Beauty and the Brute

by Nikki Winter

  “I bought that,” Sansone mumbled off to the side.

  Alana gave him a sympathetic look. “And I know you really tried your best, Mr. Sultana. However, I’ve found that in office environments, appliances say more than enough about the employers.” She smiled at his slim cut suit. “You don’t look like a cheap man.”

  Sansone stood a bit straighter. “Well…”

  Lucian snorted. “You don’t know him the way we do…”

  Amused, she returned her attention to Nyssa. “Is there anything else you’d like me to do before the others come piling in?”

  “I don’t need an assistant,” Nyssa repeated.

  Alana stopped breathing for a moment.

  “But,” the woman continued. “I’m beginning to think I may just want one.”

  Her lungs filled and she fought the urge to do a small jig.

  Nyssa stepped past her and started for her office. “Come tell me about those endorsements. I have an expensive taste in shoes that I want to keep.”

  Elated, she followed, laughing a little when Sansone gave her a thumbs up and Luciano shimmied. Best. Decision. Ever.

  Alana had never regretted her choice to take a risk in being tossed from the building like a trench coat bum. If she hadn’t made a step that day, she wouldn’t be well on her way to the glory-filled career she had on the horizon now.

  You also wouldn’t have met a certain someone with very large and capable hands. Amirite?

  No. No. No. It was best to leave thoughts like that where they belonged—tucked into the very recesses of her mind. She took to the comfortable sofa in the back room of the lounge and placed the, “I’m sleeping and death will greet you if you wake me” sign on the knob. Her shoes were put neatly off to the side and she flopped backwards onto the plush cushions.

  As long as she lived, she would not acknowledge the fact that as soon as she closed her eyes, she saw Noel Haddon’s face! Never dammit! She would never admit it!

  ***

  He was stalking her. But like…only a little bit. And it was on social media instead of the bushes outside of her apartment so as far as Noel was concerned, it was totally harmless. Completely harmless. Because really, she’d brought him to this. It was all of her fault. He wasn’t an obsessive person. He’d never been an obsessive person. Until now. When he was desperately scrolling her Twitter in an attempt to find out what it was she did outside of Blackwell & Sultana. Where she went. What she liked to eat. Anything he could use to his advantage. And he needed an advantage. He needed a way in so he could get. Her. Out.

  Noel wanted this demon exorcised. He wanted to feel like himself again. He wanted this gaping hole created by her evil, evil sex alchemy gone. The only way to remove it? Interaction. He had to see her again. And again. And again. And again until it was out of his system. Therefore, what he was doing at the moment could only be considered as step one of his rehab. He admitted that he had a problem. He just needed to confront that problem.

  “Alana Stafford @CrazyLegs – 10h – Haverford Trail

  Time to play my daily game of ‘Make those legs hurt!’ Shawarma.

  Sweet Shawarma. I must pay for our torrid affair. Forgive me.”

  Ah. She ran daily. That wasn’t the most shocking revelation. She really did have crazy legs and from what he’d ben told, track was her chosen field of athleticism for years before it had been derailed. Noel calculated the time and figured that she went running around 6 a.m. or so every morning. It was an assumption on his part to believe that Haverford Trail was always her chosen place but Alana didn’t seem to be someone without a plan, a routine—which meant he’d more than likely catch her there.

  Desperate? Yes. A little crazy? Sure. But he lacked the honest to God ability to tell himself no on this. The woman had some insane hold on him that he couldn’t shake. Even more disturbing, he wasn’t entirely sure that he wanted to shake it. It was dangerous. Extremely dangerous. Noel wasn’t opposed to a life spent loving the one you were with but he was realistic. His career path was sporadic and despite the fact that he’d become adjusted to the Blackbirds, at any moment he could be placed elsewhere. It had been a purposeful choice to leave a no trade clause out of his contract because being trapped in the same damn place for years on end was a reoccurring nightmare of his. It was the reason he’d fought so hard to leave North Carolina.

  His family—as lovely as they were—didn’t seem to want to see anything outside of those four walls and Noel had developed cabin fever. One too many times he’d bared witness to the horrors of commitment and what they could do to a man or woman when that individual hadn’t given himself or herself the chance to explore, to venture outside of monotony. They jumped on the first person willing to say, “I do” and started pumping out youngins with a quickness that bordered on manic. Soon high school sweethearts who’d been moon eyed far each other once upon a time with visions of sugarplums dancing through their heads couldn’t stomach the sight of one another. The next thing one knew, they’d be standing on the cereal aisle of a local superstore, listening to a woman scream, “I saw you with that whore!” while the man in question tried his damndest to quiet her. All to no avail because once a lady started throwing industrial sized boxes of laundry detergent at her husband’s head in the midst of screeching, “I’ll personally deliver your soul to satan!” as though she had a intimate relationship with the fallen one…there was really no coming back from it.

  So Noel had ambled on into his career path with a goddamn smile on his face because he couldn’t be forced to stay put. He couldn’t be forced into the cesspool of reactionaryism where everyone wrapped themselves up in their idea of traditional lives only to find out that the world had so much more to offer. Putting a ring on some sweet girl’s finger only to break her heart down the line or have his heart broken because life—real life—was waiting just on the other side of the door? Nah. That had never held any appeal to him. Taking everyday by storm without a backwards glance? Now that was Noel’s M.O.

  However, as of late that had been upset. It had been overturned and trifled with because of eyes the shade of jade, skin that looked like dessert and those goddamn legs!

  Noel sighed and sat back o his bed, willing himself to go shower after his workout but all he could envision was Alana, her knee hooked over his left forearm, the other clenching his hip in a death grip. Dammit. He really missed those legs.

  Five

  “No, Alex.”

  “Why don’t you care about my happiness?!”

  Alana rolled her eyes in time with rolling her shoulders as she shook her limbs out and stretched; all the while listening to the complaints of her sibling through noise blocking ear buds connected to her phone.

  “It’s not a matter of whether I care about your happiness—which I don’t by the way—“

  He gasped dramatically.

  “—It’s the principle. And my principles won’t have me calling a man who I’ve served coffee to on occasions just so you can get a signed jersey and a pat on the head for being a good little fan. I can, however, get you tickets to his next game in the best seats that I can afford.”

  “Oh sure,” Alexander went on sarcastically. “The same woman who flashed a cop a nipple to get out of a speeding ticket—“

  “That was an accident.”

  “The same woman who once stuck her hand down the front pocket of a bouncer’s pants to get into an age restricted club.”

  “He’d clearly just washed those jeans and his pockets were out of place.”

  “The same woman,” he continued, his voice rising hysterically. “Who once made a man of the cloth, who had been pastoring for twenty years without a misstep, say ‘front row pussy’ as opposed to the words ‘front row pew’ before his entire congregation—”

  “What that man of God had on his mind while I was doing my monthly servitude to our lord and savior is not my fault!”

  “—Suddenly has principles!”

  They were having this argume
nt…again. Why were they having this argument again? Because Lord Spoiled Brattington would not relinquish his fanciful dreams of skybox glory and Instagram photos to share with his gangle of geeky goons!

  Three days away. Alexander’s birthday was three days away and he refused to take no for an answer. Normally she’d be proud and even a bit impressed with his tenacity seeing as how he could be painfully passive at times but dammit¸ he was working her last Yankee nerve.

  “No. Alex.”

  There was silence and then, “I understand.”

  Alana sucked in a breath. “Good.”

  “I understand that my joy, my reason for being is of no consequence to you.”

  Oh sweet Jehovah.

  “I understand that despite my many, many dedicated performances in your honor while helping you sneak in past curfew, helping you pass tests you weren’t completely prepared for, helping you become the very woman you are today—headed for greatness—you cannot help me.”

  She blinked. “Are you done now or would you like to use your soapbox some more?”

  “How dare you!”

  “Is it high upon your stage, Alexander? Do you need assistance coming down?”

  “You’re a horrible person!”

  “Are you trapped like a small mewling kitten? Shall I call the fire department?”

  “I’m hanging up now.”

  “No, no,” she insisted. “Stay on the phone until I’m sure you’re safely on the ground. Both feet comfortable.”

  Her phone beeped three times and flashed to let her know he’d hung up. She smirked. He’d pout for a bit and then eventually he’d accept the consolation prize of run of the mill tickets she had at the ready for him. Alana had to admit that she was a large part of his overindulged personality. Between the two of them and their sires, Alana had to be an adult, his caregiver, his tutor, his cab service and his educational speaker on safe sex.

  Her role had always been that of a parent. She knew when to be firm and when to relent. When to tell him no and when to do everything she could to make sure what he wanted happened. There was something about that smile and his goofy humor that made pride swell in her chest. Alexander was a complicated but genuinely good and rather easy to please boy so he made it rather effortless to adore him. Even when he was irritating the living fuck out of her.

  With a grin, Alana flipped through her apps until iTunes showed itself. A quick press of a few buttons and her favorite current band came up. Stroke-Her was comprised of some of the best the industry had to offer at the moment and their latest record breaking album had never failed to make her want to move, to get up, to do something. She needed the push right now as she’d found on many occasions and they were the remedy. ‘Invincible’ had obviously been created with the intent of causing complete emotional surrender by the listener. Whether it was joy, love, rage or sexual frustration each track played elicited a feeling. Alana needed to grasp onto that and not release it because at the moment she was feeling entirely too many things—most of them centered on Mr. Southern Sensibilities of the Uncle Jim Bob clan.

  What the hell had he done to her? It was all so sordid. No matter how hard she outran every thought, they always seemed to catch up with her. There was no peace, no rest because all she ever saw—all she ever dreamed—was those raw honey eyes blazing down at her. That gravelly voice growling, “That’s right, sugar. Take all of me in that pretty mouth just. Like. That.” It was a sickness. One she needed to be eradicated of because he was distracting her. Alana didn’t like distractions. She didn’t like feeling off kilter and ill prepared. She didn’t like the way she took off running, only to slow up exponentially because the wide freckled back of the man just feet ahead looked all too familiar. No. No. He wouldn’t be here. He couldn’t be here. She was imagining things.

  But those faint scratch marks and the gait suggested differently. Those wide shoulders and the musculature of his build. The thickly roped thighs and calves. The slight glimpse of ginger beard that had left whisker burn in the kinkiest places… All these things suggested that she wasn’t imagining a goddamn thing and it was him.

  “No. No. No. No,” Alana groaned aloud.

  Not her park. Not her place of escape. Not where she came to run away from any and everything haunting her—where she came to run away from him.

  “Can I tell you where I want your hands?” Stroke-Her sung in her ear.

  She hit the skip button with more force the necessary, all the while glaring at the back of a really large, really stupid copper hair covered head. The burnished strands gleamed under the rising sun, pushed back by a sweat band, matching ones wrapped around his wrists to perfectly coordinate with tear away jogging pants and huge sneakered feet.

  “There are things I whisper that I’d rather scream…”

  Next!

  “Absolutely sinful, what more could you want?”

  Jesus! Next!

  Practically tearing the ear buds out of their resting places, Alana pumped her legs harder to catch up with the doublewide son of a bitch happily trucking along on her path while in her park during her time.

  “Yo!” she shouted, getting closer. “Squidbilly!”

  His trek slowed considerably and he squinted over his shoulder, eyes landing on her with the unmitigated gall to look annoyed! As though she’d interrupted his entire day with her presence.

  When he finally came to a complete stop, Alana went through her normalized breathing, approaching with the desire to fight. Fight because he was invading her space, her thoughts, the same way he’d invaded her pu—

  Brakes. Train.

  “Well, well, well,” Noel drawled. “Isn’t this a lovely surprise?”

  “Surprise?” Alana barked. “Bullshit. You live on the other side of town therefore a coincidence like this one is slim to none so tell me how you did it. How’d you know where I would be and at what time?”

  “Aren’t you adorable?” he went on in that condescending tone that was too saccharine to be real, making her want to claw at his face and rip his lips off before throwing them to the ground and dancing to a tribal beat on top of them. “Again with the assumptions.”

  Rubbing her eyes to keep from simply launching her self at his head, teeth bared, she inhaled deeply. “Noel. This game. Stop.”

  “Don’t know what you mean, sugar. I came here to enjoy the beauty Haverford Trail has to offer much like anyone else going for a jog or a walk on this fine, fine day.”

  Oh God, she was going to kill him. Alana was going to kill him and lose everything she’d ever worked for if she didn’t get away from him right. Now.

  “Aw, where’re you going, darlin’?” he called after her as she pivoted on the balls of her feet and started away from him. Far, far away.

  Alana didn’t answer. She simply replaced her ear buds, enjoying the militant sound of lyrics she could actually get behind.

  “Get bent!”

  Okay. He’d been wrong to fuck her around but what, exactly, had she expected him to say? “Hey, yeah, I’m slightly psychotic and totally creeping on you!” No. Nope. He wouldn’t admit that, couldn’t admit it. Therefore, straight out answers—at least for the moment—were off of the table.

  But when she’d run up on him, glistening slightly under dawn’s rays, her long toned limbs on display for all to see in a sports bra that hugged her chest lovingly and active leggings that did so much justice for those legs… Noel had wanted to drop to his knees and confess his every sin if it would lead to seeing her with said leggings around her ankles. His cock tightened and he said a silent prayer of thanks for jock straps because with every second of watching her toned ass jiggle just a bit while she ran on at a steady pace, his erection grew.

  Considering the way she’d turned away from him and took off, her middle finger waving with gusto, he would chance a guess that at the moment she wasn’t—in any way—interested in giving a helping hand or mouth or whatever else she chose to offer up. Noel sighed and started after he
r, already prepared to say he was sorry for entrenching on her routine. He couldn’t help himself. The woman made him blind to rational, respectable behavior. He disregarded all good upbringing while in her presence and lord knows his Nana would have his ass for acting the fool with a woman; especially this one.

  “Sugar,” Noel shouted, quickening his pace to catch up as she took to the trail that ventured off into the wooded area surrounding the park. “Wait.”

  That middle finger went higher.

  He gritted his teeth. “Alana.”

  Nothing.

  An annoyed huff left him. “Could you just give me a moment of your time, please?”

  That seemed to put the brakes on her…for now. She stopped, turned towards him, her tits shaking with each harsh indrawn breath, bangs hanging haphazardly into her eyes as she tried to brush them back and failed.

  “Why are you doing this?” And she seemed genuinely confused. “Any of this?”

  Noel was really at a loss on how to answer that. “You think I have a list prepared as to the whys and hows?” he panted. “I don’t. I don’t have any answers. I don’t have any justifications. I’ve got nothing.” His arms lifted and fell helplessly. “I’ve got nothing aside from the scent of you still on my sheets and the taste of you stuck in the back of my throat, clawing at me, tormenting me. You think this is normal for me? That I came looking for this?”

  Her hands balled at her sides. “Listen—”

  “Unh-unh,” he snarled, stepping into her personal space. “You listen. I don’t need to know the details on who did what to you, who made you close yourself down to all possibility, all chance but goddammit, Alana—”