[Canyon Cove 02.0] No Regrets

by Liliana Rhodes

  A woman should be soft and curvy. The one I watched in the store had a round plump ass and enticingly large breasts that jiggled as she walked. They threatened to spill out of that low cut blouse she wore, and that was something I didn't want to miss. She was quite the delicious package and with her short height, I couldn't help but think of her as 'fun sized', like the candy people gave away on Halloween.

  Turning to look at the suits so I wouldn't look like the deviant I really was, I couldn't keep my eyes off her. I looked back at her and our eyes met. This was going to be easier than I thought. Now to find out her name, I thought as I smiled and made my way over to her.

  As I marched towards the exit where my black limo waited at the curb, the crowd parted before me as it always did. Stepping out of the department store's large glass doors, my driver opened the car's back door and waited as I slipped inside.

  "Home, sir?" he asked with a slight nod of his bald head.

  "You need to ask?" I growled at him.

  Stewart had been a driver for my family since I was a child. His appearance was average in every sense of the word, and it gave him the uncanny ability to blend into any crowd. There were many little things that made me suspect he did more for my father years ago than just drive. Stewart started working directly for me fifteen years ago when I took over running the family business.

  Stewart and I had a long, complicated history. While we were as close as brothers, there was much about him I didn't know. To call him mysterious was an understatement, yet I trusted him with my life.

  As he merged the long black vehicle into traffic, the screen between us lowered. Stewart's brown eyes looked at me through his rear view mirror.

  "Meet anyone interesting?" he asked.

  "Were you spying on me again?"

  "You don't usually take so long."

  I noticed he didn't answer my question, but I let it slide. Having known him most of my life, I knew I'd never get an answer.

  "I'm a busy man. I shouldn't be wasting time in a department store," I said.

  I didn't want to talk about it. I wanted to be alone with my thoughts of her. Deborah, as her name tag so nicely revealed.

  Pressing the button, I watched the screen rise between us then took a glance outside to see how far from home we were. Through the tinted glass the city faded into the distance, giving me about thirty minutes alone with my memories.

  My mind couldn't help but go back to when I first noticed Deborah piling her arms with hangers. I wasn't paying attention to the hangers though, it was her curves that caught my attention. It wasn't like me to not take what I wanted when I found a woman I desired, but once I got closer, I could tell she was different.

  Maybe it was her clothes. They were well made yet obviously her own design. Clothing didn't normally fit a big girl so well. The way her pants hugged her bottom, the soft sheen of the fabric highlighted her curves. Or that blouse...at once showing a little too much cleavage but leaving me wanting so much more.

  Unsure if she would recognize me, I avoided her at first by busying myself by the new suits. It annoyed me beyond belief that people knew me while I didn't know them. I valued my privacy, but being the sole heir to the King family fortune made it impossible to find someone who didn't approach me with dollar signs in their eyes. At least it was until today.

  Finally giving in to the urge to be closer to her, I approached. What I saw in her sweet brown eyes wasn't recognition though, it was something else. Maybe the same desire I felt for her.

  "Sir, will you be heading out tonight?" Stewart's voice came over the speaker system, disturbing my thoughts.

  "No, I'll be working tonight. Take the night off."

  "Thank you sir, but I have other matters to attend to at the residence. You know I never take the night off. Your security is of utmost importance."

  "You don't have to be so formal all the time. You practically raised me," I reminded him.

  "Practically and reality are two very different things. You didn't need me, your parents did a fine job before--"

  "Just drive," I barked angrily at him. "Every day is enough of a reminder of before."

  Hearing the speaker quietly shut off, I gazed out the window again. The view changed from tall skyscrapers to low buildings surrounded by grass and trees.

  It was the same view as always. None of it different from years ago. A view I hated and looked forward to at the same time. I couldn't help it. I was a creature of habit. Certainly the only reason I still lived where I grew up was more out of habit than anything. Although the home was private. And safe.

  I valued those two things above all. Knowing first hand the cost of familiarity, I locked myself away from the public most of the time. Usually a trip into the city would last me quite a while, but this time I was already thinking about returning to Hargrove's.

  "Sir? Forgive my intrusion," Stewart said as he rolled down the divider again.

  "What is it? And stop with the sir bullshit. You know I can't stand it."

  "You know you can call the store for her schedule."

  Stewart looked at me through the rear view mirror, his face stoic as always. Reaching for the button, I stopped before clicking to gain my privacy again.

  "Thank you, Stewart. It's not every day I get advice on stalking innocent women."

  "You are the expert...sir," he said. I could tell by the tone of his voice he was reminding me who he thought was really in charge.

  The limo jolted forward as Stewart slammed on the brakes. A small red coupe cut us off, forcing us to slow down. Stewart attempted to get around the slow moving car by moving into another lane, but the trucks on either lane beside us wouldn't let us out of our lane.

  The trucks picked up speed and blocked us in behind the red car. Stewart turned to look at me, and concern covered his face briefly before changing to an emptiness I had first seen more than twenty-five years ago.

  "Will, whatever happens, stay in the car."

  "What's going on?" I asked sternly.

  He began raising the divider and I hit the button on my side trying to stop it, but it was useless. The limo jerked to the side as one of the trucks careened into us. The other truck moved over, and I realized they were forcing our vehicle wherever they wanted.

  Pushing us off the highway, they maneuvered us onto a dirt emergency access road. The trucks allowed us more space and I wondered why Stewart didn't just slam on his brakes to escape. Turning around, I got my answer.

  A silver sedan close behind us had two muscle heads with Aviator sunglasses on. They looked like they meant business. As we drove further down the road with clouds of dust flying everywhere, the two trucks that were alongside the limo veered off, leaving us with only the small red car and their cohorts behind us.

  Suddenly, the limo jerked and spun as Stewart slammed on the brakes. Knocked to the side, I scrambled as I heard a quick series of loud pops. The limo stopped, now facing where we came from. As I reached to open the door, a smallish man in a leather motorcycle jacket leapt from the red coupe and rolled on the road before his car burst into flames.

  As I ducked from the explosion, I heard the man scream as the fire engulfed him. Stewart left the car. I tried the doors but they wouldn't budge. I was trapped.

  The grey sedan's front end was stuck in the rear of our limo. A couple of equally large men exited the back doors of the car with the driver. The man in the passenger seat, now covered in his own blood and glass from the windshield, was obviously dead.

  Kicking the door, I tried to get out again. I wanted to help Stewart, who was outnumbered three to one. Meanwhile he glared at the trio, his feet shoulder-width apart, ready for anything.

  I had never seen him like this before. The man who dedicated most of his life to raising me was suddenly larger than life with a look of danger in his eyes that would put fear into most men.

  In a flash, two of the men launched at him. Stewart fought them off with ease. Wondering where the third man went, I searched
for him from the windows of the limo until I spotted him trying to get into the car.

  "Bring it asshole, I'm dying to kick your ass," I growled at him.

  The doors didn't work for him either. Using the force of his body, he threw himself towards one of the windows. With fists clenched, I waited for him to break into the car. Instead, he bounced off like a toy.

  Looking like he grew tired of playing with the two men, Stewart quickly grabbed one by the shoulder in a deadly dance and spun him in one direction as he turned the man's head in the other. With a sly grin, he beckoned the other man closer, who paused, seeing the fate of his comrade.

  A flash of light sparked out of the corner of my eye and a loud bang hit the window next to me. I turned to see the third man holding a gun towards the car, but again nothing happened. As fast as lightning, Stewart pulled out a sleek black gun. He fired one shot at my assailant, then kicked the man attacking him in the temple, causing both men to drop to the ground.

  Stewart spat at the ground, looking confident and deadly as he surveyed the three men and then walked over to the limo. The car door opened for him with ease. Without a word, he smoothed his hand over his head pushing his nonexistent hair back and put his driver's cap back on. As he began driving, he suddenly became my peaceful, aging driver again, only now with a satisfied smirk on his face.

  This wasn't the first time I had been in danger, and I knew it wouldn't be the last. Each time they attacked they got a little closer, but the end result was always the same--they never got what they came for.

  The car slowed at the large, ornate iron gates of King Manor. No matter how many years it had been since I rode in the car with my mother, the gates always reminded me of her. She would tell stories about a trip to the French countryside she and my father took before I was born. Originally, these gates were part of an ancient abandoned monastery, and she fell in love with them. She told her stories with such vivid detail I easily imagined the gates outside an old dilapidated abbey instead of blocking access to the King family's mansion.

  While I traveled extensively for business, I never took time for personal trips. They were too dangerous, so I never saw the monastery myself. Filling most of my days with work, I made sure I didn't have time for social events. I didn't want any part of them. My father enjoyed the spotlight, and it killed him. I had no interest in being a person people felt familiar with.

  As the limo went through the gate, I pulled my phone out of my pocket. Stewart had a point. It was easy enough to get the information I wanted.

  "Thank you for calling Hargrove's," the automated voice on the other end of the call answered. "You've reached the Human Resources department. Your call will be answered shortly."

  "Human Resources, this is Joan."

  "Joan, this is William King. I need you to give me some employee information." I said.

  "On a specific employee? I'm sorry, Mr. King, but I can't do that," she said, her voice shaking.

  "It's her schedule. You can and you will do it. Her name is Deborah and she's in Men's."

  "Yes--yes, Mr. King, one moment. I found her. Deborah Hansen. It looks like she's a new tailor in the men's department. I only have this week's schedule, but it looks like she works days. Would you like me to--"

  "That's enough, Joan. Thank you," I said as I hung up.

  Stewart pulled the car up to the stone steps of the large gothic mansion I called my home. Stepping out of the car, the doors now working for me too, I glimpsed the large fountain at the center of the circular driveway, another one of my mother's finds.

  Crossing behind the car, I ignored the damage, knowing the car would be replaced. The oval fountain, with its three jets of water quietly shooting up into the air, caused cascading streams. Pulling a coin out of my pocket, I tossed it into the fountain as my mother taught me to do as a child. It was a habit I was unable to break, no matter how much it tugged at my heart. In all these years, the only thing missing from the ritual she taught me was the wish. The wishes stopped when I was eight.

  Turning back to the building, I wondered if it always looked so cold. The grey stone of the exterior made the peaks of the turrets look sharper as it stood before the bright sun in the sky.

  Living in the mansion my entire life, it surprised me when I noticed things like that. Stewart and I were the home's only residents, unless one counted the small team of people who maintained the property.

  A long time ago, the mansion was home to parties and gatherings, but I stopped all of that. I didn't need people kissing my ass because they wanted to get into my wallet. I certainly wasn't going to entertain them for fun. Most women jumped at the chance to visit King Manor and spend the night in my bed. I didn't need the ruse of a party to get them here.

  Entering the large hall, the sound of my shoes echoed down the long corridors. I walked straight to the back of the house to my study, my favorite place to relax. It was my hideaway and the only part of the house I changed from when my parents lived there.

  Lining two adjacent walls were built-in bookcases with my vast collection of both fiction and non-fiction. They were my pleasure in life. I often found myself enjoying the company of characters in a book more than the people I had to associate with in real life.

  Along the next wall was a long contemporary bar made of a black and brown granite and wood. As I walked to the bar to pour myself two fingers of scotch, I unbuttoned and removed my suit jacket then tossed it onto the sleek black leather desk chair in the middle of the room next to my desk.

  The back wall of the study was made entirely of glass and faced the valley. The sloping hills were dotted with deep green trees and dried vegetation from the recent drought. The quiet view was comforting to me, and I often sat on the flagstone patio for some fresh air as I gathered my thoughts.

  Picking up the book I was reading from a glass side table, I went outside with my drink and thought about Deborah Hansen. I loved how her black hair framed her pretty full face, hitting just below her jaw line. Or how her smile made me think the world was a better place just because she was in it.

  I tried pushing her out of my mind, but it was useless. Not only did I find her beautiful, but I could tell she was smart and funny, too. It was a dangerous combination for a woman as far as I was concerned. And it was one I was unable to resist.

  Reaching for the laptop I kept on the patio, I checked my schedule for the next day. After sending a quick email, I changed a meeting so I would have the morning free. I knew Deborah was working tomorrow and I hoped the store would be empty.

  It felt like such a struggle. I normally preferred my quiet, lonely existence. That was the only reason I left her without getting to know more. I desperately wanted to be alone, to continue my private, safe, secluded existence, but I needed to get to know the short, curvy tailor even more.

  Chapter Five

  Deborah

  As I arrived at work the next morning, I vowed that no matter who was there, I was going to make sure I was either in tailoring or in suits. Mr. Sexy had to come back and I needed to make sure I wouldn't miss him.

  Entering the men's department, my black Mary Jane pumps clicked against the marble floor. I wore my favorite wine colored v-neck silk blouse with a black circle skirt I was convinced made my hips look smaller.

  "I see you're dressed for Mr. Sexy today," Dianna took a step back and looked me up and down as she fanned herself with her hand.

  "Thanks," I said, laughing. "I'm going to be in suits today if that's okay."

  "Sure, but you might have to fight Sara for it."

  With an exaggerated look, Dianna turned her eyes towards suits, and I followed her gaze. Prepping the register for the day stood a tall, beautiful woman with hair the color of honey. She looked to be in her early twenties with her sun-bleached highlights and athletic build. A lace cami peeked out of her snug suit jacket. It was obvious from her jiggling she didn't bother to wear a bra.

  Give her a chance, don't hate her yet, I thought. As she st
epped out from behind the register, my eyes flew to her long and lean legs sticking out from her too-short skirt.

  "You've got to be kidding me," I muttered.

  "Just wait until you see her in action," Dianna said.

  "Can't you do anything about it? You're the manager."

  "She's our highest earner. They don't care what she wears or how much she flirts, she's making the store a lot of money."

  I sighed and reminded myself that maybe she wasn't so bad. Maybe despite her leaving the department a mess and dressing like a slut, she was nice.

  "Yeah, because that's how the world works," I muttered sarcastically to myself.

  "Oh, it looks like she's already found her first victim," Dianna said as she walked away.

  I looked back towards suits and couldn't believe my eyes. There was Mr. Sexy in the flesh! Well in a suit, but underneath... Get a grip, Deborah!

  My eyes caressed his broad shoulders down the taper of his back until they stopped at a small hand on his bicep. Oh, hell no! As I quickly made my way over, my shoes clicking 'that bitch' with each step, I could hear Sara's soft voice and it made me even angrier.

  "No, I'm sure there isn't a Deborah Hansen here. But I can help you with whatever you want," she purred.

  "Don't touch me," Mr. Sexy growled.

  Even though I couldn't see his face, I could tell by how quickly she stepped back that he meant it.

  "The tailor from yesterday. Get. Her. Now," he said, as if he thought she didn't understand him.

  In shock to hear that he was looking for me, I couldn't speak. Quickly replaying yesterday in my head, I wondered if I did something to make him so stern. Coming up from behind him, I softly reached up and touched Mr. Sexy on his back between his shoulder blades. He turned, his eyes narrowed and his face stern until he recognized me and flashed a smile.