by Tracy Ellen
Family & Fortune
(Volume V)
The Adventures of Anabel Axelrod
by
Tracy Ellen
Family and Fortune by Tracy Ellen
Copyright © 2015 by Tracy Ellen INK
Amazon Edition, License Notes
All rights reserved. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be copied, re-sold, or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the bookseller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. All the characters, organizations, locations, and events portrayed in this book are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
This book is available in print at most online retailers.
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Dedication
This fifth book in the series is for all the friends and fans generously volunteering their time and efforts helping me out on my journey as a self-published author. Thank you.
TE
Primary Editors
Kelly Beausoleil, Iveta Cvrkal, Beth Lake, and Shannan Robinett
I am blessed to have such a smart team of women behind the scenes.
Thank you, Ladies. Mwah!
Special Thanks
To the Volunteers of Team Tracy...
Opinion Minions (Book Reviewers)
Bel’s Book Ninjas (Beta Readers)
Party Proofers (Proofreaders)
You are all simply awesome.
Thank you, Carol S., for your winning entry in Name the Proofreader contest. I hear noisemakers and horns everytime I say ”Party Proofers!”
Prologue
Tuesday, 12/18
1:24 AM
TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: You slick Willy, you!
Dearest Mastermind,
I like surprises primarily because people rarely catch me off guard. Thank you for ensuring my 29th birthday would be unforgettable. Using Candy as the bait to lure me to my surprise party was truly inspirational, to say the least. As the party pictures show, I was totally blown away. I wish you could have been there, but I get it’s not every day a girl has the chance to be a Baron’s arm candy at the annual Christmas Ball in his castle. I hope you have even more fun at your shindig than I did at mine. Until Vegas, feel the love from your favorite granddaughter.
Chapter I
“O Holy Night” by Celine Dion
Tuesday, 12/18
1:25 AM
In my home office, I bit my lip on a smile while typing the closing to NanaBel’s email. I’d spent the last couple of hours rolling around on a faux fur throw in front of the Christmas tree getting thoroughly schtupped by Luke Drake to the soaring background music of twenty different artists singing their twenty different versions of “O Holy Night.” Wishing my own grandmother more fun than that was kind of creepy.
“Anabel, come in here.”
The familiar Pavlovian response tingled low in my belly when that deep, sexy voice called out my name. I guess it could be worse. I wasn’t barking like a dog yet.
If you’ve never been in the company of an alpha male who exudes superior intelligence, experience, and confident strength, it can knock a girl a little off kilter. When Mr. Top Dog is also wrapped up in a mouth-watering package of big, beautiful muscles, and other big appendages making him cockier, you can get why I was pressing my bare thighs tightly together and tingling.
“Coming!”
Boy, was that an understatement. Briefly closing my eyes, a contented smile spread across my face. I took a moment to savor the last hours. So far, this birthday had been another great first for me in a fourth fiscal quarter of mind-bending firsts.
“Anabel? Everything is ready.”
Yes, I can bring home the bacon and I can fry it up in the pan, but right now, I simply thanked my lucky stars to be born female. Inhaling the spicy aromas permeating the air, I surmised my ex-Delta Force lover knew his way around a kitchen as expertly as he did weapons and women.
My smile grew wider. Was there anything this freakin’ man could not do?
A woman of less willpower might swoon on the spot and give in with legs spread to be controlled by all that delicious testosterone invading her life.
My empty stomach rumbled loudly and I patted it fondly while thinking, ‘Not me, though.’
A voracious appetite for whatever smelled so good snapped me right out of my lustful daze. It turns out my ability to refocus my will was actually a lucky thing for the incredibly talented Mr. Drake. My best friend Anna nailed it after she met Luke for the first time. She proclaimed I was just the woman Luke needed to keep him on his toes.
It wasn’t rocket science to understand you cannot keep a man like Luke Drake on his toes if he constantly has you on your back. In an intimate relationship, similar to tight-rope walking over a pit of Komodo dragons, balance was everything.
A lot of women believe once the magic words of “I love you” were exchanged they should be able to kick off their high heels, undo the top button of their tight dating jeans, and settle in for a nice comfy life.
Ideally, that should be true, but when did resting on our laurels ever get women ahead? It’s a chilling fact most men unwittingly try their damnedest to change their girlfriends or wives into a second mommy. That should frighten a woman enough so that she never lolls around in sweats all weekend, never forgets to fix her hair, or never wears disgusting granny undies again when it’s that time of the month. If it doesn’t, then you shouldn’t be surprised when he starts to call you Mother.
I admire Damaris Drake, but no way was I going down without a fight. I expect still to be breathless with want at the mere thought of Luke reenacting our first date on its tenth anniversary. My Satyr can rip the lacy wisps of underwear off my body with his teeth and demand hot sex anytime, especially during those puffy times. And then, he better be smart enough to cuddle and baby me afterwards to avoid a kick to the groin for being a rough, insensitive brute.
With my head on straight about my relationship goals, I strategically adjusted one open side of the oversized tank top I wore.
Before going into my home office to jot off the quick email to NanaBel, I’d been sashaying around the apartment wearing nothing except Luke’s wifebeater and the dangling diamond earrings he fastened on me an hour ago. The appreciative heat gleaming in the eyes of the man who couldn’t seem to get enough of me was a heady rush of feminine power. I couldn’t wait to test it out again.
I found Luke at the kitchen island dishing scrambled eggs onto our plates.
He didn’t look up. “There you are. I thought I was going to have to come haul that sweet ass of yours in here.”
I paused in mid-sashay. Not that a man with his saturnine features and slashing, devilish brows could ever be described as adorable, but Luke came pretty close. He had a white kitchen towel tossed over one broad shoulder and was whistling softly under his breath.
Something about men doing domestic chores got me hot. Luke was shirtless and his jeans rode low on his hips. My eyes ate up the expanse of smooth, olive skin. Like an arrow made specifically to taunt me, my eyes followed the narrow band of silky black hair on his chest downwards over ripped abs until it disappeared and I hit the bulging jackpot. Involuntarily, my breath caught. I seriously wondered
in that microsecond if I had crossed into nympho territory.
Luke moved and the best biceps in America flexed. That was it. I wanted to bounce Luke off the fridge, drag him to the floor, and watch him vigorously do pushups over me. Okay, and push ins, too.
‘And a violent nympho at that. Exercise some control, girl!’ The mean mommy voice exclaimed in alarm.
The sex kitten’s tinkling laughter and deep purring were loudly approving.
To cover my lustful pause, I lifted my bare foot and peered down, as if I stepped on something. I wouldn’t put it past Mr. Tricky to be able to read my body language and then my mind. It would not be a good thing for Team Anabel if Luke knew I was so sexually besotted that I envisioned kitchen floor sex over breakfast--my favorite meal. I may be getting used to sharing the love, but no man should have that degree of totalitarian sexual power over their woman. That’s how monsters get created.
Nonchalantly, I walked close by Luke’s bent head to reach the fridge. “Mmm, smells good enough to eat in here.”
I pretended not to notice his momentary stillness when my seven-eighths exposed right breast passed within his field of vision. If he’d made any sudden moves, my right nipple, hard and pointy from his little chest and arm display, would have poked him straight in his eyeball.
Aware I had his undivided attention; I opened the fridge and leaned forward to peer inside. Humming tunelessly and wiggling my butt a bit, I took my time to find the bottle of orange juice. Next, I did my counter bouncing routine to reach the juice glasses up on the second shelf in the tall cupboard.
“I see that jumping move works even better for you with no panties on.”
“Is that all you saw?” I asked with a straight face.
“Of course, what else would I have seen?” Luke used his foot to pull out a stool for me.
Giggling at his dry tone, I carried our juices to the island. “Well, your keen observation adds valuable data to my scientific test. I was determining if the decrease in my weight by wearing no panties increased my ability to jump higher.”
My peripheral vision detected that tonight’s jeans jackpot had grown even bulgier. I was pleased at the measurable result of my little butt wriggle, but stayed strong and focused on my task ahead--stuffing my face.
Luke slowly raised a brow. “As long as it’s for science, I could be available for further data gathering.”
“You’ll be the first guy I ask.”
“I’ll be the only guy you ask.”
I laughed, and kissed Luke’s single dimple before removing his roving hand from my butt to sit on the stool.
Observing the steaming plate of cheesy eggs, buttered toast, and some sort of crispy potato patty flecked with greens, I carefully draped a napkin over my lap. I saw Luke smile faintly at that move, but I hadn’t done it for modesty’s sake. I wasn’t about to take any chances hot cheese would singe the Bermuda Triangle.
I rubbed my hands together and nodded yes when Luke graciously offered the black pepper grinder. “Wow, thanks. I didn’t even know I had enough food to make breakfast, much less this bounty.”
“I’ve cooked for myself for years,” Luke reminded me, peppering his eggs next. “I can scrounge with the best of them.”
“Do you know that I worship the ground you walk on?”
“Join the end of a long, long line, baby.”
I giggled again at his smarmy growl.
Maybe it was the knowledge our troubles were finally solved and the future stretched out brightly ahead of us, or maybe it was simply the result of our incredibly passionate schtup fest, but both of us were clearly in ebullient moods.
We shared a grin and then I blew on a forkful of hot eggs.
Chewing slowly, I closed my eyes.
I tasted a flavorful burst of chives, a slight nuttiness, a little green onion, and as I swallowed, a nice edge of heat. “Wow again. Mmm, what cheese did you use and why have I never used it in scrambled eggs before? Was that jalapeño I tasted? Because I’ve got to tell you, Chef Iron Chest, normally I’m not a huge fan of hot peppers in eggs,” I kissed my fingers, “but that was magnifico!”
I opened my eyes to find Luke watching me with an intense expression.
He didn’t answer my questions, instead saying softly, “The earrings look beautiful on you. What are your thoughts on pierced nipples?”
Startled, one hand unconsciously flew up to touch one of my birthday presents while the other clutched protectively at my girls, fork included. His glance followed my hand up and then lowered lazily to my breasts. I swear heat scorched my skin all along the way.
The sex kitten voice moaned, but I almost gagged.
“Careful, Princess, so you don’t fork yourself,” Luke warned teasingly.
‘Said the man who wants me to pierce my breasts,’ I thought in resentful terror.
Piercing meant needles, which meant no freaking way. I looked down at my full plate, appetite ruined. The words “pierced” and “nipple” should never, ever be said in the same sentence, especially during a meal. If wearing dangling earrings while letting a rosy nipple poke out impudently here or there gave Luke such horrifying ideas, then my jumping, bending, bare-butt-in-the-air days were definitely over.
The scrambled eggs were paste in my suddenly dry throat. Trying not to choke, I eyed Luke’s raised black brows and cruel mouth while I slowly forced the food down my throat.
Looking down from that penetrating gaze, I forked at the potato patty. My mind raced for a way to nip the subject in the bud, so to speak.
“Hmm, nipple piercing,” I drawled out slowly, stabbing the patty viciously to break it up into bite-size pieces. I glanced up with a bland expression. “Well, my first thought, as you very well know, is ouch.” Ignoring Luke’s growing grin, I went on musingly, “If you’re worried what people will think, I don’t believe it is true only gay men pierce their nipples these days.” I shrugged a shoulder. “I like hoops of any kind on my man, large or small, so my second thought is go right ahead and do your nipples.” I smiled cheerfully up into Luke’s glittering eyes. “Hey, you have my support to pierce Big Jim and the twins, too, if you want.”
I shoved the forkful of potatoes into my dry mouth and considered the subject closed.
Luke threw back his head and laughed. I kept chewing while his broad shoulders shook beside me. On a final chuckle, he put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. This time, he kissed my cheek.
Perhaps I should have been nervous when Genghis said no more on the subject, but I cuddled next to his strong, warm body and let it go. After all, try and train me as he might, this chick would never willingly agree to pierce her ta tas or her cha-cha.
‘What are you, a toddler?’ the mean mommy voice stridently chided. ‘Grow up, Ms. Cutesy-Wutesy. They’re called breasts and a vagina, deal with it.’
‘I love sweet little genitalia nicknames,’ the sex kitten voice purred. ‘Muffin, honey pot, pink taco…’
‘Oh, for the love of…pink taco isn’t sweet,’ the mean mommy voice sniggered derisively.
‘Anything with the word pink is sweet,’ the sex kitten voice countered defensively.
‘Er…what about pink eye?’ the accountant voice hesitantly interjected.
‘What about a black eye?’ the sex kitten voice asked in a dangerously sweet tone.
The voices in my head raged on in debate while Luke and I ate in companionable silence. Luke kept his arm around me. It wasn’t long before his hand wandered down from my shoulder to roam my curves, exploring up a slender inner thigh, a rounded hip, a full breast. I tried not to dwell on the fact that he could be gauging tender spots where to insert needles for piercings. Sometimes he pulled me close and gave me slow kisses that tasted of oranges, although I mostly kept my tongue to myself. But it didn’t take long before his intimate touches and soft smiles lured me back into a hazy state of heightened desire where there was no more foolish talk of needles.
As I drained the last of the OJ fro
m my glass, Luke said casually, “Speaking of Big Jim, James Byrd and I arranged a business meeting for after the holidays.”
Sputtering, I laughed and said, “That’s great.” I laughed again and saluted Luke with the empty glass. “I tremble for the fate of the free world.”
“I thought you’d be pleased.” The lone dimple flashed before Luke held up his glass and downed his juice in a couple of swallows.
Reminded of James Byrd, I sent Jazy and Tre J another silent thank you for coming to the rescue tonight. They had gone ahead and implemented my “forgotten purse” plan when meeting James and his cousin, Max for pizza before my party. The plan gave James an opportunity to save face and retrieve the note he’d written declaring his like for me when he thought Luke and I were broken up.
I know the plan worked because there was no white envelope anywhere in my purse when Jazy winked and delivered it back into my hands at the party. Later, when wishing me a happy birthday, James’ light kiss on the cheek was platonically correct and he’d met my eyes with his usual direct, stoic expression. He and Max didn’t stay long, but I didn’t read anything into that--it was a work night and a long drive home.
Luke motioned to a pile of cards left on the middle of the island. “I can’t believe you haven’t touched the rest of your birthday loot yet.”
“Poor man, your lack of confidence in your sex appeal is so sad. I’ve been too busy touching you, remember?” I patted his bare shoulder in sympathy, my hand automatically moving down to caress a biceps. “Don’t worry baby, I think you’re a satisfactory sex partner.”
I reached for the nearest envelope, but let out a shriek when Luke snatched me up in his arms and deposited me across his lap.
“Satisfactory, huh?” He industriously tickled me like a madman tickle machine with forty hands. He didn’t miss a spot, despite my frantic slaps and curses. I’ve always hated being tickled by boys because tickling hurts.
