by Nicole Snow
“You’re welcome.”
We sit in a companionable silence for a few minutes, slowly sipping our drinks. “This really is a nice place. I'm not just saying it.”
“Nat loves it.”
“Bet she’d love it even more if there were animals here.” The alcohol rush must give me a bit of liquid courage because my next question plops out before I can think twice. “Hey, what happened to your brother? Davey?”
Despite the fire and the heat of the summer night, a chill ripples my arms at the grief that crosses his face.
It wasn't just my imagination earlier. Every mention of his dead brother shuts him down.
“He died, Blue. Nothing else to say.”
Damn. Unsure what to say next, I take another sip of margarita.
He tosses a fresh log on the fire. “So did Nat’s mother.” He glances my way. “That was your next question, wasn’t it, Detective Derby?”
I shrug, dropping my face to hide the fierce red on my cheeks. Slowly, I nod. There’s no use hiding it. I'm drunk and nosy and we both know it.
“Aneurism during child birth did her in. She never knew if Nat was a girl or boy.”
“God, I'm sorry. No ultrasound?” I want to slap myself over the stupid question. Blame it on the canned tequila and slushy strawberry mix.
“Don’t know if she ever did one or not outside what's required to check for health issues. Always said she wanted the gender under wraps till the baby came. I was in the army. Overseas. We’d dated on and off for a couple of years.”
I'm still looking at him. Slowly, he sucks a mouthful of whiskey, and swallows loudly.
“Cindy didn't approve of the shit in my younger years. Running around with a motorcycle club. Said turning into anybody's old lady didn't appeal to her, and I can't say I blame her. It's a rough life. Club had its problems, too – big fucking problems it's taken years to straighten out. I saw the writing on the wall and joined the army. Things were still shit between her and me. When I found out I was going to Iraq, I broke it off for good. Then I was home on leave a year or more later. We were both lonely. Nat was conceived. Told her we’d figure it out after my tour was over. That we’d get married.” He takes another swallow off his glass. “Nat was born two weeks before I put in for my discharge papers.”
I'm shocked he's spilled so much, and don’t want him to regret it. “She's a very lucky girl to have you. My dad was in the army, too. Overseas. Could've gotten out before things really ramped up, after 9/11, but he said he owed them another term. He couldn't walk away in a crisis. Wound up in the wrong place, wrong time. He didn’t come home after a Taliban ambush. I was in my early teens. My mother was a wreck, but eventually, we adjusted.”
Brent's eyes burn right through me. It's an equal trade, at least, confession for confession.
I shrug. “We survived. Somewhat, anyway. I think what happened to dad, to her, is the real reason she wants me to find Mr. Right so bad and get married.” I shake my head and finish my drink. “To know the love of a man. A husband. Before it's too late.”
“You don’t want that?” He takes my empty can and hands me a full one.
I open it and take a long pull. “Maybe someday. Right now, I just want to teach.”
“Art.”
“Art. That’s what kept me sane after dad died. I could lose myself in it. Pretend I was somewhere else. Forget everything.”
“We all need to do that sometimes.”
“Right.” I pretend to scratch the bridge of my nose so he doesn't see the tears.
Brent holds his cup towards me, offering solidarity. I click my can against it.
“To the struggle. And fuck tragedy, too,” he rumbles.
I nod. “Fuck tragedy.”
I take another long swallow and then look at my can. “These are really good.”
“Wouldn't know, Blue. I'm a whiskey man. Sometimes beer.”
“Oh, come on. Here, try a sip.” I hold it out to him. He's incredulous. “Our little secret. One taste. Nobody ever knows.”
I lean over to hand him my can. Brent just smiles.
My head feels a little woozy, but it’s the uneven ground that catches me off guard. The chair tilts and I’m not fast enough to stop it.
He's quick. Keeps it from falling all the way over and I jump to my feet. My can slips out of my hold, and I kneel down to grab it. The contents splash all over a notebook, which I instantly recognize as the one he’s always had in the back of the class.
Too curious not to, I flip it open, before he can snatch it away. My breath catches at the images he’s drawn.
A woman’s body. Naked. Fabulously detailed.
I’m in the midst of appreciating his skill when I see what's printed across the top in big blocky man letters.
BLUE.
That’s when I notice the woman’s face.
Holy flaming hell.
Pure fire rushes my cheeks. I flip the page. And the next.
There are several more nudes.
All of me. I flip one more page and a new sense of warmth fills me.
It’s me again, but this time I’m dressed, hugging Natalie. I recognize the scene. The day she gave me the friendship bracelet.
Growling, he rips his notebook away. “You weren’t supposed to see that!” He tosses it on his chair.
No longer content with being his secret model, I look up at him. “Why? They’re good.”
Good, if I ignore the fact they're living proof this man has been undressing me with his eyes in screaming detail since day one.
He traces the side of my face with one hand, his eyes locked on mine. Every thought I’d warned myself to avoid rushes forward.
Him kissing me. Me, returning his kisses. His caresses.
Touching. Kissing. Giving. Getting.
“You, Blue. You're what's good. Not those damn drawings.”
My heart kicks into high gear and my chest goes tight. I've never wanted to be kissed so badly, to be touched like now.
“Don't be silly.” The air between us crackles.
Electric. Charged. Intense.
I want to beg. Plead for him to just put his lips against mine.
One. More. Time.
He nods, never looking away. “Too good,” he echoes, forcing his point.
“Hardly.” I step closer, laying a hand on his chest. The beat of his heart thuds against my palm.
“You’re wrong, Eden,” I whisper. A crazy warmth folds around me, sinks through my skin, inside me, swift and ever growing. “I’m done being good.” I take one more step, so our bodies are almost touching. “Tell me I'm bad. Tonight. Just this once.”
“Blue.”
I’ve lost it. And it's too late.
“No. Kiss me, Eden. Just fucking kiss me already.”
The animal glint in his eye swells.
In a flash, he grabs my hips, pulling me forward, closing the gap between us. My nipples harden, pressed against his hard chest. I tilt my hips, rejoicing at the feel of his hard cock, deliciously close.
When his lips seize mine, all thoughts abandon me, except for one word.
Yes.
Maybe two words.
God, yes!
I wrap my arms around his neck and let desires that have kept me awake for weeks flow. His lips are softer, his tongue hotter, wilder than anything I’ve imagined. My pussy aches. So wet, so tense, if he doesn't give me something soon I might die.
There’s no more space between us, but we’re not close enough.
I want more. Crave it.
His hands roam under my shirt, up my back. Heaven. I rub against him, arching upwards, as his hands grasp my butt, pulling me against his cock all the more firmly.
Fantasies don't compare to the desires leaping forward when he kisses a trail down my neck. He pulls my T-shirt up and kisses my breasts, tonguing inside the top of my bra.
I gasp at the pleasure and squeeze my thighs together.
Throbbing heat. Soaked. Frantic.
Confused w
hen he stops, I freeze, unable to move as he pulls my shirt back in place.
“This is fake, Blue,” he says. “Fake and fucking dangerous. Remember that.”
He releases me and turns away.
“Go to bed, Blue. Go now. Before I fuck you right here on the ground.”
There's a crack in my desire.
Just enough to send all the conflicted feelings streaming back. Wiping my very red face, I turn.
I get up and stumble backwards. Have to blink back the tears of frustration needling the backs of my eyes. Recalling how my knees work, I head for the house.
In the bedroom, I close the door, still breathing too hard.
Still wanting more.
Asshole or not, he’s right. It's fake.
Fake and dangerous.
I grab my overnight bag and head for the bathroom, but as I undress, all I can think about is him.
His hands. His mouth.
Every glorious inch of him.
Heat swells my pussy again, begging for more. I turn on the water and step in the shower. Leaning back, I let the warm water flow over my breasts, imagining it’s his lips. I run my hands over myself, rubbing my nipples and then down lower.
Lower.
Tentatively, I slide my fingers between my folds and settle on my clit. The pressure makes my breath catch. I never bring myself off this hard and fast.
Maybe because I'm imagining it’s not my hand working my sweet spot, but Brent’s.
I find a rhythm and pick up speed, pretending I’m not alone. I’m getting good at that.
Getting good at this.
I plant my other hand on the wall, letting hot water cascade down my back as I throw myself over the edge.
Coming!
And all I can see is him.
Between my legs. Pinning me down with his hands, fucking me with those tiger eyes, taking half my soul as he plunges in deep again and again and –
Oh, hell.
I’m breathing so hard. Shaking. My thighs hurt. I keep Brent’s image in my mind as I slide my finger deep inside me a few more times, sweet relief fading to numb.
The rush hits like a monsoon. Sudden, fierce, mysterious. An explosion that leaves me limp, leaning heavily against the wall.
It keeps me sane, but strangely unsatisfied. Unfulfilled. And too horny.
It also leaves me lonelier than ever.
8
Show and Tell (Brent)
The sweat dripping off my brows makes my eyes sting. I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand and finish screwing the final wire onto the detonator.
It’s not the reason I’m sweating. The detonator isn’t connected to anything.
Not yet.
Can’t just blame it on the heat, either, even though this windowless old shack is hotter than the devil's diner.
It’s her.
Blue.
I’ve sweat bullets since sending her into the house last night. Ever since she left my dick harder than the flag pole at Iwo Jima.
I wanted her like I haven't wanted any woman in years.
Wanted it worse because I knew I couldn’t have her, too. Even though she’d wanted it just as bad.
Pure torture.
Both of us are drowning in our own flesh and there's nothing we can do about it.
I go to sleep hard. Wake up harder. Brain, body, and soul tangled up in Blue.
Fuck, I couldn't even face her this morning. So I woke up before dawn and left while she and Nat were still sound asleep.
Assembling this very illegal, high powered weapon of death is preferable to spending another morning staring at those lips. Fixing my eyes on her ass when she's turned around. Pushing every growl down with coffee, paint-stripping strong, hoping it'll keep me from thinking how bad I want that ass under me for two fucking seconds.
My lip curls back in a snarl. I shouldn't be doing this. And neither should she.
“Damn it, Davey!”
My shout echoes off the building's walls and worn rafters. Very fucking worn. Should've collapsed years ago.
I set the screwdriver down and pick up the detonator to give it a closer look. This little remote will take lives. Set off a blast that could clear a city block.
End this shit once and for all.
Rubbing my face, I choke back an apology. I'm not even sure who it's for.
It’s easy to blame Davey. To wish he’d listened and stayed the hell away from the Pearls, but it won’t bring him back. Won’t change anything.
Honestly, I’m just as pissed off at myself as him.
I’d vowed to change. To become everything Natalie would need in a father. And I have.
Had, rather.
Until the Pearls poked their evil fucking noses in my life. That left me with no choice but to return to the man I’d left in the past. Turn into something I don't want to be.
I’ll pay off Davey’s debt, all right. Just not with cash.
By the time I’m done with the Black Pearls, there won’t be enough left of them to bury.
Justice will be served.
I set the detonator in an old army ammunition box and stash it in the far corner, along with the rest of the supplies I’d bought, bartered, and damn-near stole from salvage yards and skeezy looking gun runners from here to Tucson. Trained by some of the best, the years I spent being a tactical and explosive expert in the army has its benefits.
After strategically layering the old lumber to look like a misshapen pile of driftwood, rather than a hiding spot, I put the tools in the toolbox and carry it out to my truck.
Bastard Phil knows I was in the army. Believes I was in disposal and clean up – skills I built my business on post-Iraq. Luckily, he's just like everybody else. Doesn’t know that in order to clean up a mess, you have to know how it was made in the first place.
There are parts of this mess I don’t understand.
Like Davey. Why and how he got snarled in a web woven deep and tight by the Pearls.
I might never know all of it, true, but I’ve accepted that because the how or why doesn’t matter. Not as much as it ending.
All of it.
I let the air conditioner cool off the cab before I put the truck in gear. The trap is set, or close to it. Actually planting the explosives can’t happen till I figure out how to lure the Black Pearls out here. There’s an old road that runs along this side of the small mountain separating the ranch from the decaying shed.
It’s the perfect set up. I just have to figure out the enticement to get them here.
Everyone. The head honchos and their minions.
Having not been used for years, the trail that leads back to the ranch is rough, and I take it slow. Which gives me ample time to contemplate my other issue.
Blue.
Damn it. I’ve never been attracted to someone like I am her. From the moment we met.
Never wanted anyone so bad. Not even Cindy.
I don’t even know how to pursue someone like Blue without destroying her.
She's clean. Honest. Innocent.
I sense that in her every waking moment we're together.
Innocence.
Shit, I’ve never had to pursue anyone. These looks plus the patches I've worn, Grizzlies MC and US Army alike, pull pussy like no tomorrow.
Cindy was the one who chased me down, and I let her catch me. It was fun. Good at times. That’s what we were both after. A good time. For the moment.
When she told me she was pregnant, we both took it seriously, figured we had to find a way to make it work.
She would have held up her end of the bargain. Deep down, she was a good person.
Just wasn't good for me.
Never got into my head. Under my skin. Not like a little teacher I've spent far too many hours pissing off, and too many more drawing naked.
I crack the window, needing a breath of fresh air. I'd nearly flipped my shit when she found my sketches. Thought for sure I had a slap or two coming, after she had proof what an obs
essed pig I can be, but fuck...it's like they just made her want me more.
Fuck.
I don't know what this is. Can't comprehend it.
I’ve had other women. Before Cindy and in between our on-again off-again relationship. Life made sense then. Had no need for a full-time woman lodged too deep in my life.
It's the one familiar thing I wish I could bring back with everything else going to hell.
The Black Pearls may have forced me to become the man I’d left behind. One whose only focus is on the here and now, but I can’t let that spill into the rest of my life.
Can't let two maddening problems fuse together. Can't let them multiply.
The last thing Nat needs is me dragging women into her life, only to have her watch them leave.
Exactly what I’m doing to her with Blue. Her fucking teacher, no less.
A fireball of anger rolls across my stomach. I squeeze the steering wheel harder.
Fuck the Black Pearls. They’ve gone too far. Threatening Blue, bringing us face to face with our demons, that's the final straw.
The truck's Bluetooth system firing up breaks my concentration. It's Blue calling. Concerned, I hit the answer button. “What’s up?”
“Hey, Dad!”
I may be mad at the world, but the sound of Natalie’s voice still makes me grin. “Hey, baby girl.”
“Where are you?”
Remembering the hike I’d promised her, I say, “I drove out to check the hills to see how far we can go this morning. On my way back now.”
“I was hoping you remembered!”
“Course I did.”
“Well, Izzy and I have pancake batter ready to fry. The bacon's done and the scrambled eggs are ready to go in the pan, so we’re wondering when you’ll be back.”
A hard bump rattles the truck before the trail evens out as it starts to run along parallel to the old fence. “I can see the ranch,” I tell her.
The screen door creaks in the background before she says, “I see your dust plume. Great timing! We’ll start the pancakes and eggs.”
“Sounds good. I’m hungry.”
“We are too. Love you.”
“Love you, baby girl.”
She clicks off, ending the call, and I let out a long sigh.
I’ve fucked up too many times lately. Have to put a stop to this before it goes any further.
