by AJ Downey
The Hollow’s Landing population marker came into sight as I came to the end of the old rumble bridge over Cold River. I was home. As I slowly drove along Main Street, I was amazed at how little had changed. The red, white and blue barber pole failed to turn anymore, but it still read Mr. Trims over the doorway and Hollow’s Hardware with its blue and white striped awning looked as if nothing had ever been sold, even the paintbrush that Jack had hand painted on the large window was faded, but still there.
Sure there was a new restaurant, an addition added onto Jr’s repair shop and the grocery store looked a bit more modern with a much needed face lift, but no matter the cosmetics masking it, it would always be Hollow’s Landing where I grew up.
A few blocks away from the lawyer’s office, I pulled onto the shoulder of the road to kill time since I wasn’t expected until five pm sharp and had no desire to sit in a stuffy office for half an hour.
Talk about a one horse town. In the thirty minutes or so that I had been waiting only one car passed by, and clearly from the make of the vehicle, it was passing through, no one living here drove an Audi.
As I tightened the strap on my helmet, I heard the distinctive roar of an Indian motorcycle as it approached. The flat black paintjob on the Chief Dark Horse was impressive. The rider’s helmet was solid black, the visor sealing his identity. I was sure it was no one I knew, since the man’s black leather chaps and jacket bore no club insignia that I could see. He obviously belonged to no one, not a true biker, the Sunday afternoon type. I snorted as I climbed onto my bike and started her up.
The lawyer’s office was located on the main floor of a refurbished 19th Century house, a few blocks south of Main Street. The plaque on the right side of the door read The Law Offices of George P.F. Fielding, and the hinges on the door creaked eerily like something out of a horror movie as I opened it and stepped inside. It smelled like a mix of Lavender and old books, rather nauseating actually. It reminded of a funeral home with its hushed atmosphere and piped in elevator music playing from somewhere deep in the belly of the building. The halls were painted a drab beige, the skirting, doors and moldings all stark white and yet the place still felt creepy and dungeon-esc. I shook the thought from my head and moved ahead along the hall to the reception desk.
A sweet little old lady was waiting there to greet me with a bubbly inviting smile. With her reading glasses perched on her nose, she put down her nub of a pencil and folded her hands together resting them on her desk.
“You must be Miss Romano, Mr. Fielding’s five o’clock,” she said, and pointed to two chairs along the far wall. “Take a seat dear, and I will let him know you’re here.”
“Thanks,” I said, sitting and crossing my legs, allowing my dangling foot to wave restlessly.
The creaky front door sounded even spookier from a distance away, as it opened and closed and I watched the receptionist hold her hand up and wave.
“Mr. Holden, you’re late,” she cheerfully scolded. “He’s in his office waiting for you.”
“Thanks, Miss Fitch,” I heard a male voice call out. There was a familiarity in that voice that sent a shiver up my spine, but from my vantage point I couldn’t see him, I could only hear a telephone chime and his footsteps as he ran up the wooden stairs.
I thought maybe that voice belonged to someone from my past, a high school friend maybe, but I quickly forced the thought away. My past was exactly that, the past. There was no place in my world for my past to fit, my Uncle Ace had seen to that. It still astonished me that he had allowed me the freedom to make this trip without one of his boys latched at my side. Rarely did I get a moment to myself, let alone the liberty to ride across two states without a set of lackeys. What’s worse was what I would be returning to…my wedding day.
“You can go on up, Miss Romano,” Miss Fitch said, startling me. “Top of the stairs, second door on the right, you can’t miss it.”
“Thank you,” I said, making sure to give her my best smile.
Stepping onto the top landing, I noted it looked like any other family home, all the doors closed, bar one. I could distinctly hear two male voices, one a touch more baritone than the other, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. I stepped forward and the floor let out a tortured groan as the wood moved under my weight.
“Come right in, Miss Romano,” the more baritone of the two called out.
An older man dressed in dark blue jeans and a soft yellow golf shirt approached, taking my hand in his and shaking while the other held my elbow escorting me into the room, as if he was scared I’d run away. I tittered, my nerves getting the best of me as he stepped aside exposing the other occupant in the room.
“I’m Mr. Fielding, you can call me George,” he told me, as my jaw dropped open and I gasped. “And this is Blake Holden.”
I could feel all of the blood rushing to my feet and my head starting to spin as preppy boy rose to his feet with an awkward smile. My knees started to buckle. I could feel myself slowly lowering to the floor as preppy boy’s arms enveloped my waist.
“Grab a chair, George,” he called out, a few seconds before I felt something push under me. “Let me grab you some water.”
Before I knew which way was up, preppy boy was knelt between my legs helping me take sips from a glass as a flash of him naked caused me to choke. He was so handsome, so beautiful and so not supposed to be here.
“What the fuck,” I said, shoving the glass away. “Are you stalking me, you sick fucker?”
“Bella,” he said, with an apprehensive look on his face. “We need to talk.”
“Talk?” I laughed angrily, as my stomach knotted. “Did my Uncle Ace pay you to follow me?”
His brows knit together, his eyes narrowing as he rose to his feet. “I don’t know anyone named Ace…come with me and I’ll explain everything.” He held out his hand. “Would you give us a minute, George?”
“As long as it takes, Blake,” Mr. Fielding said, nodding his head like an obedient puppy.
My hand slipped into his, his warm palm heating mine. Like an electric current had been passed between us, I felt my heart start to thaw and my stomach fill with butterflies. Stupid butterflies. I didn’t want to like the feel of him or the way his possessive touch ignited something inside me, making my breath hitch and my heart skip a beat. I didn’t want to feel anything but the miserable me I had become. I attempted to pull my hand free, only to cause his hold to tighten.
Across the hall, he opened the door and pulled me into what looked like a copy room. There was a large Xerox copier and shelves piled high with multicolored paper and file folders. One wall resembled the filing system in my doctor’s office, with one of the sliding doors propped open with an old wooden ruler. He directed me to a small leather love seat and waited until I sat before joining me.
“My name is Blake Holden,” he started, his knee pressed against mine, distracting me for a moment. “I was your grandmother’s power of attorney.”
“You knew my gran?” I asked.
“I met Carina when she was a patient at Briarwoods,” he told me, like I knew what he was talking about. “I was volunteering. I was painting patient rooms. That’s how I met her.”
“I barely knew my gran,” I frowned, feeling stupid for being so out of the loop. “I never knew she was in an old age home.”
“It’s more like a retirement community,” he assured me. “I don’t like calling them old age homes. Beside, your gran wasn’t that old, she was a nice lady. We got to know each other very well, she told me all about her life while she kept me company. Most importantly she told me about you and how she regretted the way things turned out between the two of you.”
He went on to tell me things I had never heard before, things I should have known, things she should have told me as her granddaughter. I missed it all by allowing my uncle to rule my life. I was feeling damned guilty for not standing up to him and making things right with her. The abusive way I grew up seemed all so fitting now.
/>
“Was she alone when she died?”
“No. I was with her,” he told me, placing his hand over mine. “She didn’t suffer, she simply closed her eyes and faded away…you look lost.”
“I am,” I said, looking into his eyes. “I guess. We didn’t get along because I was a childish brat, what can I say?”
“Your grandmother asked me to make sure you got here safe, she told me what she knew about your situation.”
I raised a brow. “Situation.”
“I honestly never meant for us to meet until today. But things happened when I found you at the bar. I couldn’t leave you alone, I had to get to know you. I apologize for taking advantage, but I find you enticing,” he said, sucking his lower lip between his teeth. “You can’t completely blame me for what happened, you’re very persuasive and demanding when you’ve had a few.”
“Oh, I am…am I?” I asked, as I watched his glistening tongue moisten his lips, leaving me surprisingly breathless. “So what you’re really saying is that I took advantage of you? You have one hell of an ego, Mr. Holden. I don’t know where you get off. You’re not even my type.”
“And what is your type?” he narrowed his eyes, “because you weren’t complaining about my type last night.”
I snorted, trying to hold back a laugh. “That’s my business, you nosy fuck.”
Blake laughed. “You have a very smartass mouth on you, Miss Romano.” He reached forward, taking hold of my shoulders causing our chests to collide. “A smartass, beautiful mouth.”
There was nothing preppy or conservative about the way he crushed his mouth against mine, his tongue prying my lips apart, his tongue invading my mouth as I struggled momentarily before giving in to his demand and allowing him to claim me. He tasted sweet like a cherry flavored lifesaver, all I wanted was to eat him alive. I pressed his shoulders back, forcing him to lie against the cushions as I climbed onto his lap, raking my fingers through his perfectly styled hair.
“Why, Miss Romano,” he spoke against my mouth. “Are you trying to take advantage of me?”
“Oh yeah,” I moaned under my breath, shifting my hips, grinding against his undeniable erection. “I can definitely feel you protesting.”
Blake grasped both hands onto my waist and pushed his groin up at me while forcing me down, the sensation felt like heaven, I was sure the zipper of his jeans would be puddled with my juices. One hand slipped under my t-shirt, pulling the lace of my bra aside, rubbing the pad of his thumb across my nipple while my breath hitched and my head fell back. He sat forward, holding me in place, pinching my nipple as he licked across my collar bone and up the side of my neck, sinking his teeth into the lobe of my ear as I cried out. His mouth hastily covered mine, swallowing away my groans, I could feel his smile against my mouth as he popped open the first, second and third buttons on my jeans. His hand slipped inside greedily searching, while I adjusted my hips to assist him finding what we both wanted.
Our foreheads tipped together, our heavy breath colliding as he worked me into a frenzy, I was so close I wanted to scream.
“I need you,” I breathed out, opening my eyes. “I need you inside me.”
“We can’t do this here,” Blake said, smoothing his other hand up my spine. “What if someone comes in?”
“Believe me,” I said, unfastening his belt. “They’ll leave…in a hurry.”
“Bella,” he implored, as my hand slithered into the front of his pants and grasped hold of his cock. “Fuck it!”
Blake had me flipped over the arm of the loveseat, my jeans yanked to my knees and rubbing the head of his cock along the folds of my pussy, before there was time to react. He hadn’t bothered to drop his drawers, too intent on being buried deep inside me I guessed. He ran his hand up under my t-shirt and back down before giving my ass a quick slap. I groaned with pleasure, anticipating the feel of him entering me, a feeling I knew first hand. His hesitancy had me frustrated as I pushed back against him, trying to force him into me. I wriggled my ass and waited.
“Blake, please?” I shockingly heard myself say.
I had never begged a man in my life, never felt the need or the necessity. What made me act so out of character with this man? Was it the fact that he was so different from the men I was drawn to or the fact that he made no demands on me? And what was this that I was feeling? It was unlike anything I had ever felt before, my heart was swimming in a pool of emotions, drowning in uncharted restlessness. He made me want to run, and stay locked in his arms at the same time. My mind was dizzy with confusion. I shook my head of my thoughts and looked at Blake over my shoulder.
“We can’t,” he whispered, backing his hips away. “I don’t have a condom.”
“Fuck’s sake I’m on the pill,” I growled. “You’re not leaving me hanging like this…I’ll scream.”
He wrapped his hand over my mouth with a deep snarl, resting his weight on my back while he pushed the head of his cock into me with the other hand. “You’ll be quiet little girl, or it will end sooner than you’d like. You want that?”
“No, god, no,” I mumbled into his palm as he tunneled in all the way and pulled back out, over and over, my moans feeding into his hand as I grasped the arm of the loveseat for dear life. “Harder.”
The pace he set increased as he stood up behind me, grasping my hips with vengeance, drilling into me with a wanton fever. My breath zapped from my lungs as my orgasm roared from me with little warning, my body shaking. Blake’s release followed a few minutes after mine, warming me with his hot seed.
A knock at the door sent us both racing to right ourselves.
“Blake, Miss Romano?” Mr. Fielding called through the door. “I hate to disturb your talk, but it’s nearly six and my wife will kill me if I’m late for another dinner this week.”
“We’ll be right there, George,” Blake said, tightening the buckle of his belt and smoothing his shirt. “I think we’ve discussed all we can for now.”
Tonguing my cheek as I fixed the lace trim on my bra and spun in a circle so Blake could get the full view, I asked, “Everything where it should be?”
Blake walked over, brushing back a lock of my hair at my brow, leaning into my ear. “Everything is absolutely perfect.” He pressed his lips against mine and spoke. I enjoyed how it felt each time he did this. “Have dinner with me.”
“I can’t,” I answered quickly.
He opened the door, grabbed my hand and pulled me into the hall. “It wasn’t a question.”
Totally caught off guard, he firmly placed his hand at the small of my back and shoved me into Mr. Fielding’s office before I could say anything. I bit into the soft tissue of my cheek, holding back the urge to laugh. I liked this bad ass attitude thing coming from preppy boy, it was kind of sexy, in a disturbing way.
“Have a seat, Miss Romano,” Fielding pointed to a chair. “I’ll explain everything included in your grandmother’s estate.”
After Mr. Fielding explained my inheritance, I agreed to meet with Blake for dinner. I was hungry and needed to eat before finding a motel room for the night. The idea of starting my journey home in the dark made no sense. Once I was rested and had time to digest this Will thing, I would head out. I wasn’t exactly in a rush to get married.
I arrived first and got us a seat by the window, I liked to keep an eye on my baby after dark. The restaurant Blake had insisted we meet at was a nice family dining establishment, no need to dress up, which was a good thing, because I owned nothing dressy. Bikers didn’t have a lot of occasions that called for fancy dress, even weddings were low-key, blue jeans and leather.
I sat looking over the menu when a light flashed in the parking lot, catching my eye. I turned in time to see the Chief Dark Horse from earlier parked beside my bike. The driver got off and I sat fascinated while he unfastened his helmet and lifted it off.
“Holy fuck!” I gasped, drawing a few glances from people sitting nearby.
If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I wou
ld never have believed in a trillion years, that preppy boy Blake drove a machine like that, or that he looked so fucking sexy draped in black leather. He was the best of both worlds. Preppy was a true oxymoron in every sense of the word. Conservative bad boy biker. I had to laugh as I watched him enter with a scowl that turned to a sweet recognizing smile when he spotted me. I quickly straightened in my seat, drawing my focus back to the menu.
“I wasn’t sure you’d show,” he said, shrugging off his jacket and sitting across the table from me. “How are you handling things?”
“What do you mean?” I asked, furrowing my brow.
“It’s not every day you become a millionaire, it takes a bit of getting used to,” he told me, with a chuckle.
“I guess it hasn’t sunk in yet,” I confessed. “I..I don’t understand…I mean…I wasn’t aware my grandmother had money. All these years she lived like a welfare case. She wouldn’t even buy real butter because it cost too much and a roast of beef turned into dinner for four nights. Her clothes were always tattered and mended with the most disgusting patches…I just don’t get it.”
“Maybe that’s how you become a millionaire,” he laughed. “You just don’t spend it.”
“Have you had time to look over the menu?” our waitress asked. “Perhaps you’d like a few more minutes. I could get you something from the bar to start?”
“Whatever’s on tap for me, thanks.”
“Same here,” Blake said, reaching for the menu and waiting for the waitress to leave before resuming our conversation. “So, what are your plans?”
“My plans for the money?” I snickered.
“No, I don’t care about the money, I’ve been around money all my life. It’s not what’s important,” he said, dropping the menu, sliding my hand into his. “Will you be staying around for a while?”
“No, I have to leave in the morning. I have to be back at my uncle’s by Saturday.”
