She clutched the lapels and inhaled. Stirrings of desire flickered.
Talk. First they had to talk. She had clarity now. After hours and hours—days—of rumination, the answer had snapped into place like it had been there all along. No decision to make really.
Harris rose from the sofa when she emerged. "I poured you a glass of wine." He handed her a goblet of light golden liquid.
"Thank you." She took a sip. Chardonnay.
She settled into a corner of the couch, curling her feet under her. Harris sat, his arm extended behind her head. Abby held her glass and drank him in. His sexy brown eyes. Boyish dimples. Stern, commanding jaw. His raspy shadow.
After she'd fled, avoided his calls, he'd searched for her when he thought she was in trouble. A man like that was worth a chance. Even if he was a long shot.
He seemed to be studying her too, his gaze stroking her throat, her lips, her cheeks. He met her eyes, and she read uncertainty. An unfamiliar hesitation. But of course, she hadn't left them in a good place. She'd fled. Rejected him. She had to break the ice, initiate a dialog to put them back on track.
She gripped her wine glass by the stem and wet her lips.
He opened his mouth.
Her words and his tumbled out.
"I'm okay with your gambling."
"I love you."
Her jaw dropped. "What did you say?"
"I love you. I want to be with you, not just today, but tomorrow, many tomorrows. I can't predict the future—our future—but I am open to possibilities—all of them."
She lurched for the coffee table to get rid of her drink and free her hands, but through a blur of happy tears almost upended her glass. It teetered, but Harris caught it before it fell. Then caught her when she launched herself into his arms. "I love you too," she nearly shouted.
He smothered her mouth, kissing her with an urgency that revealed to her his fears, his need. Their tongues tangled, lips fused. Heat warmed her from her hairline to her toes. When they separated, her breath came in pants. His eyes gleamed. Hesitation had vanished. Her stomach fluttered at his austere expression.
"New rules," he stated. "When we're having a discussion or an argument, you don't run out on me."
"No, sir."
"If you're going to be more than fifteen minutes late, you find a phone."
"Yes, sir."
"Under no condition do you avoid my calls or texts."
"I'm sorry, sir." She hung her head and peeked at him. "Are you going to spank me?" Please? Her pulse raced. She needed his hands on her, craved the connection, the sting, his praise, even his scolding. Needed him.
"I was at fault also and failed in my leadership. I'm responsible for the insecurity you felt in our relationship, so I'm not going to discipline you this time for not calling me," he said.
"Oh." Her shoulders slumped.
"No punishment," he reiterated sternly as if the lack of a spanking was her punishment. Then his lips twitched. "But I am going to spank you. Did you think I wouldn't?"
He edged closer to the center of the sofa, and she glanced at the spanking bench. So much fun. Her buttocks contracted in remembrance of the burn. Inside and out.
Harris shook his head. "Not that way. Not tonight." Abby's skin prickled as his gaze traveled from her face to her throat to the cleavage visible through the gaping lapels of his robe. "Take that off." He tugged on the tie.
With a shrug and toss, she consigned the robe to a puddle on the floor. Brown eyes smoldered, boosted her confidence.
"How would you like me…sir?" she purred, eager for whatever he had in mind.
He leaned in until she could feel the caress of his breath. "Teasing will earn you extra strokes, Abby, sweetheart."
"I hope so." She batted her eyelashes, and then with great deliberation laid over his lap, wiggled against his erection.
Harris adjusted her, raising her bottom, and then curved his arm around her hips to hold her in place. He rubbed her ass with even strokes. Caressed. Kneaded. "This is mine," he said conversationally.
"Yes, sir." All remnants of negative tension fell to desire.
He laid into her ass with a strict hand that seemed to deny the blatant evidence of his lust, but proved hers. Between her legs, heated moisture pooled.
Center cheek, left, right, he delivered no mercy but plenty of burning love. Her flesh quivered under impact, flattening with each blow. She savored the sting, secure in the hold that kept her near, right where he had placed her, right where she longed to be.
He cracked a hard one against a burning moon. "I'm not going to gamble anymore."
She stiffened and tried to roll off his lap. He wouldn't let her go, but did allow her to peer up at him. "You don't have to give it up. I meant what I said. I'm okay with it."
He shrugged. "Poker offered a means to an end. I have other things to occupy me." He resumed spanking her ass.
A streak of fire blazed across her butt, her thighs. When she turned into a moaning, humping mass of desire, he pulled her off his lap.
His clothes flew off almost by their own accord. And then she sprawled flat on her back, and he thrust into her, swiveling his hips to stimulate the right spot to drive her over the edge.
She orgasmed with a cry, every muscle spasming. His face, his neck tautened. Perspiration beaded on his forehead, dripped into her eyes, stung, but she clung to him and raked her nails over his back.
With a shout, he joined her in ecstasy.
They lay breathing, connected, his heart and hers drumming in sync. Her burning bottom stuck to the leather of the sofa. Harris braced on his elbows and stared into her eyes. He flashed his killer dimples in a smile of male satisfaction, boyish charm, and the besotted look of a man in love.
Long shot?
Abby hugged his neck and grinned. No chance. He was a sure thing.
Cara Bristol
Cara Bristol has written everything from mainstream long and short fiction to nonfiction magazine and newspaper articles. She sold her first erotic romance in 2009. Now multi-published, she has ten erotic romances and three anthologies to her name. The author of the popular Rod and Cane Society domestic discipline series, Cara writes spanking fiction most often, but her published works also include contemporary and paranormal erotic romances. Breeder is her first science fiction novel and the start of a series. She lives in the Midwest United States with her husband. When she's not writing, she enjoys reading, traveling, and watching reality TV shows.
Don’t miss these exciting titles by Cara Bristol and Blushing Books!
Long Shot (Corbin's Bend Book 5)
Milestones (anthology)
Connect with Cara Bristol:
www.carabristol.com
Don’t miss the entire Corbin’s Bend Series!
Return to Corbin’s Bend
At Home in Corbin’s Bend
Corbin’s Bend Homecoming
Love in the Rockies
A Simple Misunderstanding
Kathryn R. Blake
©2014 by Blushing Books® and Kathryn R. Blake
All rights reserved.
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Blake, Kathryn R.
A Simple Misunderstanding
eBook ISBN: 978-1-62750-4744
Cover Art by ABCD Graphics & Design
This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the author's advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.
Chapter 1
As a vet, expressing an animal's anal glands had never been one of Jerry Douglas' favorite duties, but for some breeds, anal sac expression was the best method of keeping the gland from becoming infected or impacted. Unfortunately, sometimes owners thought it was cute when their doggie scooted or ran in circles snapping at its tail and didn't realize, until a rather obnoxious odor began to permeate the home, that their pet had a serious problem. And, when the dog was small and snippy, like the chihuahua he'd just finished treating, the task was more than unpleasant. Not to put too fine a point on it, pushing foul, bloody puss out of a dog's rear end, and appearing unaffected by it, took a strong constitution.
