by Chrys Fey
She sighed. “If you insist.” Her smile and lowered shoulders told him she was surrendering to the idea.
“Enjoy it,” he urged.
She nodded. Her eyes twinkled in the candlelight. “I will.”
The waiter presented a bottle of chardonnay. Donovan tasted the pale gold wine and gave a nod of approval, so the waiter poured Beth a glass.
“Thank you,” she said and picked up the glass by the stem. She stole a sip. “Mm. It’s perfect.” She set the glass down. “What you ordered for me is perfect, too. You weren’t kidding when you said you know what I like.”
“I pay attention.”
Beth lowered her voice. “Do you know something else I like?” Her gaze went from sparkling to smoldering. “You.”
Donovan suddenly wished they weren’t at a restaurant but at home. “Now that I already knew.”
“Did you?” Her teeth flashed at him.
Do we really need to eat? He pushed down that thought. They’d need food to do what he had planned for later. While they waited for their food to come, they chatted, whispered, laughed, and flirted as if they were alone in the restaurant. When their meal arrived, they fell into a comfortable silence.
“That was delicious.” Beth set her utensils on her plate. Sighing, she sat back. “This was lovely, Donovan. Thank you.”
“You deserved it.”
Although he knew she had been reluctant to order, he could see she was content. He didn’t know if he would be able to bring her back here, as she’d probably tell him it was an unnecessary indulgence, but he hoped to repeat this for all their important anniversary milestones. Especially since, upon Beth’s request, their one-year anniversary was spent at home with tacos and cheap beer.
“Do you want to order dessert?”
“No, I’m stuffed. Besides, we can find dessert at home.”
Her words ignited a spark of lust inside him. Beth’s body was like a decadent buffet of the best desserts—every curve, dip, and inch.
“I better ask for the check then.”
She nodded. “You should.”
During the ride home, Donovan clasped Beth’s hand and kept raising it to his mouth to kiss it. Her fingers grazed his lips. He felt the hard warmth of her infinity engagement ring and wedding band. Seeing them on her finger still brought him pleasure. On their one-year anniversary, he had offered to get her a diamond engagement ring, even a tiny one, which would’ve been more her style, but she had refused. I have you, and I have this home. Those are more precious to me than a precious gem, she had told him. And the infinity knot meant more than a diamond of any cut or clarity.
He pulled into the driveway, unlocked the front door, and escorted Beth to their bedroom. His mouth sought hers immediately. His hands cupped her butt, and he pressed into her. Hunger burned through him. This ravenousness hunger was purely sexual and only his wife would sate that appetite. His hand curled around her hip, and his fingers crept toward the slit in her dress. Warm silk appeared at his fingers. Just when he was about to nudge it aside, Beth’s hand grasped his wrist. She inched back. Her face was flushed. Her eyes were glazed with lust.
“Not yet,” she panted. “I have a surprise for you. Take off my dress.”
Her order had his libido roaring. “You don’t have to tell me twice.” He reached around her and whisked the zipper down her back. Gazing into her eyes, he helped slip the dress off her curves. Once the fabric left the shape of her hips, it tumbled to her feet. Underneath, she wore a white strapless panty set with lace and sheer fabric that did nothing to cover her. The bottom of the chemise stopped short. Too short. Red, silk panties peeked between her legs.
His mouth went dry. He couldn’t tear his gaze away.
“Do you remember that store I went to when I needed that undercover costume? Virgin No More?” Boy, did he. Her purchases had been fuzzy handcuffs, intimate oil, and blindfolds. “I went there last week to buy this. I put it in a Walmart bag so the surprise wouldn’t be spoiled.” She smiled. “I wanted to do something for you.”
He swallowed. His gaze trailed back down her scantily clad body. The chemise looked so good on her. Part of him wanted to peel it off her body, and the other part wanted to enjoy her in it. That side won. “I don’t think I can take that off you.”
“Then don’t.” Her words were soft, enticing.
His stare settled on the red, silk triangle. “Well, I’ll remove one piece.” He brought her close and nibbled on her earlobe. “Just one piece.”
Cradling her in his arms, he maneuvered her onto the bed. His hands caressed lace and silk and flesh as his tongue twisted and stroked hers. The longer he tasted, the more he felt, the harder he became. Blood hollered in his eardrums and scorched his veins. He needed to feel Beth, sink into her, join her. His fingers pinched the straps of her panties and slipped them to her ankles. The heels she wore were still strapped to her feet. He didn’t want to take them off either, so he worked the panties off her heels. Then he parted her thighs and settled between them. She locked her arms around his neck, drawing him closer. Between their bodies, he undid his pants and entered her with a quick thrust.
Beth purred, and he groaned. With his head buried in the crook of her neck, he breathed in the sweet scent of her hair. It made him feel high. He put his mouth to her neck and sucked and nipped and enjoyed. Each moan that Beth made vibrated against his lips.
He pushed them to the brink of ecstasy, and they dove off the cliff together. Donovan fell onto his side, so he wouldn’t crush Beth beneath him. After a filling dinner and great sex, he finally felt sated. Neither of them spoke until they caught their breaths.
Beth looked down. “You didn’t take off my shoes?”
He shook his head. “Nope.” Smirking, he turned his head to her. “I don’t get to see you in heels much. And with that on…” He let his words trail off as he gazed at the chemise and the points of her nipples pressed against the flimsy fabric.
“You’re lucky I didn’t poke holes through the mattress,” she said.
“It would’ve been worth it.”
“Well, I’m going to take them off now and put my underwear back on.”
Donovan grinned as she did just that. He held out his hand when she finished. “Beth, your birthday isn’t over yet.” She took his hand and lowered onto the edge of the bed. “I have one more thing for you.” He indicated the drawer in the nightstand on his side of the bed. “Open it.”
She slid open the draw, revealing a flat, square jewelry box. She glanced at him before taking out the box. The lid made a soft creaking sound as she lifted it. Two pieces of silver lay on the inside. She covered her mouth. The gesture was of surprise and delight. She peered at him. Her eyes glistened with a sheen of happy tears.
“I thought your bracelet could use a couple more charms,” he explained.
She moved her fingers from her lips. “A shell and a heart.” Her voice was choked up. She lowered the box to her knee. Her bracelet, with the single hurricane charm, jingled. “You really do know me.”
Donovan picked up her hand and kissed the space beneath her wedding band. “Of course, I do.”
****
Donovan’s cell phone pulled him awake. He rolled over, away from Beth’s soft, supple body, and reached toward the nightstand. His hand slapped the wood surface until it collided with his phone. He snatched it up, swiped his finger over the glossy surface, and brought the phone to his ear, nearly dropping it on his face in the process. “What,” he snapped.
“Donovan, sorry to call so late, but I got the report back about your truck.”
He sat up, suddenly awake.
Beth clicked on the bedside lamp and put her hand on his arm. Her hair was mused. “Who is it?”
He held up a finger. “What does it say?”
Thorn let out a breath; Donovan braced for the news.
“Your brakes were cut, as we figured. More disturbing, all the kill switches were deactivated, and a little gadget was placed b
eneath your steering wheel that allowed someone within a one-mile radius to take full control of the steering. You were right, Goldwyn. Someone did hijack your truck.”
Chapter Eleven
Someone had been in the stands, maybe right behind her, with a remote-control device that let him steer Donovan’s truck toward the highest ramp, toward what he thought would’ve been Donovan’s death. The thought sickened and enraged Beth. Why would someone do such a thing? Donovan said Thorn didn’t think any of the other drivers had anything to do with it, and Donovan didn’t think a fan was responsible. So, who would do it? Who was sadistic enough to steer a man’s truck and initiate a dangerous crash?
She thought of the usual suspects: Jackson Storm and Buck.
Both men were locked up, never to get free. After Jackson had issued a kill order on them, he was stricken of phone and visitor privileges. He saw no one. Not even other prisoners. And the men who had tried to follow his order had been taken care of in Oahu. For over a year, they hadn’t received a death threat. Beth had thought it was over, but it was always when you let your guard down that the enemy struck.
A new threat was out there, watching them, waiting to make the next move.
She went into the kitchen for a glass of orange juice. Donovan sat at the table with a cup of coffee and the newspaper in his hands. She glanced at the front page as she passed. A picture of a woman running with a calico cat in her arms was posted above the fold with a backdrop of flames behind her. Beneath it was another picture of trees ablaze and firefighters trying to push back the fire.
She took out the carton of orange juice, filled a glass, and sat across from Donovan.
He lowered the paper. “Good morning.”
She smiled. “Morning.”
“I’m sorry about the call last night. It sort-of ruined your birthday.”
She shook her head. “No, it didn’t. Besides, my birthday was over by then. The real ending was quite satisfying.” She winked and took a sip of the sweet, tangy juice. “What are you going to do about your truck now?”
“I ordered the parts that need replacing and had it towed to my mechanic. He’ll be looking it over again to see if there’s anything the department’s investigative team missed?”
“Like what?” she asked.
Donovan shrugged. “Like something they didn’t realize wasn’t supposed to be there. Or should be there.”
Beth nodded. She was glad he was having it looked at again by a man he trusted. “I’m gonna sit on the porch for a while.”
“All right. Enjoy your time with her.”
Beth smiled as she headed toward the sliding glass door in the back of the house. When she was little, she had spent every Sunday morning on the porch with her mom, who would paint while Beth watched, and then they’d snack on fruit, chocolate, and scones. It was their special Sunday morning, mother-daughter bonding time. Beth started doing it again after moving into this grand house. Although her mom wouldn’t be standing in front of a canvas, Beth still felt her presence on those calm mornings on the porch.
She unlocked the door and stepped out with her glass in hand. Her favorite outdoor chair with chestnut armrests and a yellow cushion waited for her across the way. She took a few steps before coming to a halt. Something was stuck into the right armrest. Metal gleamed. She took a small step forward and another and another until she realized what it was—a knife.
Her feet stopped moving. She stared at the knife. Her heart banged against her chest, vibrating her T-shirt with its vicious beats. Something white was pinned to the wood beneath the blade. She had to see what it was. Forcing herself to keep moving, she stepped up to the chair. The glass fell from her hand. Glass and orange juice crashed into the tile, splashing her bare feet.
A piece of paper was stabbed to the armrest with a message scrawled in what looked like blood, a message for her—Happy Birthday!
“D-Donovan.” Her voice was weak, nothing more than a breath. She filled her lungs and shouted, “Donovan!”
A moment later, Donovan threw the sliding glass door open and hurried to her. She pointed at the blade, the blood, the birthday wish.
“God dammit,” he cursed.
His hand caught hers and pulled her away from the chair. He brought her into the kitchen and sat her down at the table. He snatched the towel hanging over the side of the sink, and while kneeling at her feet, cleaned the sticky juice from her skin. When her legs were dry, he picked up the house phone on the counter.
“Thorn, we have a problem. You need to get here ASAP.”
Beth waited for Thorn to arrive. She stayed at the table with her hands clasped. Every time she blinked, she saw the message in the blackness beneath her eyelids. What did it mean? Who would leave that for her? They had apprehended all the people in Jackson Storm’s drug ring. Or had they? Were there people out there flying under the radar, waiting to carry out his orders?
Thorn arrived ahead of the CSI team. He went straight to the porch to inspect the message before joining Beth and Donovan in the kitchen. She got up, poured a cup of coffee, and handed it to him.
“Thanks.” He accepted the cup. The steam rose to his face. His eyebrows were drawn, and his eyes were penetrating. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know.” She took her seat again. “I think I went into shock when I saw it, but I’m better now. Just tell me your theories and if it could be linked, in anyway, to what happened to Donovan’s truck.”
“We won’t know anything unless prints can be found on the knife’s handle and on the tools from Donovan’s garage.”
Across the table, Donovan shifted. Beth’s gaze was drawn to the movement. He wasn’t looking at her but was staring off into space with a hard glare.
“What is it?”
His gaze ticked to her. “The display is sadistic,” he started slowly with a deep tone. “But the message is personal, intimate. Only someone from your past, with passion toward you, would leave a message like that.”
Beth frowned. “Who would do that?”
“Your ex.”
Imagining her ex in his sleek suits, with his combed-back hair, dipping a finger in blood, or even ketchup, and writing a note with it was laughable. He had been the sort of child who hated getting messy. “Last I heard, he was happily banging his blond psychic slut. Why in the world would he care about me or my birthday?”
Donovan and Thorn exchanged glances.
She eyed Thorn. “What are you keeping from me?” When neither of them answered right away, she shouted, “Tell me.”
Donovan sighed. “He’s no longer with the psychic. His coworkers say he’s been obsessed with getting you back.”
Beth peered between them. “How do you know that?”
Thorn spoke up. “I looked into him when we were in San Fran.”
She shook her head. “Why?” It didn’t make sense. He hadn’t been a threat. The threat had been Buck and Jackson Storm.
“Because I asked him to,” Donovan admitted.
She stared at him. “I ask again…why?”
“Damn it, because I’m protective of you. I needed to know if he would be a threat to us, and he proved to be one.”
“No, he proved to be a prick who talks too much. He always has been. If you knew him at all, you’d know how ridiculous it sounds that he’d do something like this.”
“People change.”
Beth considered his clenched jaw and fisted hands. “I feel like I’m missing a piece of the puzzle. What haven’t you said?”
He met her gaze. “When we came back from California, I confronted him and told him to never come near you, say your name, or think about you.”
She gaped at him. Donovan was usually a smart man, but sometimes his love could make him do stupid things. “Did you even once think that doing that could make things worse?”
He didn’t reply, but he didn’t need to.
Thorn cleared his throat. “Let’s get back to why I’m here. Someone is targeting the two of you
. We don’t know who yet, and we don’t know why. I’m going to need both of you to come up with a grudge list of anyone you could think of who might have a grudge against you, big or small. Doesn’t matter if you think it’s petty. Anything can set someone off.”
“Thorn.” Beth spoke slowly. “Do you realize I’m a self-defense instructor? I help people in domestically violent situations. If any one of their spouses or exes found out about me, I’d be a target for revenge. As a matter of fact, some have found out and have confronted me before.”
“What?” Donovan’s voice was a blend of shock and anger, and she realized she should’ve kept that tidbit to herself. She couldn’t erase the words hanging in the air now.
She swallowed. “I’ve been threatened by a few men whose wives or girlfriends I taught. They blamed me when their spouse got up the courage to leave.”
“What sort of threats?” Thorn asked.
“We’re talking about wife beaters. There’s only one threat they know—bodily harm.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell me this?” Donovan wanted to know.
The way he looked at her made her feel as though she betrayed him, but she felt he had been disloyal, too. He had confronted Craig over two years ago and hadn’t told her about it until now, when something happened that could be a repercussion. “Because nothing has happened since we’ve been together,” she said. “And those situations were taken care of by the police. I never saw any of them again.”
“That’s doesn’t mean they forgot about you,” he said in a low voice.
“I agree with Donovan.”
Beth turned her attention to Thorn.
“I’m going to need the names of all of your clients who are or were in domestically violent relationships,” he said.
She blinked. “That’s more than half of my students, and I’ve been open for seven years. I’m not going to be able to remember all of them.” She rubbed her eyes. “But I can print out my complete client list. From that I can star the ones I know would qualify.”
“That’ll help,” Thorn said.
With a sigh, she got up and retrieved two pieces of paper and two pens. She handed one of each to Donovan. Their grudge lists weren’t going to be short, she knew that. When you added the pages of clients from her job, Thorn would have his work cut out for him, looking into and questioning all of them.
