by Pj Fiala
Grace smacked his shoulder. “I wasn’t eyeing him up. Besides, I doubt he does knocked-up girls.” She smirked. “Right?”
Gunnar shrugged as they turned to a car approaching. Emma grabbed Gunnar’s hand and pulled him over to meet who he assumed was Trey.
A tall, broadly built man got out of his Lexus with a smile on his face for Emma. He leaned down and pulled her in for a hug and reached quickly for Gunnar as soon as Emma released him. “Gunnar, this is Trey. Trey, Gunnar.”
They exchanged a few more pleasantries and decided to get a move on. Three hours later, the storage unit was cleaned out, the trailer was locked, and they all agreed to go home, shower, change, and meet at the hotel for dinner. Trey and Jon followed Gunnar and Emma to the hotel. Jon was letting Gunnar park the trailer in their large storage garage behind the hotel so no one would break into the trailer or damage it in any way.
*****
“Gunnar?” Emma shoved at him, sound asleep and snoring after several strong drinks last night. The beeping sound of his phone felt like a spike being driven into her skull. Note to self, stop drinking at four drinks. Maybe three, but for sure four.
“Gunnar. Please.”
“Hmm.” Gunnar rolled over and pulled Emma into his body.
“No. Gunnar, turn your phone off. The damn thing is splitting my head in two.”
Running a hand down his face, Gunnar reached over to the nightstand and grabbed his phone. The beeping signaled a text message. Gunnar hit the button to stop the insufferable noise and tossed his phone back on the table.
Emma sat up and rubbed her temples. “God. My head is banging like a drum. What time is it?”
Gunnar grabbed for his phone, turned it on, and said, “Six-thirty.”
Emma slipped out of bed and padded to the bathroom. “I’m going to grab some aspirin. You need some?”
“Yeah.” Taking a deep breath, Gunnar pulled the intrusive text message up on his phone:
Remember, we’re meeting tomorrow. I’d hate for anything else to happen to Emma.
Gunnar quickly sat up, sorry he did when his head reminded him of last night’s activities. Grabbing his head with one hand and white knuckling his phone in the other he stared at the offensive text, rereading it over and over.
“Fuck.”
“What?” Emma called from the bathroom.
“Nothing.” Gunnar flopped back onto the pillows and pinched the bridge of his nose. What a fucking mess this was turning into. He should have met that fat fucker before, but he didn’t like his threats or his attitude. He didn’t want to have anything to do with his biological father and didn’t know what this jerk had to do with him. Now, it looked like this son of a bitch burned Emma’s house down—Ashley’s house actually—because of his connection with Emma.
Walking out of the bathroom, naked as a baby, Emma set a glass of water and two aspirin on the bedside table. She yawned as she walked around the end of the bed to climb back in on the other side. Her hair was disheveled and running in tangles down her back, light make up smudges under her eyes, and not wearing a stitch of clothing. Her firm, full breasts moved as she moved, and the light dusting of golden hair between her thighs made his cock instantly harden. She was the most perfect being he had ever laid eyes on.
As she climbed under the covers, the soft puff of air smelled of her musky perfume and the sex they had shared the night before, creating the most erotic sensations forcing the headache between his temples away and creating one between his legs.
He reached over and easily grabbed her waist and pulled her over his body. The tumble of her hair tickled his neck and face, and her smile took his breath away.
“Ride me,” he husked out.
She sat up, slowly running her hands down his massive chest, lightly circling then pinching his nipples. She smiled as she watched them pucker under her punishment. Grazing the tight peaks with her thumbs, she watched as the gooseflesh rose on his skin. He bucked under her once and she scooted down a bit, allowing his impressive erection to bob between her legs. She wrapped her hands around it and pumped it a few times, smiling as the pre-cum formed on the tip. She swiped her thumb over it and glazed the tip with the shiny, gooey substance. She was entranced with how the color of his cock changed to a deeper rose as she pumped and swiped.
“Ride me,” he repeated, his voice gravely.
“Not yet. Let me look at you.”
Gunnar groaned. “You aren’t looking, you’re torturing.”
She leaned down and ran her breasts around his cock, smearing the pre-cum on herself.
He groaned louder. “Dammit, Emma.”
She giggled as she continued massaging his member with her breasts.
He began bucking her until she placed both hands on his abdomen and very slowly slid her mouth over his cock. She slowly slid her mouth back up as her tongue swirled along the length of him. As she reached the top, she sucked in firmly, causing Gunnar to groan almost as if he were in pain.
She looked into his eyes and saw…what? Amazement? Shock? Excitement? She held his gaze in hers as she slowly rose up and positioned him at her opening and slid down onto him almost as if in slow motion.
A slow smile split her lips as she ran her tongue across them before she purred. “Is this what you want Gunnar?”
“Jesus,” he huffed as if out of breath.
Emma rode him for all she was worth until they both groaned their release.
*****
Feeling rather proud of them for having accomplished all they set out to do over the course of this weekend, Emma rode home in high spirits. Gunnar, on the other side of the truck, seemed preoccupied.
“Hey. You’ve been quiet on the ride home. Did I do something to piss you off?”
Brows furrowed, Gunnar ran a hand through his dark hair. He let it hang loose today and the slight wave in it created a kaleidoscope of colors ranging from blues to the deepest ebony and burnished highlights where the sun streaming in from the windows touched it. His full, kissable lips were forming a straight line across his masculine jaw showing off an impressively fast beard growing in after only two days of not shaving. Sexy.
“No, of course not.”
Shrugging Emma studied him from the passenger seat of his truck. When he continued to scowl out the windshield, she sniffed and looked straight ahead as well.
“Hey. I’m not mad. I am, however, hung over. Why didn’t you tell me your friends can drink like fish? Except for Grace, poor thing had to sit and watch us get wasted.”
Emma actually chuckled. “I didn’t realize how much we were drinking, either. I guess it was just so darn fun seeing them all again and they enjoyed talking to you. I think Trey has a crush on you.”
That brought a smile to his sexy mouth. “So… I have options, you mean?”
She laughed out loud as she thought about Gunnar with Trey. “Well, if you want to hit that, I can see what I can do about setting it up.”
Gunnar reached over and took her hand in his. “Naw, I think I’ll stick with you.” He pulled her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. “Besides, I could set it up myself. He gave me his number.” His grin showed off those darn dimples.
Emma’s eyes grew large and her mouth dropped open as she shot a look at Gunnar that had him laughing. “He did?”
“Yep.”
“Wow. He really likes you. He doesn’t give out his number very often.”
As they drove along, both lost in thought, Gunnar broke the silence. “You know I’m not interested, right? I mean, I don’t do…I’m not…gay.”
For the second time in a matter of minutes, Emma burst out laughing.
Chapter Twenty-One
Gunnar drove down the street of a neighborhood he had never been in before but had wondered about during his childhood. So this is where his biological father lived with the family he kept. While it wasn’t a seedy street, it was most definitely in a neighborhood that had seen better days. Most of the homes were of the early
nineteen seventies ranch style with the pressed board siding on them. Many were in need of paint, and all were in need of landscaping as what was there was largely overgrown rangy bushes and dying perennials. Cracked sidewalks lined both sides of the street, and in front of most of the homes, cars parked in the street because growing families had more cars than garage.
Locating the home he’d been instructed to find, Gunnar ground his teeth together. He had lied to Emma about the phone calls he received this morning and lied again about where he was going. He simply couldn’t say anything until he knew what the hell was going on. Taking a deep breath, he pocketed his keys, checked his holster for his glock, and the ankle holster for his nine millimeter. He wasn’t stupid. He would never step into an unknown house without being able to protect himself. Especially if this jackass had burned down Ashley’s house just to get his attention.
He hopped out of his truck and slowly walked up the driveway of his destination, looking at everything and missing nothing. He half expected someone to jump out from one of the bushes. Before he reached the front stoop, the door opened and there before him stood the man who had taken Emma’s picture at The Barn and then followed them up to Sturgeon Bay on their ride. He sneered at Gunnar as he looked him over from head to toe.
“I see you recognize me.”
Gunnar stared him in the eyes. They were similar in color to his though duller and his whites were yellowed. Upon closer inspection, his hair was a sandy brown in color, worn in a ponytail that resembled more of a pigtail because it was short and straggly. His hairline was beginning to recede, and Gunnar guessed him to be younger than himself. When he smiled at Gunnar’s assessment, the teeth he showed were yellow and crooked and took on the look of a lifetime smoker. That’s when the stale cigarette smoke assaulted his nostrils and made his stomach turn.
“You may as well stop staring at me and get your ass inside. I’ve got some things to get finished today.”
Gunnar only hesitated briefly before stepping through the door. Over his shoulder, the fat fucker yelled, “He’s here. Get your ass out here. Now!”
Gunnar stood stock straight, bringing his hand slightly back to grab his Glock if he needed.
“You don’t have to yell. The house isn’t that big, Kevin.”
A woman walked out of the kitchen wiping her hands with a dish towel. She walked right up to Gunnar and shook his hand.
“Hi Gunnar, I’m Dianna Simpson. I was Keith’s, your father’s, wife. This is my son, Kevin. My daughter, Kelly, is at school right now. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
Being polite but wary, Gunnar shook her hand. Stunned was the only way to describe this scene. Kevin was his brother? Well, his half-brother.
“Nice to meet you, too.”
“Please come in and sit down.” She ushered him into the living room, which was surprisingly clean. The sofa, though older in design, was intact and not at all threadbare. The wooden tables at either end were newer oak tables, polished to a shine and each held a lamp with a ceramic tan base and large shades. The matching coffee table displayed three neatly arranged magazines: People, In Style and Woman’s Day. In the corner sat a straight-backed armchair and opposite that was a recliner. The recliner showed the most wear and the seat showed that someone spent too much time sitting in it causing the springs to give way—the impression never leaving the center.
Gunnar chose the straight-back chair and sat stiffly on the edge, but his eyes kept traveling to the recliner.
“Keith—your dad—spent his last few months in that chair. The lung cancer made it impossible for him to breathe when he lay down, so he slept there. The only time he left it those last few weeks was when your mom had her accident and he needed to go apologize to her before he died. I hope she’s completely healed from that now.”
Bringing his eyes back to Dianna’s, he saw sincerity and sadness—nothing more—in her soft, brown eyes. Opening his mouth to speak, he found himself weirdly sad himself. “Yes. She has. Thank you.”
He continued assessing Dianna Simpson, this stepmother he had never known. She was smaller in frame and looked to be a woman who had endured much more than her slight body could tolerate. Her shoulders slumped slightly forward, but her smile was soft and easy.
“He talked about you so much, you know. Keith was proud of you and so sorry for all the hurt he caused.”
This snapped Gunnar’s attention back to matters at hand. He doubted that very much. Keith had never made any effort to make contact with him. It was Connor who was there for him when he needed someone. Keith let his best friend take care of his son’s needs; he hadn’t done it himself. The thin line his lips formed made Kevin chuckle.
“He doesn’t believe you, Mom.”
Gunnar flicked his gaze over Kevin and then back to Dianna. “Why am I here? Why did this bastard burn down Emma’s house? And what do you want?” His comments laced with a sharp edge, left no room for argument.
Quickly stepping forward, Kevin’s voice raised. “Look, Gunnar,” he said with disgust, “I told you. You have something that belongs to me and I want it back. Did you bring the box of pictures?”
Standing at Kevin’s approach, Gunnar snapped back. “No. I have no intention of letting you have it until I know what you’re looking for.”
“Please.” Dianna stood, stepping between both men. Looking to her son, she sternly said, “Kevin, sit down and let me handle this. I believe you made a mess of it already.”
“I didn’t mess…” he began, but at Dianna’s narrowed eyes, he stopped. Taking a deep breath, he flopped down on the opposite end of the sofa from her. Seeing him sit, Dianna nodded once to Gunnar then sat down herself. Gunnar followed suit and stiffly sat at the edge of the chair.
“That box of pictures I had Connor give you is what we’re talking about. In those pictures is something we need. Would you mind letting us look through them and find what we’re looking for?”
Gunnar ran the pad of his thumb over his bottom lip. Leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, he looked at Dianna.
“I want to know what you’re looking for. You’ve gone to great lengths to get my attention. Burning a family’s home down is no small act.” He raked his gaze over Kevin’s pudgy form, slumped at the end of the sofa, glaring at Gunnar.“The least you can do is explain what is so damned important that you would act in such a way.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Dianna’s hands, which had been folded neatly in her lap, now began a slow motion of wringing them together. Her eyes met Gunnar’s and her bottom lip trembled. The thinning, light brown hair which had been colored weeks ago showed the demarcation line where gray roots were showing. She looked old beyond her years, though he knew from Connor that she was his mom’s age—forty-seven.
Softly, her voice cracking, “I can’t. I’m sorry. I can’t say.”
She briefly glanced at Kevin. He leaned forward, but Dianna quickly put her hand on his arm halting his progress.
She turned to Gunnar beseeching him to help them. “I know this seems odd, but all I can say is our lives depend on it.”
Slowly, Gunnar responded. “Your lives depend on a box of pictures?” He stood, his hands hanging loosely at his sides. “You must think I’m stupid.” He looked at Kevin’s slouchy posture, and for the first time noticed that the shirt he wore was the same out-of-fashion Hawaiian style shirt he had worn in Door County. This one had an outdated dragon print on it. Slowly raising his hand and pointing a finger at Kevin, Gunnar warned. “You stay away from me, Emma, her family, and my family. Stop calling me. Stop texting me, and so help me God, if you cause any more damage, you will have a mess to deal with yourself. Understood?”
He stepped towards the door to leave. He turned back to Dianna. His lips had thinned and turned almost white. The tightness in his jaw was causing his neck to ache, but the tightness in his chest was the worst. He hated being treated as if he were stupid. He quickly turned to Dianna and pointed at her. “You keep t
hat fat pig away from me and mine. You have a lot of nerve jerking me around like this. My ‘father,’” he spat, “did enough of that by not doing a damned thing for me in my life. He was a coward, a loser, and a phony. He let his best friend take on responsibility for his son. He left another child, a daughter to fend for herself with a fucking child molester.”
The anger and rage burst to the surface as he thought of Molly’s childhood. The rigidness of his spine made him stand as straight as a tree. His broad chest now puffed out and moving with every ragged breath he took, displayed all of his pent up anger over his fucking biological father. “I don’t owe you people shit. My sister, Molly, doesn’t owe you people shit. And my girlfriend and her family sure as fuck don’t owe you people shit!” The last was forced from tight lungs, but hung in the air like the thickest of fog—swirling, heavy, and ominous. “Leave us the fuck alone.”
He turned and stalked out of the house and to his truck. Climbing in, he jammed the key in the ignition, revved the gas, and tore down the street until he reached the stop sign. He paused, and for the first time, allowed himself to take a deep breath. His eyes watered and he angrily swiped at them. Without stopping his emotional outburst, he yelled into the air. “Fuuck!”
Quickly pulling into the garage, Gunnar slammed the shifter into park, jumped from his truck, and stomped into his house. Long angry strides carried him to his bedroom. Tossing his keys on his bed, he strode to his closet, flicked on the light, and walked to the back of the walk-in. Reaching to an upper shelf, he pulled the offensive box from its resting place and carried it to his bed. Flopping on the edge of his bed he shoved his hands into his hair and raked it back off his face. Sucking in a deep breath, he closed his eyes and slowly let the air escape his lungs in an effort to calm his raging nerves.
