by Lynda Bailey
Shasta threaded her fingers through her hair. “I want to forget any of this ever happened.”
“Sorry, I can’t do that,” Emma said, “but I can change the subject. To a happier one, I suspect.” She extracted a large manila envelope and slid it across the table.
“What’s that?” Shasta asked.
“Deeds to the Dupree home as well as the lake property.”
Shasta’s eyes popped wide. She looked inside the packet. “Thought the federal government was seizing everything.”
“It was pointed out that the illicit activity was in fact that of Ian Blackwell, and not Graham Dupree. And given how instrumental you were in bringing down Blackwell, it seemed fair to allow you some compensation.”
“Hardly instrumental.” Shasta closed the envelope. “But…thank you.”
The agent dipped her head in acknowledgement.
“Whatcha gonna do with the real estate, sis?” Dell asked.
“Sell, and put the money into a college fund for Wyatt.”
“Bet you’d get a nice nickel if you sold the sixty acres to a developer.”
Shasta shook her head. “No developer, but maybe a conservation group will buy that land. I like the idea of all that ugliness being taken over by nature. Kinda purifying in a way.” She stood, as did Lynch. “In the meantime, brother dear, you’re stuck having me and Wyatt live with you. That okay?”
“Better than okay. House is too damn big for one person anyway.”
“Good.” Shasta grabbed her purse and Lynch ushered her to the door.
“Speaking of your son,” Emma said, “how’s he doing?”
“Better, though he misses Graham terribly, but knowing the official report said Graham died trying to save him has helped. Thank you again.”
“No need to thank me for that. I honestly believe if your husband had had a choice, he would’ve stopped Blackwell.”
Shasta sighed. “I still worry the truth might come out some day, though…”
Emma gave her head a firm shake. “It won’t. The only people who know exactly what happened that night are in this room, plus Sam. As far as the good people of Stardust are concerned, Graham Dupree, along with the entire Streeter MC are heroes for helping foil a human trafficking ring.”
Dell snorted. “Good God. The Streeters were part of that damn ring.”
The agent scowled. “We’ve been over this. You know it’s in everyone’s best interest to stick to the story.”
“Yeah…yeah,” Dell muttered.
Lynch gripped the door knob then paused. “What’s gonna happen to the Fuentes’s case, counselor?”
Emma’s frown darkened. “It’ll stay active, though the bastard has probably gone farther underground than a gopher. But we’ll get him. Eventually.”
Dell slid his gaze to Lynch. “Same could be said for…other criminals.”
Lynch feigned shock, his hand over his heart. “Criminal? I’m not a criminal. As the new owner in the Stardust Bowling Alley, I’m an upstanding member of the community.”
“Who’s trying to become a licensed cannabis grower in Nevada,” Dell grumbled.
Lynch shrugged. “If you can’t beat the system, game it.” He slung his arm over Shasta’s shoulders with a toothy grin. “‘Sides, your sister doesn’t think I’m so bad.”
Shasta elbowed him in the ribs.
“Ow, Shaly.”
“What did I say about being nice?” She met her brother’s angry glower. “We’re, um, going to pick up Wyatt and Aiden and take them to Tahoe for the afternoon. Wanna come? You could take a vacation day.”
Dell sat straighter. “Can’t. Emma and I still have some reports to write.”
Shasta did a double take at Dell’s use of the agent’s first name then bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. She hadn’t noticed how…close he sat to Emma. She cleared her throat. “See you later then.”
Dell scooted in tighter to Emma, reading the file she’d laid out. “Yeah…later.”
Outside the conference room, Shasta turned to Lynch. “Why do you have to antagonize Dell like that? You know he’s having a hard time with us.”
Lynch grabbed his cut off her desk and headed toward the entrance with her beside him. “If he’s having trouble with what happened in there, how the hell is he gonna deal with us getting married?”
Shasta’s brain stuttered then stopped completely. As did her feet.
After a few steps, he pivoted. “Something wrong?”
“You think we’re gonna get married?”
His forehead creased. “Well…yeah.”
“You never mentioned it.”
He crossed his arms, his expression suddenly guarded. “I’m mentioning it now.”
Her insides tingled. “You seriously want to marry me?”
“Yes. Why so surprised?”
“I don’t know. Guess I never thought it’d ever happen.”
He dropped his arms. “But you want it to happen, right?”
His uncertainty warmed her heart. She placed her hands on his chest and smiled. “More than anything. But you know we have to wait a while.”
He nodded. “Already figured on a spring wedding. May 17th.”
“May 17th?”
He cocked his head. “Don’t you remember? That’s the day we met.”
Her smile grew. “I remember.”
“And my life hasn’t been the same since.”
She looped her hands around his neck. “Mine neither.”
He glanced behind her. “Your brother’s staring at us, and he doesn’t look happy.”
She brushed her mouth to his. “Tough.”
“Thought you didn’t want to antagonize him.”
“Thought he had to get used to us.”
A grin played at Lynch’s lips. He drew her closer and kissed her, hard. She speared her fingers through his hair as his sexy, musky scent filled her senses. He angled his head, driving his tongue deep into her mouth.
A loud crash echoed.
“Shas-Ta!” Dell bellowed.
Giggling, she broke from Lynch, grabbed his hand then raced out the door.
And toward their future.
A note from Lynda
Thank you for purchasing On a Knife’s Edge. I hope you enjoyed reading about Shasta and Lynch as much as I enjoyed writing about them. Please remember the three Rs: Rate, Review, Recommend. I’d be grateful if you helped spread the word.
You can drop me at line at [email protected]. Or check out my website www.lyndabailey.net.
Happy Reading!
L.
About Lynda
I have no doubt I was born a storyteller.
I remember telling my first “story” in kindergarten. I informed my teacher, Mrs. Downing, that my mom had just had a baby boy. She hadn’t, of course, and 0while I got thoroughly admonished for my “storytelling,” I wasn’t deterred from what would become a lifelong passion.
From making up tales as a kid that centered around my favorite TV shows to today, I love telling stories! Stories with handsome guys and spunky gals, that always…always end with a happily-ever-after.
My romances are full of passion, with heat levels that range from hot to sizzling! I’ve been a finalist in numerous writing contests, including RWA’s® prestigious Golden Heart® in 2010. Please join me for laughter, love and that all important HEA.
Now please enjoy the following excerpt from my BDSM romance, Shattered Trust available here… https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00MJPJRX0
Start of Chapter Five
ON WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON, Liam pulled the final load of lunchtime dishes from the dishwasher when the creak of the door announced someone had entered the kitchen.
“I need you to tap a new keg of Bud Light,” Kate said from behind.
“No problem,” he replied over his shoulder—to no one as the door swung closed. He sighed.
That’s how it had been between since Sunday. Kate would give him an order then leave before he coul
d respond. He didn’t fault her for acting this way. She’d owned up to a ton of shit, a reality that had to be eating her alive.
He dried his hands and headed out the swinging kitchen doors. A part of him was grateful for the distance Kate put between them, but another part zinged with hurt at her coldness, considering what they’d shared. Well, what she’d shared.
Shit, St. James…get it together. You don’t want any of her drama.
He needed to keep his head down, his mouth shut and do his job, until he got his truck fixed. Once that happened, he’d be gone from Trustworthy.
In the keg room, he disconnected the used line for the Bud Light and placed the drained barrel off to the side then attached a new line to the fresh cask. Finished, he grabbed the old keg and turned.
Kate stood in the doorway, her arms crossed. As usual.
The sight of her slender body jolted him, and he nearly dropped the keg on his foot. “Hey…you surprised me.”
She didn’t look at him, but rather her gaze wandered the space. “You never put things back.”
He shifted. “No, I was gonna wait until after we got the next delivery.”
She stepped into the tiny room, and the room got even tinier. “This setup is more logical, isn’t it? Having the domestic beers in front does make it easier because they’re more popular, huh?”
He shrugged. “But the other way worked for a long time. I’ll put it back if you want.”
“No. Keep it this way. It’s better.” A small smile whispered over her lips. “In case you hadn’t noticed, change can be a hard thing for me.”
He tried to ignore how her modest smile snagged his breathing. Another shrug. “I’ll do whatever you want.”
Her gaze held his for a long heartbeat.
He looked away first. “I need to start the dinner prep.”
She blocked his exit. “I took your advice. I called a counselor. Several in fact.”
He wanted to jockey around her, but with the keg in his hands he couldn’t. Not without knocking her over. “That’s good.”
“I’ve got a problem, though. I don’t have insurance and they all charge over a hundred dollars an hour. I can’t afford that.” She looked down and scuffed her shoe along a floorboard. “So I was kinda hoping I could…pay you.”
“Pay me to do what?”
She lifted her head, her lips pressed together.
Realization punched him in the solar plexus. “You mean pay me instead of a counselor?”
Her shoulders boosted up a fraction. “Yes.”
The keg thudded to the floor. “But I’m not a counselor.”
“But you know…things, right?”
Oh, he knew a great many things, none of which she was prepared to learn. He perched a hip on the cask and rubbed the tightening muscles in his neck. “You’re not serious.”
She upped her chin. “I am serious. And this was your idea.”
Liam’s inner sadist perked up at her blatant defiance. He shoved it down. Now was not the time to unleash his sinister side because she didn’t mean that. She couldn’t. “My idea was for you to get professional help. Not ask me to play therapist so you can lie on the couch and talk about your problems.”
“Why not?”
Why not?
He stared at her. Was she honestly suggesting they talk? No way did he want to talk to her. Spank and whip her—make her shout his name…yes. On a couch, a bed. In the keg room right now…fuck yes. But talk? No way in hell.
She was his boss for crissakes, and he wasn’t some psychoanalyzing analyst. If anything went awry, the least that would happen is he’d get fired—again. The worst, she’d end up more fucked up than she already was. A possibility that had a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead.
The word “no” perched on his tongue, but refused to come out.
He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t attracted to Kate. With her shoulder-length hair so perfect for yanking and her pert ass so perfect for spanking and her lips so perfect for sucking his cock, she possessed all the physical attributes he enjoyed in a bottom.
But more than her desirability, she prodded the softer side of his dominant personality. The part that wanted to ease the hurt he inflicted. Yes, it was his nature to dominate in the bedroom, to taunt and torture, but he also took immense pleasure in the aftercare. The assurance that everything was all right—for everyone.
With startling clarity, Liam realized that’s what he wanted to do with—and for—Kate. Comfort her. Show her a different kind of a Top-bottom relationship. Demonstrate how wonderful and healthy such a bond could be.
He’d wanted that ever since her tormented utterance of her safe word.
What the fuck? Was he insane?
Kate’s pain and mistrust ran deep. Too deep to be remedied by someone like him. She needed an honest-to-God therapist and not him. Because he sure as shit didn’t want to “talk” with her.
So if he couldn’t say yes and he couldn’t say no, that left getting her to change her mind about him…helping her. And the best way to do that would be to explain to her exactly what his help would involve.
He abruptly stood. She flinched. He prowled toward her. She backed away.
“You should know,” he said in the silky voice he used when playing out a scene, “that I do most of my talking with my hands.”
A gasp puffed from her mouth. “What does that mean?”
“It means our…conversations will be physical. Not verbal.”
He pinned her to the wall, crowding her space, but not touching her. Her warm scent filled his senses, and his dick with blood. “You will submit to me.” He employed his best Dom voice, low and husky, with a hard edge that tolerated no denial.
She angled her face away from his. “N…no. That’s not what I’m paying you for.”
“You will pay me with your submission.” He tucked his index finger under her chin and brought her gaze back to his. “Whenever, wherever and however it pleases me.”
She closed her eyes and two twin teardrops leaked out. Her jaw trembled so hard, her teeth clicked. His Dom fairly danced with glee as his cock continued to swell.
She licked her lips, leaving a shiny path he longed to follow. “What if I can’t…submit?”
He dropped his hand and took a big step back. “Then nothing. We go back to the way things are right now.”
She huddled tight to the wall, her body shaking and her breathing ragged. He worried she might hyperventilate again.
After a slow, silent count to twenty, and she still hadn’t moved, Liam hoisted the empty keg and turned to leave.
“I don’t want to feel this way anymore.”
Her hushed words stumbled his feet to a halt. Fuck.
“Can you fix me?”
He slammed his eyes shut. Goddamn it! He didn’t want to look at her. He wanted to keep walking, out of the room and out of the Bluebird. Permanently. But that wasn’t going to happen. He glanced over his shoulder.
She still hugged the wall with her arms wound so tightly around her middle it was a wonder she could draw a breath. Her wide-eyed gaze snared him. Kept him rooted to the spot. She looked helpless, so fucking helpless, yet determination etched her mouth. She might be scared, terrified even, but she had grit. By God, she was beautiful.
He fortified his resolve. He wouldn’t allow himself to be wooed by her enticing vulnerability or her quiet courage. This dangerous plan needed to die—for both their sakes. He graced her with a sinful grin. “When I’m done with you, you’ll be either fixed or broken completely.”
Her eyes ballooned as her mouth formed a perfect “o.”
Liam again pivoted toward the door. He had to get out of there before succumbing to her magnetism and agreeing to anything she wanted.
“All right.”
Goddamn it…no!
He kept his gaze on the doorjamb, not daring to look at her. “All right…what?”
She moved into his peripheral vision. “All right, I accept your
conditions.”
He briefly closed his eyes then gave her a hard stare. “You need to be sure about this, Kate. Very sure.”
“I am.”
He shook his head. “You’re too emotional right now to be sure of anything.” He shifted the keg in his hands. “We’ll talk later, once you’ve thought long and hard about what you’re proposing. Then you can give me your answer.”
Not waiting for a response, he walked out.
