by Zoey Marcel
“I bet you’re still wondering about that surprise we have for you,” he hinted.
She was. It was driving her crazy, but she tried not to let it show. If she feigned disinterest he would crack and tell her what it was. She knew him all too well.
“Not really,” she said, turning the page of her magazine. “I was just trying to decide on a dress.”
“See, you say that, but deep down I know it’s driving you nuts.” He paced, seeming like he’d bust. “I mean it’s like you really want to know and you’re gonna freakin’ lose it if I don’t tell you.”
She almost lost her straight face. “Actually I’ve accepted that you want to surprise me. If you want me to wait for it I will.”
“Well, that’s good, Danielle, but frankly, I’m not convinced.”
She glanced sideways at him. “No?”
“No. I know you, baby.” He coursed his fingers through his hair and she tried not to smile when she saw his bent digits like he was about to flip out from keeping a secret. “You want to know so freakin’ bad you’re gonna pin me down and tickle me until you get it out of me. I don’t know how I can be expected not to say anything if you did that.”
She smirked. “Do you want me to hold you down and tickle you?”
“Aha! I knew it. You’re threatening me, aren’t you? You demand to know and I can’t resist your charms.”
“If you want to tell me, Brighton—”
“Don’t turn this on me. You won’t frigging drop it until I tell you.” He sighed and shook his head. “If that’s the way you feel, honey.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Oh come on!”
She laughed. “All right, what is it? Tell me.”
The doorbell rang.
“Oh my God, that was perfect timing!”
Brighton dashed toward the door with a speed she found humorous given the way he almost slipped. He unlocked the door and flung it open without looking to see who it was, an action she would never advise.
“Look, baby! Look who it is! He’s back!”
Danielle bit her lip and nodded, stifling a giggle. “Sweetie, that’s Siegfried.”
“What?” Brighton scowled at the butler when he entered. “What the hell, man? You’re supposed to open doors for me, not the other way around.”
Siegfried gave him a stoic smirk. “I’ll try to remember that the next time I encounter a locked door.”
Brighton closed and locked the front door. “That sounded like sarcasm.”
“Very good, sir.”
She giggled.
“Neh, let’s see what you got, wise guy.” Brighton peeked in one of the bags, frowning. “Where the hell are my Nutter Butters? This is a bunch of lettuce and a bag of pollen.”
“They’re sunflower seeds,” Siegfried explained. “The lady requested them.”
She got up and took the bag from him. “Thank you for getting those. I could have done that.”
“We try to make Mr. McAlister’s guests feel at home.”
“Which is more than he plans for the lord of the house,” Brighton grumbled.
She grinned. “Lord of the house, huh?”
Siegfried showed him the other bag. “Have a look.”
Brighton took a glance inside the bag and his face lighted up. “Freakin’ Nutter Butters! Thanks, man! I forgive you for that minute where you let me think you forgot them.”
“That is an immense relief, sir,” Siegfried quipped as he took the bags and headed into the kitchen.
“What the hell are sunflower seeds?” Brighton asked her.
“Well, they’re seeds...that come from sunflowers.”
“Oh yeah, that makes sense. I’m not awake yet.”
“You can have some. They’re really good. I love the salted kind.”
He took the bag she handed him and tried one. “Mmm, these little bastards are pretty tasty. So about the surprise that you keep hounding me about—”
The doorbell rang, startling him. He tossed the bag up into the air and she just barely caught it. Seeds sprinkled like confetti, making tiny clatters when a few of them hit the hard wood floor.
“Calm down, Siegfried!” Brighton hollered. “I’ve got this! Don’t come rushing out here to answer the door!”
“I wasn’t!” Siegfried called back from the kitchen.
“Smarty pants.” Brighton peeked in the peephole, giddy as a rattlesnake nomming on eggs. “Baby, why don’t you open the door? I’ll clean up the seeds.”
“Okay.”
She stood up straight and then headed over to the door, wondering why he was wiggling and grinning like a blind date had gone well.
“What are you so excited for?”
“Oh my God! Take forever,” he complained. “Open the flippin’ door. Don’t look. I know who it is. Just be all over that door.”
She unlocked the door, hearing the crisp sophistication of a male voice on the other side speaking in a British accent. It didn’t sound like Brighton’s father, though. She opened the door, greeted by a cool, drafty gust of air on her face and a presence that stunned her into silence.
Cole McAlister stood there, a cell phone at his ear. He gaped at her when he saw her.
Danielle felt her lungs squeeze as if a boa constrictor liked her a little too much. She remembered every breathtaking detail of him, but it still felt like seeing him for the first time. His jet-black hair was thick and wavy, his steel eyes as gray as the overcast sky. He’d always been light-skinned, giving him a captivating appearance that stood out like a cardinal in the snow.
“Tracy, I’ll have to call you back,” he said into the phone before hanging up.
Who the hell was Tracy?
Why shouldn’t there be a lucky bitch in his life?
“Hello, Danielle,” he said softly.
She melted. Words were supposed to happen, but they weren’t forthcoming. She swallowed.
“Cole,” she breathed.
Nothing like looking independent and composed.
Classy, Danielle.
“I heard you were back,” he said in a deep voice made of velvet and sex.
“Yeah, I came back.”
She’d never really sucked this bad at conversations before even when nervous. Here he was the epitome of all things urbane and distinguished with his elegant accent and his long, black trench coat, looking like a Jane Austen man against a fog-cloaked backdrop, and she had all the grace of a newborn calf on a trampoline.
The corners of his lips tugged ever so slightly. “Are you going to let me in?”
She jerked as if awakening from a drunken stupor. “Oh yeah, sorry.”
She stepped back and opened the door wider, letting him and probably every bug in this part of South Dakota into the house.
“Surprise!” Brighton shrieked before making a squeaky, trumpeting sound with something.
My God, he actually had one of those birthday noisemakers and a coned hat on. Apparently he’d gotten busy while she’d been standing there mystified by his brother.
She locked the door in hopes that no more world-stopping surprises walked through it. On what planet was surprising someone with the return of an old flame that they’d stupidly declined to marry years ago a plan of brilliance?
Brighton flung himself at his sibling and squeezed him tight. “It’s about freakin’ time.”
Cole hugged him back, a small smile tilting his lips. “You’ve grown.”
“That’s what happens when you don’t see people for years.”
His gray eyes flickered over to Danielle briefly before slipping away. The glance was loaded, yet indecipherable.
She had so many questions. Why had he stayed away for so long only to come back all of a sudden?
Who the hell was this Tracy he spoke of?
Why did seeing him still make her heart smile even while it broke inside of her?
And lastly, the question she obsessed over and dreaded with equal measure. Did he still love her?
End of Book 2: Submission to Kale
To be continued in
Book 3: Hot as Heller
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Zoey Marcel lives with her husband, their baby, and their quirky pug in the Pacific Northwest.
She writes erotica and erotic romance, and her favorite genres include paranormal, BDSM, ménage, cowboys, dark fantasy, and historical. Her stories range from scorching and moving to dark and edgy. She enjoys variety in her characters, but her favorite heroes are alphas and the tortured ones in need of love and redemption.
When she’s not writing, Zoey enjoys spending time with her husband and friends, working out, reading, going for drives, and seeing new places.
She can be contacted via blog, email, Facebook, or Twitter.
Blog: http://zoeymarcelbooks.blogspot.com/
Email: [email protected]
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/zoey.marcelbooks
Twitter: https://twitter.com/ZoeyMarcelBooks
For all titles by Zoey Marcel, please visit
www.bookstrand.com/zoey-marcel
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
