by Faith Gibson
Willow touched her fingers to her lips. She had only dated a couple of guys seriously in her twenty-three short years of living, but never had she felt more alive than she did in that moment. Mason Steele had branded her with his touch. Her thighs were quivering, and her panties were soaked. From a chaste kiss. Sure, his fingers had been precariously close to her vajayjay, but he hadn’t touched her there. And the kiss had been nothing but lips. No tongues, no swapping spit. Just the brush of his full lips on hers, and she wanted more. She wanted to shove everything off her desk and have Mason do her right there. In broad daylight where anyone could walk in and watch.
What the hell was wrong with her? She had always been attracted to Mason, but the longer he hung around the office, the more she wanted him. Willow wanted him in a way she’d never allowed herself to feel. Not that she was a prude. Far from it. She read all kinds of romance novels, and she knew what she wanted from a man when she finally gave herself over to one. She wanted to give her body to Mason.
The other guys she’d dated had been the nerdy book types or the business professionals on their way to the top of some corporate ladder. Mason wasn’t like that. He was the bad boy who rode a motorcycle and dressed the part. Willow didn’t know exactly what Mason’s job was within Stone Incorporated, and she didn’t care. If Rafael thought enough of him to have Mason watch over the office while he was out of town, he was good enough for Willow. And good god, the body on the guy. He was six feet of solid muscle. His dark hair, bright green eyes, and chiseled jawline were embedded into her brain.
At night, when she went home to her little apartment and settled in with her e-reader, she imagined every leading man looked like Mason. Even if the author described him differently, Willow thought about Mason being the man doing the kissing, the teasing, the groping, and the fucking. She even named her favorite toy after him. Ever since she and her last boyfriend broke up, she had started noticing Mason hanging around a lot more often. Maybe he’d been waiting on the sidelines like a gentleman. He sure wasn’t pushy. If anything, he was shy. He seemed unsure of how to approach her.
She’d caught him staring at her, the look in his eyes turning almost predatory. The same look Rafael got when Kaya walked in the room. Did he want her that badly? She sure wanted him, but she somehow sensed she needed to let him be the one to make the first move. Maybe it was because he was Rafael’s cousin, or she was his assistant that he felt he couldn’t let go around her. Still, she wanted him. Willow had wanted him ever since she laid eyes on him.
One thing she knew as truth – he wanted her, too. She couldn’t miss the huge erection behind his zipper when he stood to leave the room. Willow had never seen a real cock other than on the internet, but she wanted to see his. She wanted to touch it. To kiss it. To suck it into her mouth. She wanted it to replace the vibrator she used in bed at night before she went to sleep. At that moment, Willow knew she had found the man who was going to get her virginity.
Chapter Seven
Desirae was itching to go to the beach and bury her toes in the sand. It had been a long time since she’d allowed herself that small pleasure. The last time she went, a good-looking guy hit on her. It wasn’t that she didn’t find him attractive, but he was young enough to be her son. Probably younger. She allowed herself to talk and flirt with him for a while, but in the end, she went home alone. There was no way she would ever date someone Desi’s age. Hell, she didn’t date anyone her age either.
The sunshine was calling her name. Sitting on her little patio while she drank coffee was nice, but it wasn’t the same as having the whole beach to enjoy. The water lapping on the sand. The waves crashing as they broke apart, reminding her of what she was truly missing. Desirae opened the door on her carport and stared at her surfboard. She really should toss it since it was broken, but it was the only board she’d ever ridden. It, along with the two flower arrangements from an unknown source, made her think of Michael.
The last time she rode her board had been by his side. It was hard to surf in the presence of someone as godlike as he had been. Hard to concentrate on anything other than the man who became one with his own board. He maneuvered through the waves as if he were Poseidon, commanding the water to do his bidding. When she asked him why he didn’t surf professionally, he told her that it would be unfair to the kids. The way he said it made her think he was older than she realized, but he was definitely not over the hill. Yes, he was beyond the skill level of anybody she’d ever seen ride a wave in Cali, but if he was that good, didn’t he deserve the right to compete for a title?
Letting nostalgia get the better of her, Desirae loaded up her car with her towel, chair, and a cooler full of food and beverages to last all day. Instead of going to the local beach, Desirae headed north, where hopefully nobody would recognize her. If she did run into someone she didn’t want to see, she had a good excuse for leaving – a long drive ahead of her.
Desirae parked and got out, grabbing all her stuff from the trunk. In her younger days, she’d made this trek from parking lot to sand more times than she could count. Even when Desi was little, she would load him up, and they’d spend all day at the beach. He was so like his father when it came to the water. He’d been fearless, and she had to keep a close watch on him. Even before he was talking well, he wanted to be in the water.
Finding a secluded spot, Desirae made camp. Not that there were many folks on the beach this time of year, but she preferred to be away from everyone so she could enjoy her time and her memories. She couldn’t have asked for more perfect weather to spend the day wallowing in the past. The sky was full of fluffy white clouds that didn’t hide the sun but every so often. The breeze coming off the water kept her skin cool, and the sound from the surf kept her soul sated. Desirae felt bad for those who never had the opportunity to visit the ocean. She couldn’t imagine her life without it, even though she kept herself away more often than not these days. Living as close as she did afforded her the peace of mind, just knowing it was there when she needed it. Today, she needed it.
When the florist arrived the day before with another beautiful plant, Desirae came close to having a panic attack. Not that she’d ever had one, but the way her chest seized up made it hard to breathe. She imagined the way she felt was as close to one without fulling losing it. Two plants in two days full of her favorite flowers. Her favorite colors. When she looked through the peephole and saw who it was, she took the time to compose herself so she would remember to search for a card before the man left. Sure enough, there wasn’t a note letting her know who had sent them. When she asked the delivery driver about it, he told her she would need to call the office. She noted the name of the florist on the side of the delivery van and called immediately. The woman who answered the phone admitted to taking the order, but the caller was explicit in the details of what to send as well as what not to send. Her favorite flowers? Check. No card? Check. Rae had no doubt it was Michael, but she wouldn’t allow herself to worry about it. If it was him, he’d eventually show. If it wasn’t, then she’d cross that bridge when she came to it.
As her eyes adjusted to the sun, she tracked the water down the beach. There were a couple of barges way out in the distance. A dolphin was propelling out of the water only to dive back in. She was envious of the creature. How awesome would it be to live your life surrounded by the wonders of the ocean? If she were a dolphin, it wouldn’t matter that she was much older than she appeared. She wouldn’t have to hide away from the world, yearning for the freedom to love openly without having to explain herself. Another dolphin, this one larger, joined in the fun. It launched itself higher than the smaller one. She wished she’d remembered to bring her binoculars.
When Desirae could no longer see the animals, she searched the water for surfers. The waves were spotty directly in front of her, but a little way down the coast they were rolling in nicely. Big waves you could ride for more than a few seconds before they collapsed. Her gaze fell on a person walking out of the surf.
He grabbed a board she hadn’t noticed standing on the beach and returned to the water. If she had any braveness left to her, she would move her things farther down to watch him, but she had no balls. No guts at all. Just one big yellow stripe where her spinal column used to reside.
She didn’t need to be closer to know whoever was riding the board was good. Desirae couldn’t make out too many details of the surfer other than he was a man with dark hair, and he wasn’t wearing a wetsuit. He had to be cold. Michael had never worn a wetsuit in all the times they surfed together. What if that man was Michael? Desirae knew he was older now. Much older. She doubted a man his age would be riding the waves with such precision, but then again, she doubted Michael would lose his touch at anything he was good at. Her body shivered. Not from the breeze caressing her skin, but from the memory of the way he caressed her skin.
There was no way she could face him now. If Michael wanted to meet Desi, she wouldn’t stand in his way as long as Desi was okay with it. She never lied about Michael, nor did she make excuses for him. He would have to be the one to explain to their son the truth, because she didn’t know what the truth was. She and Desi had discussed the possibility of Michael coming back some day, and she left it up to him on whether or not he wanted to meet the man who helped bring him into the world.
Hypnotized by the surfer and his board, Desirae sipped on a bottle of water and let her mind go wherever it wanted. Trying to keep thoughts of the past out of her head was like trying to stop the waves from rolling in. For a moment, she placed herself out on the water with the stranger, riding her board alongside him. She had been pretty good back in the day. If she hadn’t gotten pregnant, she’d have never stopped surfing. Since it was her and the little bambino against the world, she didn’t want to risk anything happening to her, so she put her board in a closet, and that’s where it had remained ever since.
Laughter caught her attention, and Desirae opened her eyes. The sun had shifted drastically. She pulled her phone from her bag. “Shit.” Desirae had fallen asleep for a couple of hours. She shifted in the chair, stretching her neck back and forth, trying to work out the kink. The laughter that woke her was from a couple walking along the water, holding hands. Her eyes followed them down the coast, longing settling in her chest for the opportunity to be that happy for a moment in time. As they reached the spot where the surfer had been, they were alone. The man was gone. It was probably for the better. He only served as a reminder of what her life had been like.
Desirae packed up her things and trod barefoot through the sand, enjoying the feel of it on her feet as long as she could. When she reached the planked walkway, she dropped her flip-flops and slid them on her feet. She didn’t bother rinsing her legs before she got in the car. The sand that scattered on the floorboard was like dog hair to pet lovers.
When she was seated, Desirae wrapped her short hair in a bright turquoise bandana and slid on her sunglasses. She swung through a fast food drive-thru on her way home and grabbed a hamburger and milkshake. One plus to whatever condition she’d contracted that allowed her to remain young looking was her metabolism was through the roof. She could eat whatever she wanted and remain lean. As far as she was concerned, it was the only plus to it.
As she pulled onto her street, she caught sight of the delivery van in her rearview mirror. “Not again,” she said aloud. Instead of circling around to the back of the house where the driveway was, she pulled over at the curb. The same man exited his vehicle with the same smile he wore every time when he approached. It was as if he had a secret he refused to tell. “This is getting a little creepy, if you ask me,” Desirae told him as he walked toward her.
“Oh, I don’t know. I think it’s nicer to get a bunch of flowers every day than to never get them at all.”
“If I knew who they were from, maybe. I’m afraid the next knock on my door won’t be you. It’ll be someone from my past that I’m not looking forward to seeing.”
The man kept the small pot in his hands when she held hers out. “Miss Rothchild, are you afraid? If you are, I’ll make sure the owner calls the police. Do you feel threatened?”
Rae thought about it, and no, she didn’t. “No, not really. It could be my son messing with me since Friday is my birthday.”
“Okay, if you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.” Only then did he hand over the delivery. This one was not her favorite. It was Michael’s. Sighing, she bade the driver a good evening and made her way inside. She sat the purple orchid in the middle of her table while she returned to the car to drive around back. Once she was parked under the overhang, she emptied the trunk of her beach gear and headed inside. Desirae tossed the towels in the washing machine and emptied the cooler. She threw the empty fast food sack into the garbage. Desirae slurped the last of her shake through the straw while staring at the orchid.
“What is this?” Desirae asked, sounding ungrateful when Michael presented her with a plant.
“It’s an orchid, and it happens to be my favorite.”
“You bought me your favorite flower instead of mine?”
“Since I don’t know what yours is, yes. What is your favorite flower?” he asked while finding a good spot to put the purple plant.
“Birds of Paradise. And Lilies. Orange ones.”
“I’ll remember that.”
The next day, Michael had shown up with an arrangement much like the one she received on Monday. Full of both her favorites in bright oranges with lots of green leaves to break up the brightness. Until the day he walked out and never returned, Michael made sure her small apartment was filled with brightness. She did her best to keep his orchid alive, but it finally gave out about the same time her heart did.
Sergei felt weird arriving at the New Atlanta Penitentiary. Weird because he was coming face to face with the Gargoyle who helped get the kid back. The kid he and Kallisto abducted from his home in Tennessee. The kid whose foster father they’d killed. Whose foster mother they’d left for dead. Sergei had never thought of himself as a good person, but he wasn’t one to go around hurting children. Kallisto, on the other hand, had no aversion to inflicting pain on anyone. When he first met the feisty blonde, she hadn’t been that way. The longer she lived with Alistair Gianopoulos, the more he influenced her against her own kind.
Sometimes he still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact there were non-humans walking around amongst the humans. Sure, there were Unholy, but they were considered humans who’d gone wrong in an experiment. Research, if you could call it that, conducted by Gordon Flanagan, to produce an army of super-soldiers. And then there were the clones – the ones genetically engineered in a lab instead of being created the old-fashioned way. What was next – vampires?
Sergei entered the building and signed in before going through security. He’d left Drago back at the hotel and sent Crane off on another mission. He didn’t need a bodyguard to go visit Kallisto. As soon as he stepped through the metal detector, he was pulled to the side and asked to wait. He had been around Gargoyles long enough to know that everyone around him was a shifter. It was in the way they carried themselves. Not arrogant, but sure. Confident. Lethal without needing a firearm holstered at their side. He didn’t have to wait long for Gregor Stone to come find him.
“Follow me,” the warden instructed. He fell in behind the Goyle. Gregor was shorter than most shifters Sergei had come across, but he was thick. No doubt as tough as any of the larger ones. And he was the King’s brother. Gregor Stone was an important male.
“I hear you brought a peace offering of sorts,” Gregor stated while he swiped a keycard over a security panel.
“Yes. Alistair wants Kallisto back home and is ready to call a truce.”
“What’s to keep him from retaliating the moment we give her up?”
Sergei had the same question. “Nothing, I don’t suppose. I have no idea what was in the letter he sent for the King. The male back at the office took it.”
When Gregor stopped o
ne floor above the Basement, the lowest level of the prison that housed the Unholy, Sergei breathed a sigh of relief. During his brief stay in the prison, they had held him among the monsters. He was glad to see Kallisto wasn’t being subjected to the same fate. Gregor stopped outside a door with a small window. “You have five minutes. I’ll be right here watching.” The Goyle opened the door, and Sergei moved past him to the interior. When Kallisto saw him, she remained seated, her hands folded in front of her.
For some reason, he thought she would be at least a little happy to see him. Obviously, he was wrong. “How are you holding up?”
“How the fuck do you think I’m holding up? I’m in a goddamn prison. My brother is dead, and you’re off doing god knows what while I’m stuck in here,” she seethed.
He closed the distance and sat opposite her, reaching for her hands. Before he could touch her, she pulled her hands away. “Don’t fucking touch me. All I want from you is to know how you’re going to get me out of here.” Even in the drab beige clothing she wore, her hair hanging past her shoulders, her face void of any makeup, she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Her anger wasn’t doing one thing to curb his body’s yearning for her.
