by Fiona Archer
She hustled into the bathroom and gave herself a quick check in the vanity mirror. The white tank top coordinated with the covering bright pink shirt. She’d tied the ends of the shirt in a jaunty knot level with the waist of her jeans. She huffed out a laugh. Living on the edge, Reagan style. A thin silk scarf in a similar shade of pink added a sense of fun and femininity to her long ponytail. The small gold hoops dangling from her ears winked in the sunlight streaming through the bathroom window.
Maybe another swipe of lip gloss? She shined up her lips and then rubbed them together.
“Reeoooww.” A flash of marmalade-colored fur jumped up on the corner of the vanity. Marvin, her six-year-old rescue tabby, butted his head against her elbow.
“Hey, you know you’re not supposed to climb up here.”
The cat bumped her a second time, not fazed one bit by Reagan’s pretend scowl.
You’re safe, baby, and you know it. One year after she’d adopted him from a shelter outside of Sheridan, Marvin was unrecognizable from the skinny creature who was too scared to meow for food.
Now he strutted around the small ranch house as if it was his personal kingdom. Reagan chuckled and gave her feline suitor a gentle rubbing.
A firm knock on her front door made her jump.
Marvin scooted down and ran for her bedroom, where she knew he’d keep watch from under her bed. Happy enough in her company, strangers needed to be observed before they were granted trust.
At the front door, she grabbed the handle and swung it wide.
She caught her breath.
Quinn stood like one tall tower of denim, with legs shoulder width apart and holding a tan-colored cowboy hat in one hand. From his mountaintop height advantage, his gaze roved over her with the thoroughness of a man in no hurry before coming to rest back on her face.
Her pulse sped up. “Hi, umm, come in.”
He reached out and pulled open the screen door. “Hello, sugar.” With one large, confident stride, he stepped inside.
And she’d always thought the hallway light and wide. But with Quinn standing so near, it felt like the walls of a mine shaft, tight and closing in.
Then it hit her. There was only one of them. “No Mike?”
“Flynn needed one of us for a job and since I was already in the truck, he lost.” Quinn took another step closer.
She took another step back. “I see.” Phew, one less to contend with on the drive. “If you wait here, I’ll go get the brownies and then we’re ready.” Reagan turned and zipped down the hallway to the kitchen at the back of the house. Heavy footsteps sounded on the old hall runner behind her. Expecting him to wait had been too much to hope for.
On the faux-pine laminated counter were her bag and a light sweater. After looping the strap of her bag over her shoulder, she tucked her sweater over her arm, and then turned to collect the desserts.
“I spy two containers.” Quinn leaned against the doorway, his legs crossed at the ankles and his thumbs hooked in his jean pockets. “Would that be a few extra brownies for a couple of waifs like Mike and me?”
She snorted. “Waifs? What a line. More like two deadly predators.” Holy heck, did she just say that out loud?
Cursing her quick mouth, she gathered up the larger container from the bench and held it against her stomach.
Quinn unhooked his legs and stalked over to stand before her. His gaze locked with hers. Damn, she couldn’t look away.
“That’s right. Two deadly predators on the hunt.” He picked up the small container. “Treat us nice and you’ve got two big pussy cats.”
“I’ve already got a cat. And I had him neutered.”
He threw his head back and laughed, a rich and full sound that bounced off the walls of her medium-sized kitchen. Reagan had to stop herself from staring at the strong column of his throat, so dark and muscled against the light denim of his shirt.
“I do love a woman who won’t give in easily.” His eyes twinkled as he stepped aside.
“Then we’ll get along famously.” Reagan strode past, not stopping until she came to the front door. As she reached out to turn the knob, Quinn’s hand covered hers.
“After you, sugar.” Quinn’s lazy drawl matched his smile.
“Thank you.” Her back tingled with every step over the wide front veranda.
Quinn opened the door of his shiny navy truck and gently but firmly took the tin of brownies out of her hands, then placed both containers in the middle of the bench seat.
Reagan’s smile of thanks turned into a yelp of surprise as he gripped her waist and lifted her onto the seat.
Her waistline burned from his touch, which he hadn’t bothered to remove once she was seated. A polite cough was ignored. Even sitting this high up in the truck, she still wasn’t at eye level with the giant ex-SEAL.
“Let’s be clear, Reagan. This isn’t a friendly taxi ride. You, sweetheart, are on a date with Mike and me.” The amber heat of his gaze centered on her mouth. “And there’s one custom every red-blooded male is honor bound to observe at the start of a date.”
A callused thumb pushed down on her lower lip, gently easing her lips apart. Slowly he lowered his head.
Without thought, she closed her eyes. Her body tightened in anticipation.
At first his lips were a mere caress against her mouth, teasing her with his touch and inviting her interest. Then he deepened the pressure, pushing her head back against the headrest. Sliding his tongue between her lips, he tilted his head for a better angle.
She opened her mouth wider. The hint of men’s cologne, clean and crisp, filled her nostrils. She arched her back, pressing herself closer. Strong hands circled her shoulders, forcing her back against the seat. She wiggled, but his grip tightened, holding her easily. He was in control. Moisture dampened her panties. Her hands pressed against his chest, but instead of pushing away, her fingers spread wide, thrilled at the granite hardness of his muscles underneath his shirt.
Then the pressure on her lips was gone. Cool air touched her face. She blinked.
His voice, low and honey rich, sent a shiver through her chest. “And I’m a big fan of customs.”
She could either sit there stunned or put up some semblance of a fight. “I thought the custom was kissing at the end of the date. Aren’t you breaking the rules?”
“I’m a Dom, sugar. I make the rules.” He leaned over, pulled her seat belt down and across her body, wrapping it tight against her, and held her stare.
Caught. She licked her lips. Controlled. Her clit swelled.
A sharp clack resonated as her seat belt latched into place.
She made a big deal of moving her arms out from under the straps. “Good for you, but I’m not into that stuff.” She labored to keep her breathing steady.
His gaze narrowed. “You can’t fib worth a damn. And I’m keeping count.”
The implication of his statement wrapped around her tighter than the ropes she’d fantasized he and Mike would use on her body.
Before she could say a word, he stepped back, closed the door, and then walked to his side.
The pickup’s engine revved to life. Quinn steered them onto the main road and toward King’s Haven. That’s when it hit, a moment of piercing clarity so sharp she caught her breath.
She was running for local office, a monumental change for a woman who had cloaked herself in anonymity. Her job was under threat from forces that possessed a determined and vocal power base. But all that paled into the distance. It was her date with Mike Langley and Quinn Sullivan that had her riding an emotional rollercoaster. One second excitement, then a twinge of fear, then…desire, followed by panic.
Argghhh!
She needed a plan. Yes. A contingency plan in case the water rose up way over her head. She was on a date with not one, but two Doms. Men who played by their own rules. Hadn’t Quinn told her as much?
The water lapped at her chin.
Chapter Two
Mike heard the familiar roar of
Quinn’s pickup long before its tires crunched on the gravel yard next to King’s Haven’s paved barbecue area. His gaze locked on Reagan, sitting in the front of Quinn’s truck. His buddy’s mission had been to get her here, but not before making it evident to her they were on a date and not some freaking neighbor pick-up ride. Judging by the way she’d just taken a deep breath, he’d made their position clear. Outstanding.
With a nod to Flynn and Noah, standing beside him at the barbecue, he headed over to the truck.
His now broken in and appropriately scuffed cowboy boots provided sure footing on the gravel. Not that his leg couldn’t handle his weight nowadays. It had healed, except not to a standard fit for the SEALs. Ever.
One cleverly placed enemy IED and that was it. His career was over.
He inwardly punched himself. Today wasn’t his pity party. Not with Reagan Edwards less than ten feet from him.
As he opened her passenger door, she hurried to undo her seat belt. He flicked a glance to Quinn, who simply grinned and exited the cab.
“Reagan, you look like a sweet picture in pink.” He placed his hands on her waist and lifted her down off the seat, enjoying her quick intake of breath and the way her muscles clenched under his touch.
Once her feet were on the ground, he made sure she was steady before he released her waist.
Those dark blue eyes of hers, hesitant but with…yes, a flicker of interest, shone up at him. “Thank you. I appreciate the compliment. And, ah, the lift down. Trucks aren’t made for short people.”
She sure fit that bill. Her head barely reached the top of his shoulders. “They’re designed by guys who want an excuse to lift a lady up in their arms. You don’t stand a chance, honey.”
She glanced away and adjusted her sweater over her forearm.
Hiding again? Not today.
Mike cupped her chin. “I’m glad you’re here, Reagan.” He leaned down, letting his lips brush over hers, giving her a few seconds before he pressed harder. His other hand gripped her nape firm enough so she opened her mouth a bit wider. Taking advantage, he pushed his tongue inside, flicking over every corner, wanting to explore and taste her until there was nothing left to discover.
The touch of her soft fingertips against his chest sizzled through the cotton of his T-shirt. He wanted to go deeper, kiss longer. Claim her.
Slowly, he lifted his head. With one last swipe of his thumb over her cheek, he released his grip on her neck, slid his hand over her shoulder then down her upper arm until his fingers entwined with hers.
A tall shadow moved to block the sunlight from her face.
Quinn’s voice came from his right. “Reagan made two boxes of brownies.” He nodded to the containers sitting on the seat.
She shrugged. “As I told Quinn, I always bake extra. And since you asked, it was no bother.”
“We’re grateful regardless.” Mike gently pulled on Reagan’s captured hand and steered her out of the way as Quinn collected the brownies.
Mike matched his stride to hers as they walked over to the assembled group of friends standing around the all-weather plastic table and chairs. He ignored her soft tugs to break free.
Quinn closed in on her other side and placed one hand on her back while balancing the containers against his chest with his free arm.
Chloe and Purdy seemed to be working hard at not staring and failed miserably. Noah King and Flynn Taylor smiled from behind their station at their new brick barbecue, Flynn giving him and Quinn a discreet nod of approval.
Reagan’s soft snort filled the air.
Okay, maybe not that discreet.
“Reagan, honey, you’re here.” Chloe rushed forward with her arms outstretched, closely followed by Purdy.
Midget army springs to the rescue.
This time Mike allowed Reagan’s hand to slip from his grasp.
“Crikey, luv, you only saw her the other day.” Flynn’s laughing gaze met Mike and Quinn’s over the heads of the women and just before Chloe turned to glare at her husband.
After receiving her own hug, Purdy looked pointedly at the containers of brownies. “I see you agreed to spoil Flynn. You know it’s not wise to give into these men.” Purdy flicked her gaze between Noah and Flynn before turning to rest on first Quinn and then Mike. “They’ll only expect more each time.”
“Yeah, I’ll give Chloe the recipe then I’m home free.”
Quinn nodded. “Good idea, sugar. We’ll keep you busy enough.”
Mike chuckled at Reagan’s choked splutter. “Dream on, cowboy.”
“That’s telling them!” Chloe nodded.
“Careful, sweetie. These are my friends you’re colluding against. I’ll have to think of a suitable punishment.” Noah stalked toward his beloved sub and wife. His hand reached out to grasp her waist then drew her near. Her giggle of delight showed her level of terror.
Mike felt a slight bump to his good leg. Digger, Noah and Flynn’s chocolate brown lab, pushed past and sidled up to Reagan.
Getting down on her haunches, she scratched behind his ears and blew kisses. “Hey, gorgeous, how are you today?”
Digger’s tail wagged, sending his fat backside swaying side to side. Found at the side of the road and near death from a smashed leg and internal injuries, the guys had nursed the dog back to health.
“He’s lining you up for any leftover meat.” Noah chuckled as he covered a tray of steaks in foil and placed it next to the grill. “Jackson’s taken Calliope for a quick ride on the ponies. We’ll give them another twenty minutes then we’ll start cooking the meat. Let’s all sit and relax. Ladies, what can we get you for drinks?”
After taking drink orders, Noah and Flynn moved to the cooler at the end of the table.
Mike placed a hand on Reagan’s shoulder and guided her to a chair. The moment her sweet ass touched the seat, he and Quinn dropped into the two vacant chairs flanking hers.
Flynn grinned at Mike, no doubt appreciating their swift maneuver, and handed Reagan a can of soda.
Reagan popped her can and sipped. “So Calliope made it out here for another ride? She told me yesterday her daddy had promised her a visit this weekend. Does Jackson plan on staying for lunch?”
Territorialism flared through Mike’s chest. What was the town doctor, Jackson Gordon, to her?
“Why? Do you need to visit the doctor?” Quinn’s sharp tone matched his frown.
Reagan blinked and stopped sipping her soda. “No, I’m simply asking a question. I haven’t seen him in a while. He’s been working so many shifts at the clinic.”
“Did you see him often beforehand?” Mike ignored Noah and Flynn’s wide grins. Fucking assholes.
“As a matter of fact, yes.” Reagan nodded. She set her drink down on the table. “I grew up with Jackson. He was only a couple of years ahead of Purdy and me at school. In fact, he was the same year as Caleb.”
“Speaking of Caleb, where is our esteemed sheriff?” Mike glanced at Purdy, who studied her can of soda with extreme interest.
“He’s on duty this weekend.” Noah’s gaze touched on Quinn, Mike, and then to Reagan. The hard-ass ex-SAS commando’s blue eyes softened as he nodded to the librarian. “Back to your question. Yes, Jackson and Calliope are here for lunch.” Noah lowered himself into a chair between Purdy and Chloe. He turned to accept the can of beer Flynn tapped against his shoulder. “Now, Reagan, share with us all about your new political career. I know you girls discussed this during your emergency meeting the other night, but us poor males are in need of a catch up.”
In truth, they’d been given a rundown from Chloe after she’d arrived home Wednesday evening, but all the men wished to hear it in Reagan’s own words.
“Damn straight.” Quinn relaxed further in his seat.
“Tell us, honey,” Mike urged. Regardless of the others sitting around the table, he wanted her to confide in them especially and open up a window to herself she’d kept jammed shut.
There was a determined tilt to Reagan’s
chin as she gazed around the table. “In some respects, it just sort of happened. We were so shocked when Leonard Aitken notified the town council he was retiring early.”
“And us away on our honeymoon in Australia. Great timing.” Noah’s frown darkened his forehead.
Reagan twisted her mouth. “If nobody had put up their hand, then they’d just keep the seat open until the next scheduled election. But three days out from the deadline, Karl Wagner got himself nominated.”
Flynn’s jaw hardened. “No chance the bastard pulled a swifty?”
“That would be you asking in your weird-ass Aussie dialect if Wagner cheated in getting his nomination?” Mike nodded his thanks as Flynn passed him and Quinn beers.
“It would.” Flynn pointed to him and Quinn. “You blokes are getting better with the Aussie lingo.” He turned to Chloe. “Seriously, luv, nobody needs that translation list you keep updating. We speak perfect English.”
“You would think that.” Chloe rolled her eyes. “Reagan, please continue.”
“Wagner completed the form with all the right signatures.” Reagan waved her hand toward Purdy and Chloe. “Trust me, we checked.”
Purdy’s face broke out in a smile. With those dimples in her cheeks and the way her short blonde curls bobbed in place, she reminded Mike of a naughty imp. Lord, she’d be one bratty sub. “Once Wagner stated his plans for the library, she was an avenging angel.”
Avenging angel? That’s what Mike hungered to see. The lure of fight and spit from such a shy woman was irresistible to his inner Dom. He’d caught a glimpse. In the tilt of her chin, the way she clenched her hands whenever Wagner’s name was mentioned. But he needed to dig deeper.
Chloe shook her head. “I can’t believe he wants to shut down the library. And the newly established Youth Café. Claims it’s a magnet for drugs, where kids stay away from home and their chores.” She sighed. “What’s that guy’s problem?”
Noah set his can of beer on the table. “He’s a bloody idiot. Reagan, I can’t help but think part of his reason to shut down the library is your close friendship with our little family.” He scrubbed a hand through his dark-blond hair. His laugh lacked any humor. “I’m sorry for that, sweetie.”
