Can't Get Enough

by Gena Showalter

  His friends shared a look loaded with rage, dismay, and anguish on his behalf.

  Jude massaged the back of his neck. "She says you, uh, like to beat women."

  Of course she'd go there, probably hoping to scare his vulnerable wife away. "Thanks for letting me know," he grated. Had Lyndie heard the rumors?

  A string of curses exploded from him. Rumors, whether true or false, caused damage. People got an idea stuck in their head and let it taint the way they looked at everyone involved. Brock had enough cruelty, violence, and bloodshed in his past. There was no need to add "batterer" to the list.

  "I'm sorry, my man," Jude said. "Thankfully, residents are refusing to believe her lies. They are standing up for you, all the way."

  He walked his friends to Daniel's truck, boots squishing in the mud. When he turned to go, Daniel patted him on the shoulder, stopping him. "Took me a long time to realize life is a vapor, over and done in a blink. Do the things you dream about doing while you can. Enjoy your wife, and your life. Treasure every second of every day."

  PANG. The words stuck with Brock long after his friends left.

  He was grateful his neighbors believed him over his mother; they'd proven themselves to be more of a family to him than Miranda ever had. And he shouldn't be surprised that his mother had taken such a devastating route. Anything to hasten a divorce. But it still cut him to the quick.

  His phone rang, his attorney's name popping up on the screen. They spoke at length; the process of claiming ownership of the Hud and Son Group, as well as the residential properties, had begun. Of course, last night someone had "broken into" all three homes without tripping a single alarm and "stolen" everything worth anything.

  Foolish Miranda. Jude was a computer whiz. He could follow a money trail to find whomever Miranda had hired to do the deed. Also, Brock wouldn't have to break a sweat to find out where she'd hidden everything--and take it back.

  His phone buzzed, signaling a text had just come in. Anticipation and excitement rushed through him--until he saw the message was simply an update about Lambert and not a note from his wife.

  Apparently Lambert had spent the day at home, only walking outside to fetch his paper.

  Well then. There was no better time for an up-close-and-personal chat with him. If Lambert didn't open his door this time, Brock would bust it down.

  Before climbing behind the wheel of his car, Brock sent Lyndie a text. Stop making me think about you. I'm busy.

  Her reply arrived only a few seconds later. So I shouldn't tell you I bought the sexiest piece of lingerie of all time? It's invisible...

  He groaned. Lyndie...naked...

  He was rock hard in seconds. Brock the rock.

  Focus. Her safety was more important than his fantasies.

  Lambert lived in one of the larger neighborhoods in Blueberry Hill. Most of the homes were considered "starters," roughly one thousand square feet in size with a teeny-tiny yard.

  Brock parked in the driveway and stormed up the porch steps. He pounded his knuckles into the front door and snapped, "You will open up or I will bust inside. That's a promise."

  Finally, Rick Lambert did, indeed, open up. His clothes were wrinkled and stained, his skin sallow after a night of drinking. He was forty-four, on the short side, thin, with a comb-over and thick glasses. Nothing wrong with any of that. Well, besides the comb-over. There was all kinds of wrong with that.

  "You." Lambert leaned back, only to launch forward to spit on Brock's shirt.

  Brock didn't deign to respond to the action. Later he would burn his shirt. "Yes. Me. You'll stay away from my wife, or I'll make you regret it."

  Lambert raised his chin as if he were somehow superior to Brock. "You're a thug, Mr. Hudson, and you have no business being with a woman like Lyndie Scott."

  "Lyndie Scott-Hudson," Brock corrected with a cold smile. "And you're right. I may not have any business being with her, but the fact remains--I am with her."

  A world of crazy glittered in Lambert's wild eyes. "You won't be with her for long. Sooner or later she'll realize you aren't good enough for her."

  PANG. Once again, Brock ignored it, saying, "And you are? Hate to break it to you--no, scratch that. I love to break it to you. Just like I'll love breaking every inch of you if you keep harassing her and showing up at her house. She's never wanted you, and she never will."

  "Liar!" Lambert's nostrils flared as his breathing turned labored. More calmly, he said, "You are a liar."

  "She's not an avatar you can program to do whatever you want. She won't develop feelings for you just because you have feelings for her." Be smart. Heed your own words.

  "You don't know anything. An officer of the law told me Lyndie wants to be with me, but she's extremely shy. I don't know how you turned her against me, but it doesn't matter. Like I said, she'll realize you aren't good enough for her, and you'll lose her."

  Like a predator who'd just spotted prey, Brock took a menacing step forward. Fear contorted Mr. Stalker's features, and he jumped backward. "Consider this your final warning. The next time you come near my wife or trespass on our property, I won't waste time with a conversation, and I won't bother calling the cops. I'll simply put a bullet between your eyes. And unlike the last time I made a kill, I'll smile while I do it."

  As Lambert sputtered, Brock returned to his car. He'd said his piece. He'd spoken true. Now he drove home. Well, drove to his temporary home. He cursed when he spotted Lyndie's car parked in the driveway. He wasn't calm, which meant he wasn't ready to face her. If he frightened her...

  Don't frighten her.

  She paced across the porch, wringing her hands, adorable with twigs in her hair and mud stains on her Halloween T-shirt.

  In a split second, worry for her overshadowed his fears. He jumped out of the car and raced to the porch. "What's wrong?"

  When she spotted him, she stilled. "Just...don't be mad, okay?" she rushed out.

  The words cut him deeper than a knife, but no way he would ever reveal his hurt. "You trust me not to hurt you, Lyndie. Remember?"

  "I do, yes. I'm sorry, okay, I really am. And I'm not afraid you'll hurt me right now. But you might decide I'm not worth the hassle."

  Fear that he would leave her before she got pregnant--or fear that he would leave her, period? That, he understood. Heart squeezing in his chest, he said, "I'm not going anywhere. I'm right where I want to be. So tell me what's wrong."

  "Well. I went to the shelter. It was a kill shelter. I didn't know that. I ended up giving the check to a different rescue organization. Anyway. The shelter was hosting an adoption event. Too many animals, too few kennels. They had to reach a certain number of adoptions, or four animals would be scheduled for euthanasia in the morning. So...congrats! You're now daddy to two more cats, a dog, and a potbellied pig."

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lyndie ended up taking the next week off work. Because why the heck not? She got her new family potty trained and used to living in Scott-Hudson luxury.

  During that time, Brock hadn't kissed her, touched her, or made any attempt to sleep with her. But oh, during every one of those days, desire had escalated inside her and frustration had deepened.

  Brock spent most days in New York, only to return later that evening, never staying away overnight. When he walked through the front door and spotted her, they would both seem to stop breathing.

  He would play with the animals and spend a little time chatting with her. When the sexual tension got to be too much, he would seal himself inside his bedroom.

  Momma needs some sugar!

  "All right, class." Lyndie leaned against the corner of her desk and regarded her students. "Miss Khatri is going to help you go over your sight words."

  Aisha Khatri, a twenty-two-year-old student teacher, had arrived last month for a ten-week stint in Lyndie's kindergarten class. Aisha lived in Oklahoma City, about an hour and a half away, but she had family in Grapevine, a Strawberry Valley neighbor.

 
The kids loved her. The handful of male teachers constantly drooled over her. She had dark skin, hair, and eyes, and an innate sensuality Lyndie envied. They'd hit it off right away...until this past Tuesday.

  Lyndie had kept her nuptials a secret from outsiders, but word had traveled after the fact, and the principal had asked her if she'd like to change the name on her door. From Ms. Lyndie Scott to Mrs. Lyndie Hudson.

  Aisha had stiffened and said, "Hudson...as in Brock Hudson? The guy I've...um, seen around the Scratching Post."

  In an instant, Lyndie had known. Aisha must have visited Ryanne's bar while staying with her family, must have become one of Brock's many conquests.

  Small world, smaller towns. Should have known I'd run in to one of Brock's bar babes. The only real surprise? She hadn't come across more.

  "Yes. That Brock Hudson," she'd said gently, admiring the way her wedding ring sparkled in the light. For some reason, the piece of jewelry no longer felt quite so heavy.

  "When did... I mean..." Aisha had licked her lips. "I'm sorry. I'm just in shock. I mean, he has a rep--I mean, he doesn't seem like your type--okay, I'll be quiet now. I'm only shoving my foot deeper into my mouth."

  A petty part of Lyndie--a part she hadn't known existed--wanted to dislike Aisha. No one enjoys my man but me! Instead, Lyndie decided to dislike that petty part of herself.

  "Okay. I can't leave this alone. How long were you guys, uh, dating?" Aisha had asked then, her cheeks flushing...with concern? Trying to work out the dates to make sure Brock hadn't cheated on Lyndie with Aisha?

  Lyndie had reached out, patted her hand in reassurance. "My best friends are married to his best friends. We've known each other a while, but never dated...until we decided to get married--a week before the wedding. He didn't cheat on me with you."

  Relief had radiated from the student teacher.

  Now, as Miss Khatri wove through the rows of desks, asking different children different questions, Lyndie perched behind her desk, her mind wandering.

  How would Brock react if she made a move? Excitedly? Or just meh?

  Maybe just meh. Otherwise he would have made a move of his own by now, right?

  Ugh. She had to stop doubting him. He'd earned her trust. All her trust. Time to face her fears and show him.

  When she noticed her hands were gripping the arms of her chair so tightly her knuckles looked ready to pop out of her skin, she decided now wasn't the time to ponder the ramifications of going all in with Brock, even temporarily. Instead, she'd think about her new family. A true source of joy.

  The cats--Peanut and Thor--were loud and rambunctious, always on the go. The dog--Pepper--was a mixed-breed beauty with only three legs. (Lyndie refused to call her a mutt!) If she had to guess which breeds, she'd say Lab and blue heeler. The pig--Athena, AKA Ms. Pork and Beans--had to weigh one hundred and fifty pounds. At least! Thankfully, both Pepper and Athena had quickly learned to use the doggy door Brock installed.

  How could anyone abandon such sweeties?

  Pepper and Athena had to wear collars with motion sensors. Anytime they approached the doggy door, it automatically closed. That way, there would be no great escapes for her clowder, because a previous owner had declawed Peanut and Thor, rendering the pair defenseless.

  Lyndie wondered if prosthetic claws could be made?

  A pipe dream, perhaps, but worth looking into.

  To her shock and amazement, Brock had taken to life as a daddy/farmer very well. Not once had he complained. Or scolded her. Well, he'd said, "The dog sheds like a mother f-- trucker."

  Lyndie had chuckled about his non-potty mouth and said, "She doesn't shed. She emits magical fairy dust that makes wishes come true."

  Brock had snorted and muttered, "In your dreams."

  In his spare time--meaning, way too early each and every morning--he worked on building an enclosed playpen outside. The thing had central heat and air so the animals could hide out in comfort whenever guests came over. Newcomers made her pack nervous. Daniel almost lost a finger to Pepper the last time he came over.

  Despite the mid-October winds, a heat front had blown in, forcing Brock to work without a shirt. The sun would stroke his bronzed skin with golden rays, paying him absolute tribute, and sweat would roll down his chest and back.

  How Lyndie had kept her hands to herself, as she'd spied on him through her bedroom curtains, she hadn't yet figured out.

  Brock's continued goodwill--and amazing body--pushed all the right buttons. Fembot? Tough as nails? Not even close! She looked at him and her knees weakened, her body burned with desire, and dang it, she had to fight the urge to rip off all his clothes and have her wicked way with him.

  Well, crap. Looked like she was going to think about her hubby, after all.

  Next time they were in bed together, she wanted to make him desperate for her. She wanted to take her time and study every inch of him. Wanted to taste every inch of him.

  Blowjobs had never been a favorite pastime. Actually, she'd hated every second, every time, and had performed only when James insisted, too afraid of the consequences if she refused.

  With Brock, she sometimes fantasized about working him into the throes of passion, his head thrashing, hips writhing, hands fisting the sheets beneath him, all while he moaned her name and begged for more.

  Lyndie fanned her burning cheeks before anyone could notice her overheated state.

  Dang it! She was a mess. One second she wanted to be a fembot--no, wait, now she wanted to fall into her husband's arms--no, wait, now she wanted perfunctory sex that meant nothing--no, wait, now she wanted world-rocking sex that meant everything.

  Her heart and mind were at war, and her sanity had been the first casualty.

  Maybe it was time to enact the KISS method: keep it simple, stupid. Zip their mouths, shut down their brains, get naked, and pound one out. Maybe pound two out. Probably more like six.

  Yeah. Yeah!

  Lord have mercy.

  As Miss Khatri wrote on the board, Lyndie forced her mind to travel a new mental highway before she slid out of her chair. Destination... Lambertville.

  She shuddered. Lambert had stopped coming around. Hadn't even ventured into her bushes. Maybe because of the cameras Brock installed, or maybe because of the dog. Pepper's bark was not false advertising.

  Also, there'd been no more break-ins at home. Brock's brother had stayed away. Only once had Miranda Hudson phoned Lyndie. After the woman had spent three whole minutes spewing vitriol in an obvious attempt to paint Brock in a terrible light--his temper... I fear for your safety--Lyndie had hung up and only wanted to wrap her husband in a bear hug. To survive childhood with such a horrible woman...

  The midday bell rang, startling a gasp out of Lyndie. After her classroom emptied, the kids at lunch with Miss Miller, Lyndie grabbed her phone to message Brock. Four missed calls had come in, all from an unknown number. She frowned. Bill collector? Solicitors?

  Whatever. She had a man's seduction to kick off. Chewing on her bottom lip, she typed:

  Complete these sentences in order, & send ONLY the answers back to me:

  (1) Where there's a ______ there's a way.

  (2) Thank _____.

  (3) Lyndie wants to ____ to bed with Brock.

  (4) Lyndie Scott-Hudson better chill____.

  (5) Bite ___, please.

  Send.

  Brock's reply came in a few seconds later: You want answers, you get answers. Give me a moment to crack your code.

  One minute bled into two. Then her phone buzzed. Heart hammering, she checked the screen.

  Brock: Will/You/Go/Out/With/Me.

  Smiling now, she typed YES! Thank you so much for asking. How about tonight?

  Send.

  Brock: Well, well. Look at you, being all adorable. I approve.

  Another call came in from the unknown number. Curious, she answered, but only static crackled over the line.

  How irritating. She hung up. Just in time. Brock's next reply ca
me in.

  Complete these sentences in order, & send ONLY the answers back to me:

  (1) Are ____ okay?

  (2) I've ____ a hard-on for days.

  (3) ___, myself and I.

  (4) Scottie is ___ school and on my mind.

  (5) I ___ do you right.

  A happy laugh escaped her. You/Had/Me/At/Will. Can I tell you one of my famous secrets, Hugsy?

  Brock: I'll be disappointed if you don't.

  Lyndie: I want to have sex with you TONIGHT. In case you need clarification, that means I want to go all the way and insert tab A into slot B.

  Brock: Tab A is going to give it to slot B so good! How soon can you get home?

  Lyndie: Few hours. Unfortunately.

  Brock: What do I have to do to shave time off your estimate?

  Lyndie: Pray the minutes fly by. I know I will!

  By the time school ended, every child passed on to a parent or guardian, anticipation had turned Lyndie into a jittery, giddy mess. Nerve endings tingled and butterflies danced inside her stomach.

  "You've been distracted all day," Aisha said, and winked. "Can't keep your mind off Brock, huh? Oh, man, do I under-- Never mind."

  Lyndie took her hands, squeezed. "This doesn't have to be weird. Okay?"

  How would Lyndie feel after the divorce, when she'd run into women who'd nailed the father of her child? She'd wondered before and had easily shaken off her unease. This time the unease remained--and redoubled.

  "Okay. And thank you." Aisha extracted her hands from Lyndie's now too-tight grip. Then she grinned. "Speak of the devil. I have a feeling you are going to have a ton of fun tonight, Mrs. Hudson." Still grinning, she adjusted the strap of her purse and sauntered to her car.

  Lyndie turned, a sudden spike in her pulse. Brock stood across the street, dressed in an immaculate suit, forcing an older woman inside a bright red sports car.

  Why would--

  That had to be the brother, Braydon. Not Brock. His dark hair was several inches longer, his face not quite as...lived in. Or arresting.

  The woman's identity clicked next. Miranda, mother to the Hudson brothers.

  Braydon shut the door, sealing her inside the vehicle. His gaze lifted, met Lyndie's. He nodded before climbing behind the wheel and speeding away.

  Had Miranda come here to speak with Lyndie? Ugh. No, thank you.

  "Lyndie?"

  She turned to see the other kindergarten teacher, Henrietta--Mrs. Campbell--rushing over with a worried expression. "May I have a moment of your time, please?"