by Casey Lane
If I’d learned anything over the last day, it was that I needed balance to not cross over that edge into the dark abyss. I needed sunlight in my life. I needed fun and laughter, and I needed comfort and touch.
Soon I was all out running, despite the throbbing in my sore cheek and thigh, and smiling at the irony. Last night, I was running as fast as I could up the stairs to get away from the man that I was now running towards. I couldn’t help be curious of what tomorrow night may bring.
Chapter Twenty
“I meant what I said and I said what I meant.” -Dr Seuss
In the kitchen of King House, Rex and I both paused to catch our breaths. I realized I had no idea where Rod was bunking. Rex ran off into the main hall, so I followed the dog up the stairs and down the hall to my bedroom.
Opening the door, I heard the shower running in the bathroom and smiled at my smart dog. Rex jumped up on the end of the bed and cocked his head in question towards the bathroom.
“You’re absolutely right--I could use a shower. It just so happens, I have a little time on the work schedule.”
I locked the bedroom door and quickly reloaded a new magazine into my gun. I stripped off my clothes without any fanfare, briefly regretted I didn’t know how to do a lap dance, and knocked loudly on the bathroom door in warning before entering.
In the steamy room, I leaned back against the door. I stared at Rod, gloriously naked and dripping wet while he pointed a gun towards my head. His face showed no shock at seeing me appear nude in the bathroom when I was supposedly dead, only joy. His joyful expression turned to concern when his eyes finally reached my face and he saw my swollen, puffy cheek. I didn’t want to go there right now, so I picked up our debate where we’d left off this morning in Coop’s bathroom.
“Liz and I are fine and we’ll talk about what happened later, but I am forty-two, Rod, not thirty-eight. I’ll be forty-three in April. That’s eleven years. Eleven years! Think. I will be fifty when you are thirty-nine. I will be seventy when you are still in your fifties!” A little appalled myself at that example, I was deliberately crude when I asked, “Can you imagine fucking a seventy-year-old woman when you’re fifty-nine?”
“Whoa!” Rod set down his gun and motioned with a hand to my body. “You hide it so well, but I had no idea you were so old. That is disgusting. Out! Hit the door, woman!”
I stood there unmoving, ready with another argument on the tip of my tongue and not prepared for his easy concession.
Rod mocked tenderly, “Oh, Acadia, think. Did you find it disgusting to make love with a sixty-five-year old man when you were forty?” He smiled then and reached for me. “Do you think I haven’t been with more women in the last ten or fifteen years than, hmm, let’s see, what is an expression an old lady like you might appreciate…more than Carter has pills?” Step by step, he pulled me closer while he murmured, “Do you think I might have enough experience under my belt, so to speak, that I understand the difference between fleeting lust and love?”
I laughed and frowned at the same time.
He grinned at my response as his large hands ran slowly up and down my back, but then lowered to my ass to squeeze and fondle. “We’ll take our new love one fuck at a time.” His lips teased mine with a soft, gentle kiss, and then another. “We’ll take vows. You’ll discipline me when I act too boyish and I promise to let you know if the thought of making love with you ever makes me nauseous.”
Rod was right, he did have serious skills. The man delighted all my senses. Together, his words and touches filled me with desire, but I needed to be truthful. I put a finger against his lips and met golden-brown eyes that danced in return.
My voice was husky when I said, “I want to have a life, but I don’t know if I can ever love you.”
Rod groaned on a laugh and hugged me close. His arousal pressed along the length of my stomach. I could hardly pay attention to hear his words, and I didn’t even care he was amused by my honesty.
“As you said, Acadia, your love will build with time…”
He kissed me softly again, carefully deepening the kiss when I groaned a little at the touch of his tongue licking mine. Too soon, Rod leaned back and nipped my bottom lip.
“And with liking, too, didn’t you say?” His hands skimmed down the back of my thighs and swiftly stroked back up to squeeze the Charmin again a little more thoroughly. He said against my lips, “Do you like this, Acadia? Or do you like my fingers here doing that?”
He kissed me gently before I could answer; little soft kisses over my lips and upturned face that wouldn’t hurt my sore cheek. I didn’t care about my throbbing cheek, either. Not when measured against the hard throbbing his big hands were building inside me and the throbbing my hands were building on something big and hard outside of him. Capturing his lips in a passionate kiss, the next thing I knew I was sucking on his honeyed tongue and straddling one muscular thigh with both of mine.
“And I believe you mentioned mutual respect...”
Strong hands at my waist lifted me a few inches. I ran fingers through his long hair for the first time, since, unbelievably, I had forgotten to do that in the elevator. Rod rubbed his wet face and mouth against my gauche nipples. He sucked hard and bit soft, although he had been raised to be more polite.
I clutched his head to my mouthfuls and felt his smile against my skin. “I’m feeling the mutual respect here. Are you feeling the mutual respect here?”
I gasped out dazedly, “I’ve never respected you more in all the twenty-three hours I’ve known you!”
He lowered me a few inches until we were face to face. His eyes were hot. “Then don’t worry about love. I’ll love you enough tonight for both us.”
Rod didn’t wait for my response. No longer careful, his mouth devoured mine in a wild kiss so powerfully erotic I was dizzy in his arms with wanting. A bold stroke, playful licks, and slow, sucking caresses; our tongues plunged and mated in a sensual dance I never wanted to end. I couldn’t ever remember such kisses and was sure we had invented them tonight. But it was Rod’s murmured words of love for my silvery eyes, my awesome strength, my amazing bitchiness, and my fat outstanding ass that nearly sent me over the edge.
I was so incredibly aroused from only Rod’s kisses; I knew I’d never need ketchup again. That was no juicy rib eye I had experienced in the elevator last night; it had barely been a hamburger slider from the happy hour menu.
The intense sensations from Rod’s kisses, his hands, and his body, the words he said and the feelings they demanded, it was suddenly and overwhelmingly too much. Abruptly, I jerked out of Rod’s arms. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I looked frantically around the bathroom--mine and Law’s master bathroom.
Eyes intent on my face, Rod let me go and kept his hands by his sides.
He said calmly, “You can run, but he’s dead. I’m not.”
My God, I barely had to glance down to see the enormous truth of that!
“Acadia…,” it was Rod’s bossy quarterback voice.
I hesitated with a hand on the doorknob. I rested my forehead against the cool wood of the bathroom door and sought the words to express myself.
Sarcasm and banter were no problem for me; those shallow words flowed from my tongue with no conscious effort. It was the talk of deeper, serious feelings that I sucked at miserably. I felt the emotion of words in my heart and I heard their honesty in my head, but when I spoke those same words out loud, they were often reduced to trite drivel that made a mockery of my attempts to be serious.
I tried though. Maybe Rod could make sense of feelings that I wasn’t sure even I understood. I swung back around.
“If I do this with you then I won’t be Law’s wife. He’ll really be dead.”
“He really is dead and you can love us both.”
“But…”
“Acadia, your husband is dead.”
“I know, but…”
“You are alive and I am alive.”
“Yes, but…”
“That’s enough talk about your husband. Get over here.”
“I can’t…”
“Boudicca, I believe you can and you will.” Rod leaned back in the shower and sprawled on the bench, the steaming water cascading over his golden muscles.
I gulped.
Okay, so he was a good-looking man that was happy to see me---there was nothing too special about that. All right, I was lying again. He was a man not only endowed with the fantastical blonde looks of a Norse god; his penis was built along mythical lines, as well.
I’d like to blame my fright on the size of Thor’s hammer, but I was done with lying to myself. My fright came from knowing how much I wanted to break out of my depressed prison. I wanted to be the bold, strong woman Rod believed me to be.
Rod’s eyes didn’t leave my face. He nodded slightly, as if reading my mind. He held out a hand.
Maybe it really was that simple. If you want something that much, you simply reached out and grabbed on.
I closed my eyes briefly to silently say, ‘I’ll always love you, but do not watch this!’ to the image of Lawson King forever stamped in my heart and mind.
I held out my hand in return. “Okay, but don’t go all “Love Boat” on me because I am not promising anything beyond tonight, Football.”
Dazzled by Rod’s grin, I was pulled onto his lap in the shower.
* * *
The end…for now
Author’s Note
Hello Fellow Avid Readers,
I hope you had fun reading Acadia’s Law. I’m seriously addicted to the exciting action of apocalyptic stories, things that go bump in the night, and the sizzle of a hot romance. If you are one of those addicted readers, too, Acadia’s Revenge is available for purchase right now.
If you enjoyed Acadia’s Law, will you please recommend my book to others with a quick review wherever you purchased your eBook? Reviews are the self-published writer’s lifeblood for spreading the word of their books, so your reviews are hugely appreciated. Plus, I read every one. The encouragement and support from reader fans is great because writing is mostly a solitary endeavor. I strive to improve my future books based on your feedback, too.
Oh, and don’t forget to have your own bug out bag ready to go. You just never know…
Until we meet again in my next book, happy reading!
Tracy Ellen
About the Author
Tracy Ellen was born in Indiana to middle-class parents, the third out of five hellions. She’s lived in the Midwest her whole life--in a small town, on a farm, and in the big city. Currently, she resides in the suburbs of the Twin Cities with her incredibly tolerant husband and wonderful family. Growing up, Tracy often used her supernatural powers to force her many family members to listen to her talk and tell stories. When that tough crowd laughed of their own free will, Tracy knew the world would someday, somehow be her stage. It just took a few decades to figure that part out. Her writing career began about four years ago with the debut of A Date with Fate, a contemporary romance, and here she still is, passionately in love with being a writer and self-published author.
Thank you for reading my books!
Let’s stay in touch. Sign up for Tracy Ellen’s newsletter to be notified of upcoming book releases, preorders, and content exclusive to newsletter members.
http://www.tracyellenink.com/getthenews
Comments, posts, emails, and reviews are always welcome. Like my Facebook Page, follow me on Twitter, or email.
Website: http://www.tracyellenink.com/
Twitter: @TracyEllen01
Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Tracy-Ellen/426785400717429
Email: tracy@tracyellenink
Dragon Blood
A Heartblaze Novel
Shay Roberts
Dragon Blood: A Heartblaze® Novel © 2017 Shay Roberts
* * *
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, organizations, or persons, whether living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
* * *
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its author.
* * *
Trademark: Heartblaze is a registered trademark of Shay Roberts, and may not be used without written permission.
* * *
1st Edition
Dragon Blood: A Heartblaze Novel
“Prepare for the rise of a dragon shifter.” – Draco Historia
When relic hunter Tyler Buck treks into the heart of Africa, he meets an intriguing woman who unleashes a stunning power within him that changes his life forever.
Strap yourself in for a nonstop roller-coaster ride filled with high adventure, gripping combat, steamy romance, and of course, dragon shifters!
Chapter One
Lonely Traveler
TYLER BUCK
Once again, I find myself in the back room of an airport under the eyes of a suspicious screener. This time it’s the Addis Ababa Bole International Airport in Ethiopia.
I speak in a calm voice as the screener pokes at my survey equipment. “It’s nothing dangerous. I’m a beachcomber. This gear is for finding coins in the sand.”
Lies. I’m no beachcomber, and I’m not searching for coins.
He looks up sharply, a pleased look in his tiny eyes. “Our land does not meet the sea. We have no beaches here for lying young men to find coins.”
Oops, forgot they were landlocked. “Yes, but you have that big lake, I forget what it’s called.”
“Lake Tana?”
Never heard of it. “Yes, I’m very excited about going there.”
He waves his finger at me. “What you find in the dirt there belongs to my country. You must surrender it before you go.”
I nod sincerely. “Yes sir, I understand.”
I wish I could tell him the truth, just to see his face. Hey, security bro, I’m a relic hunter who’s here to steal some dragon bones for my insanely high-paying boss, Lord Beasley.
Security bro decides to examine my passport. “Tyler Buck? I have never heard of such a name.”
“Imagine the teasing I got in school.”
He looks confused.
I try to help. “Because it rhymes with fuck.”
He frowns, unamused. “It says you are twenty-six years old. But you look much younger.”
“I’m one-eighth Native American. Ute tribe. Master horsemen, the Utes. Never did learn to ride, though. Anyway, that’s where I get my perfect teeth, year-round tan, and shiny hair.”
His lips curl in disapproval as he eyes my hair. “Your hair is darker than in your passport picture.”
“Yeah, I used to color it, back when I was doing the metrosexual thing.”
His eyes narrow. “Are you a homosexual?”
I’m getting tired of this shit. “Yes, I’m super gay. Can I go now? There’s a cosmo waiting for me in the airport lounge.”
His face hardens and he reaches for a clipboard. This is going south fast. Mom always said I had a big mouth. Big enough to get me in trouble, and big enough to get me out of it.
I slip a five-hundred-birr Sitota from a hidden pocket in my sturdy brown travel shirt. The Sitota is a gift card that looks like a debit card. Wherever I travel, I use Beasley’s money to grease the palms of the locals. I do it with gift cards, because carrying around a lot of cash is a bad idea.
I drop the card on the table between us. “Hey, I found this five-hundred-birr gift card on the plane. I should probably turn it in. I don’t know how much a birr is, but five hundred of them seems like a lot.”
He looks insulted. “No. It is not a lot, Mr. Buck.”
Hardball, huh? Time to pull out the big g
uns. “Good thing I also found this five-thousand-birr card, redeemable at any Shoa shopping center or supermarket.”
I pull out the second card and set it gently on the table.
He promptly sets down his clipboard and waves me away. “Go. I will return these cards to their rightful owners.”
I smile. Of course you will.
I gather up my imaging gear and see myself out.
I’m actually tempted to find the lounge. A cosmo sounds pretty good about now, but I need to stick to the schedule. Beasley gives me a long leash and I don’t want him shortening it.
I met my patron when I first started out as a treasure hunter. After every hurricane passed through Florida, I rushed to the beaches with the other coin shooters, using my cheap rig in a hopeless attempt to find a gold doubloon washed up from one of the old Spanish wrecks offshore. Then one day, I actually found one.
Lord Beasley, a Brit living in a Highland Beach mansion, was walking on the beach and saw the crowd gathered around me. He paid me twice what the doubloon was worth, and I’ve been working for him ever since.
Beasley is an armchair archeologist from old money. He has a large, very illegal collection of relics stashed in his private vault somewhere in the Caymans. Each month he flies there to fondle them.
I’m just one cog in the Beasley relic machine. He has some big academic network gathering intel for him. About one in four of his leads pans out. That’s an amazingly high percentage in this business.
When I saw Beasley last week, he gave me my choice of three gigs to pursue. The first was a long shot, finding the tomb of one of Alexander’s generals, supposedly buried in Lebanon. The second was finding a Roman payroll stash near some ruins in Turkey. And the third was this dragon gig, which immediately captured my attention.
