by Lora Leigh
“Ah, sweet baby,” he groaned. “That’s it, tighten on my cock. So fucking tight. Clenching like a fist.”
His cock throbbed, pulsed, and seemed to thicken further inside her tender flesh as rapid-fire bursts of sensation began to tighten at her clit.
“Crowe … oh God, it’s so good…” It was too good.
The feel of him behind her, his voice at her ear, pleasure thickening it, deepening it, was another caress against her senses.
“Did you dream of me, baby?” His lips brushed against her neck as he whispered the words. “Did you feel me inside you when you slept? My dick filling you, fucking you until you didn’t think you could live if you didn’t come for me?”
“Did you?” Amelia could hear her own hunger for it, to know she had been more than a gratuity fuck. “Did you dream…”
His thrusts increased, driving inside her powerfully, the race to release stealing her breath for precious seconds.
“Crowe…”
It was there. That tightening of her body as the pleasure became too much to bear. Heat seared her, burned through her as her muscles locked in place, her clit pulsing. Her pussy rippling, milking—
Light and color exploded behind her eyes as a keening cry fell from her lips at the sudden, white-hot detonation of sensation erupting through her.
Her fingers tightened on his arm, sobs tearing from her lips as she lifted to her toes, trying to take him deeper. His thrusts increased, slamming into her, driving her higher, amplifying her release and a second later filling her with the white-hot lash of his semen.
The harsh, guttural groan that tore from his lips at the first burning ejaculation inside her tore another sob from her throat. Shuddering, crying out mindlessly, she felt another internal explosion, a heavy, unexpected orgasm as the heat of his release filled her.
Jet after heated jet escaped his cock and marked her, owning her, reminding her of things she knew it was far too dangerous to be reminded of.
“I dreamed…” he groaned at her, the sound almost too soft, too rough, to understand. “I dreamed…”
Too dangerous for her peace of mind, her heart, and her sanity.
Holding on to his arm as the storm of exquisite ecstasy tore through them both, Amelia knew, deep inside her heart, inside her woman’s soul, that she was helpless against him.
Helpless against his touch, helpless against his lust, and helpless to do anything but follow him into hell.
A hell she had prayed they could both avoid.
CHAPTER 8
Walking into the nearly completed addition to the Community Center—a huge, four-section meeting wing—Amelia eyed the folding walls that separated the room the Ladies’ Auxiliary and Social Planning Committee had reserved for their weekly meetings.
The detailed murals on the folding walls weren’t finished, but the sketch of the early, historic Corbin County scene was precisely drawn and awaiting the painting phase. Painting would begin after Thanksgiving, with the murals in each of the four rooms scheduled for completion the week before the kickoff of the social season.
The Corbin County socials were a historic event all their own.
They had begun when Sweetrock was no more than a freight wagon stop for ranching supplies and had fewer than a dozen families supporting it. Those families had supplies brought in over the mountains and then sold them to the ranches and small farms that sprang up around the four large spreads the Irish Barons had secured land for.
Each weekend, the ranching families supplied the beef, the cowboys’ families and those in Sweetrock supplied the additional dishes, and guitar-playing cowboys supplied the music.
The first socials were just about getting together. The ranching families and their employees rarely had any other chance to socialize or meet their outlying neighbors. The summer weekend festivities had changed that.
Each of the eight murals scheduled to go on the back and front of the four false walls depicted scenes from those early social events.
The meeting wing of the Community Center had originally been proposed by Amelia’s mother just before her disappearance and suspected death. The year Amelia was voted into the position of event coordinator, she had proposed overseeing the project herself to revive it. She’d been shocked when the planning commission had accepted her suggestion and gave her the go-ahead to secure quotes.
Wide and roomy, the first and smallest of the four rooms easily accommodated two dozen women plus several tables of snacks and treats, with plenty of space for the officers’ podium to face the rest of the room. By the podium were two covered tables, each with three chairs on a three-foot-high stage.
Thankfully, a social and event coordinator wasn’t considered an officer.
The meeting rooms were proving to be not just useful, but also marginally profitable: their schedule after completion was already filling up.
Amelia wondered, though, if she would be here for the ribbon-cutting ceremony.
She had a feeling she wouldn’t be.
With the little visit Crowe had interrupted two days before from Linda and her mother Ruth Anne, she might not make it past this particular meeting.
Smothering a sigh, Amelia placed her oversized briefcase on the chair beside her, watching as her friend and most vocal ally in the past weeks strode into the room and headed toward her.
For once, Anna wasn’t dressed in jeans, either. The Ladies’ Auxiliary and Social Planning Committee had a strict dress code. Denim was not considered acceptable, Amelia thought in amusement.
Anna’s smartly tailored black skirt and white cashmere sweater were paired with three-inch heels and minimal makeup. She’d pulled her shoulder-length hair haphazardly to the back of her head, with long heavy waves falling here and there along her nape and the sides of her face. She looked chic and comfortable.
Business-y with a side of sex kitten, Anna’s fiancé, Archer Tobias, had commented when she showed him the outfit the week before. Amelia had no doubt Archer had taken advantage of the sex-kitten part before Anna left the house.
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Anna muttered in irritation as she dropped her purse on top of the round table Amelia had chosen.
“Talked you into what?” Amelia questioned with the utmost innocence. “Becoming part of Archer’s life? I thought he talked you into that.”
Anna’s green eyes narrowed back at her as she propped her hands on her slender hips, cocking one boldly. “Funny, Amelia, real funny. But, strangely enough—” She looked around curiously. “—I don’t see Archer here.”
Turning back to Amelia, she lifted her brows with questioning mockery as though she had somehow misplaced her fiancé.
Amelia rolled her eyes. “Do you go on investigations with Archer? Would he take you to a shootout with him?”
“Only in my dreams,” Anna snorted before blowing out a hard breath at Amelia’s chastising look. “Fine. Fine. I know. Sheriff is a political position and any wife of Archer’s has to be part of the community,” she said, repeating her grandmother’s warning. “I get it, I really do.” She looked around again, pouting. “But the Ladies’ Auxiliary and Social Planning Committee? Geez, Amelia.”
“You’ll survive,” Amelia promised. “Just be yourself and remember, every woman here is one of the most strong-willed, influential women in the county. Don’t let them browbeat you. Never cower or back down. They see it as a weakness. And always, always be as certain of your information as possible before stating it or someone else will find a way to make you appear weak.”
As she spoke, Anna’s eyes widened with a look of distaste. “Sounds more like a pack of coyotes than a ladies’ auxiliary,” she murmured, looking around again. “Come to think of it, I see a few resemblances.”
Amelia bumped against her hurriedly to silence the observation as she tried to muffle her laughter.
“Just tell me when to wake up then,” Anna suggested. “Because I’ve met all these women at one time or another an
d I find them all completely boring. Several of them have actually crossed the line to irritating.”
Amelia had a feeling she knew the two her friend was talking about.
Amelia had never found the group boring, though. She had so loved her position—the planning of each event she chose for the socials and all her interactions with the vendors and entertainers—that boredom had never been a consideration. There was no part of the job she hadn’t loved.
Even dealing with the ladies in the auxiliary.
She was going to miss it.
“What’s wrong?” Anna’s question pulled her back, forcing her to focus on the present rather than the past and what she knew was coming.
“Ladies, if I could have your attention.” Linda stepped to the narrow podium behind the tables and addressed the group as the officers took their seats. “If I could have your attention,” she repeated as the other officers appeared less than comfortable.
The tension in the air increased.
“Is this a funeral or a meeting?” Anna muttered as she and Amelia sat down. “And why isn’t anyone sitting with us?”
Amelia would have answered but her gaze caught Linda’s at that moment. The determination she read in the other woman’s eyes had her stomach sinking.
“Before we begin discussing our normal week’s business we have a situation that must be addressed,” Linda announced, her gaze moving around the room.
Linda stood stiffly erect, her plumpening figure dressed in black slacks and a dark gray, loose sweater that hid her curvy hips. Her blond hair was pulled into a tight ponytail today, her makeup applied with a heavy hand.
“What is her problem?” Anna questioned under her breath.
“Ladies,” Linda repeated as everyone’s attention turned to her. “As president of the Ladies Auxiliary and Social Planning Committee, I never imagined the day would come when it would be my unfortunate duty to ask an officer or coordinator of our organization to step down or to rescind her position.”
Anna came sharply to attention beside Amelia with an angry, hissed, “Oh hell no, she isn’t.”
Placing her hand on Anna’s arm, Amelia kept her attention on Linda.
“Because of the very unique position that we, as the auxiliary’s officers, find ourselves in, as well as the position our very good friend and social planning coordinator finds herself in, I sent an email ballot out for a vote to determine whether we should keep Amelia in her position or let her go.”
A low hum of whispered discussion raced around the room. Amelia kept her gaze on Linda despite the heat of humiliation that suffused her face.
“The vote that came back was, unfortunately, to release Amelia as social planning coordinator, effective immediately.”
Effective immediately.
The sense of loss threatened to strangle her.
“Excuse me,” Marianne Collins, the widow of a former commissioner, requested firmly, waiting until all eyes turned to her and Linda gave her the floor with a hesitant nod. “I did not receive a ballot by email or otherwise. My understanding of the auxiliary guidelines is that it requires a unanimous vote to rescind an officer or position.”
“I didn’t receive a ballot, either,” Anna said, ignoring Amelia’s silent look of warning.
Tightening her lips momentarily, Linda bent her head to her mother, listening as Ruth Anne spoke. Linda finally gave a quick, hard shake of her head before straightening once again.
“Marianne, Anna.” She nodded to both women. “Unfortunately, we as an organization, and Amelia personally, are facing a rather unique position.” Linda stepped from behind the podium as she pushed her hands into the pockets of her slacks and looked down momentarily before lifting her head, her expression one of regret. “This situation threatens the integrity of the auxiliary as well as the participation of the residents, vendors, and performers that are required to ensure the success of each event, as well as the season.”
“Linda?” Timid-voiced, steel-willed Kate Hardy, the daughter of the city commissioner, spoke up. “Why weren’t we all asked to vote? As Marianne stated, the guidelines require a unanimous vote.”
“Where’s the fairness in that? Or in the members you chose to send the ballot to?” Anna stood to her feet mutinously, her arms crossing defiantly over her breasts. “Who received this email? Only those you could convince to vote your way? Strange, I thought the auxiliary was a democratic organization, Linda, not your personal little sandbox.”
A wave of protests as well as agreements swept the room as Amelia grabbed her friend’s arm and jerked her back to her chair. “Enough,” she demanded, her voice low. “Don’t make enemies here, Anna. Not over this.”
Anna glared back at her. “Your words,” she reminded Amelia. “Don’t cower or back down. This isn’t right—”
“Anna,” Linda stated from the podium. “Regardless of the fairness of it, or the guidelines, unfortunately, the original creators of the auxiliary simply never foresaw this particular situation.” She grimaced in distaste. “I’m very sorry about this, Amelia, but despite my own personal feelings, we need you to turn over all materials, plans, and contacts to the committee, as required by the by-laws you signed when you accepted the position as the auxiliary social planning director.”
Oh, she just bet they did, Amelia thought painfully as she shook her head. “I didn’t sign the by-laws, Linda.” That single piece of advice Wayne had given her five years before made more sense as she continued. “You’ll find instead my own notarized addition at the end of the packet stating that I only be required to turn over any plans, contacts, or information received from the coordinator I replaced. I received nothing. I understand your fears and your position as president of the auxiliary. But what you’re asking me to do is turn over what amounts to untold hours of personal time and effort as well as forgoing the use of my own experience and contacts I’ve made for future employment once I’ve turned over my materials. I can’t do that. I won’t do that.”
Livid anger filled Linda’s expression as the auxiliary secretary showed her the back of a packet Amelia assumed was her own.
“This vote and the demand that she step down, after nearly completing plans for not just this year’s social, but next year’s as well, is completely unconscionable and so lacking in fairness as to be laughable,” Anna protested strenuously as she rose again, flattening her hands against the table in front of her as she glared at Linda.
Closing the packet and moving once again behind the podium, Linda stared back at Anna, anger burning in her face and gaze.
“Tell me, Miss Corbin,” she asked heavily. “What do we do when residents refuse to attend because the daughter of the man who murdered his way through this county is still planning the socials? How do we explain that? How do we, in all good conscience, force the citizens of this county to face his daughter or face the subtle ways this county punishes its residents for not attending or not supporting the events?”
Shame lashed at Amelia, just as Linda intended. Whether it was fair or not, as she stated, Amelia had no doubt the auxiliary committee had already received phone calls stating just that.
The position it left both her and Linda in was less than deserved or wanted. But here they were.
“I would have, and still would, do anything if I could change what Wayne had done,” Amelia stated, her voice heavy with regret. “No one could feel more shame or regret over a family member’s actions than I do.” She fought back her tears, but she couldn’t stop the thickening of her voice. “I’m not protesting the fact that I’ve been asked to leave; it was no more than I expected. What I find unfair is the timing. As Anna stated, this has come after the completion of plans and contracts of the next two years’ events. I’ll leave, but I will not turn over all copies of the plans, materials, and contacts to the board or anyone else. Nor will I sign away my right to use them at a future date in any employment situation. I will not allow you to steal what amounts to seven years of my life and simply
hand it over to someone who has no idea of the untold hours of networking it took to complete each event.”
The position and the work she put into the planning of events and coordinating each phase of the county’s social calendar had been her life. She had had no family, no lovers. She’d had her events, and she had loved each phase of it.
“That’s bullshit,” Anna argued at her side, brushing Amelia’s hand aside as she tried to shush her friend. “If the victims’ families actually requested your resignation, then I could understand it,” she continued fiercely. “But I know those families. Amelia knows them, well. We stood at their funerals together and held their loved ones more than once as they cried. And I know for a fact they all distrusted and disliked Wayne Sorenson and considered Amelia one of their dearest friends. No one but those families has the right to ask for her resignation. Certainly, Linda, you don’t have that right.”
Amelia shook her head. Anna could only think of the loss of time and cherished projects Amelia would lose if forced to walk away. She wasn’t considering the position the auxiliary would be in with the rest of the public.
It wasn’t Linda who addressed the argument this time, though. Her mother, Ruth Anne, rose to her feet instead.
“How effective will any of that effort be, Anna, no matter the work or the love that’s gone into it, if the residents—whether of the victims’ families or not—can’t tolerate the daughter of the man that all but destroyed this county? Or that his daughter is allowed to continue to build her reputation and her name because of this position?” Ruth Anne asked gently. “I may not approve of Linda’s handling of this situation, but I must say I agree with her arguments for it. Just as those who were asked to vote understand it, as well as the committee. And it’s a committee Amelia must work with. One that must approve each phase of her plans. How can we do that effectively when there’s resentment or even fear for our personal safety should we question or disapprove those plans?” She held up a hand as Anna moved to protest, but it was Amelia’s gaze she met with compassion and regret. “My dear, you are a cherished friend who has, I know, suffered the consequences of standing between Wayne and the petty injustices he often used to strike out at many of our families. We kept the vote secretive in an attempt to protect those we asked to vote as well as ourselves, because Amory Wyatt was and now—along with Wayne—still is free and a possible threat. Only this evening did we learn Wayne wasn’t in that explosion as we all first believed. And he has by the very fact that he murdered each woman suspected to have been in a Callahan’s bed, with the exception of you, shown his preference for you. Who’s to say he wouldn’t return and kill again should one of the auxiliary officers, members, or the group as a whole do something that displeases him? No, it isn’t fair,” she sighed. “To any of us. But it’s an issue we can’t ignore.”
