by Kim Linwood
“Wait, he what?” Nora laughs and covers the phone while she turns to me. “Would you believe Trabucco won the election? I swear, that man’s like Teflon. You’d think at least some of that mess would’ve stuck to him, but now he’s the freaking mayor.”
Eh, the guy probably has an FBI agent in his back pocket 24/7. He won’t be able to shit without them knowing about it. “We’ll have to drop by and say hi when we’re in town.”
Nora laughs again, and I want her to never stop. “Yeah, right.” Her hand comes back off. “What was that? Enjoy my surprise?” She gives me a very suspicious look. “Does everyone know what I’m doing today except me?”
I just shrug.
Rolling her eyes at me, she returns her attention to the road. “Yep, will do. Send all my love to mom. Hopefully we’ll see you in not too long. And give Junior a huge hug from me. Bye.” Tapping the phone off, she crams it back into her jeans and leans back in her seat with her arms back and wrapped around the head cushion. I love the way it pushes her breasts out.
Eyes on the road.
Nora’s my world, and every day we spend together and she doesn’t shoot me is a miracle I’ll spend my life trying to deserve. I shift lanes, heading off the highway.
“Not even a hint?” She glances in my direction, obviously curious.
“Nope.” It took a while to plan this out, and I have no intention of letting the cat out of the bag before I’m ready. “Check the glove compartment, there’s something in there for you.”
“Oooh.” Her eyes sparkle with curiosity as she pulls out the little bag I stuffed in there. “Um…” Nora opens it and pulls out the blindfold and holds it up with a skeptical expression. “Kinky?”
“Just put it on.”
She gives me a look, but plays along, tying the black satin around her eyes. “Okay. Now what?”
“Now you wait.”
“I’m not sure I like this surprise,” she says with a pout.
I laugh. “Bear with me.”
When I pull up to my destination, they’re expecting us. It’s been years since the last time I was here, but the GPS got me here alright. It didn’t take much thought before I realized that this is the most perfect place to do this.
I park right at the front, get out of the car and go around to her side, opening the door and helping Nora out. She turns her head, trying to see, but I check the blindfold and it’s still well in place.
A smiling woman leads us into the building. I put a finger over my lips and she nods. When we emerge on the other side, coming out into an enclosed courtyard, I know I picked the right place. Everything is just the way I hoped.
“So, can I see where we are yet?” Nora tugs on my arm.
“Patience, grasshopper.” She pouts as I lead her over to a stone bench and help her sit down.
My fingers idly stroke the small velvet-covered box in my pocket that’s been waiting for this moment. There’s a tightness in my gut that I’ve hardly felt before. I’ve faced down terrorists, murderers and all measures of desperate, violent people, but this is scarier than any of those.
Bullets only slow me down, but today she might just rip my heart right out of my chest.
“Nora Louise Keaton.” I untie the blindfold and get down on one knee. “I won’t ask if you’ll spend your life with me, because if you run off I’ll just chase you down anyway and we both know it.”
“Payne…” Nora looks at me, brown eyes shining. She turns her head and takes in the beauty that surround us. “Oh my God.”
Everything is in bloom, and I arranged for a private tour at the botanical gardens after opening hours. The guide has stepped aside for now, and it’s just the two of us, surrounded by hundreds of varieties of flowers from all over the world. Thousands of blooms fill the air with nature’s perfume.
“I know I’m late with the delivery, but since I wasn’t sure what sort of flower could possibly tell you how I felt, I thought I’d try them all.” I pull the box out of my pocket and open it up.
“Is that…”
I nod. It’s her grandmother’s ring, and was a pain in the ass to get her father to ship without Nora finding out, but when I told him my plan, he insisted that this was what she’d want. The look on her face tells me it was worth the trouble.
Her lip quivers.
“So will you?”
“Will I what?”
I rest my forehead on her knee and chuckle. “You’re going to make me say the words, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” she whispers and nods with tears in her eyes. Happy tears, I hope.
“Nora Louise Keaton,” I begin again. “Will you do me the honor of becoming my partner in all things? You’re already my lover, my conscience and my heart. Will you be my wife?”
Long seconds pass. Was this too soon? Too much?
She throws her arms around my neck, her frantic nodding brushing the side of my face. “Yes, and now you’re in real trouble.”
“Oh?”
“Because now it’s too late. You’re mine and I know your secret.”
I rack my brain, not sure what she means.
“You really are one of the good guys.”
Her hand goes over my mouth as I start to deny it, and looking into her eyes, I can almost make out the man she sees when she looks at me. For the first time in more years than I want to admit, I can see the road to becoming someone worthy of that trust, and realize I’m already on the right path.
And with her help, I might even get there in the end.
If she doesn’t shoot me first.
44
Nora
Liam’s face scrunches up and his hands ball into angry fists.
“I don’t blame you, buddy.” Payne remarks with a smirk, walking in the door just in time to catch the dinner drama.
I turn my head, forgetting one of the basic rules of engagement. Never take your eye off your opponent. A mushy, wet projectile slaps the side of my neck, leaving a warm track of ooze into the collar of my shirt. Liam shrieks with delight.
“Very funny.” I dip my finger into the pureed carrots and dot the tip of his baby nose with orange to match my new stain before glancing back at my husband. “If you think it’s so easy, I think it’s time you showed me how it’s done.”
He laughs. “One sec.” Turning to a whiteboard hanging next to the fridge, he updates the large number written below “DAYS SINCE LAST INCIDENT:” from 791 to 792.
“I take it the Compton case wrapped up without a problem?” Handing over the little bowl of glop, I step back and lean against the counter to watch the master at work.
“Yeah, all’s well that ends well. The paperwork should be set for you to look over later.” Payne takes the baby food from me and crouches in front of Liam. “Alright, little buddy. I know this stuff is about as exciting as wet paper, but you’ve gotta start somewhere. The milk bar’s officially closing shop.”
Liam smiles and opens his mouth wide. His eyes—still not quite sure if they want to be brown or green—follow his dad’s every move. “Buh!”
“See? You just need the right approach, babe.”
I nod faintly, but wait with a patience born of hard earned experience.
For a second, it almost looks like he's got it, but then, just as the gloating is about to start, Liam lets out a massive raspberry, blowing carrot chunks all over Payne’s face.
Payne grimaces, flinging orange bits off his nose. “Motherf—knows best.” He catches himself and shakes his head with a laugh.
“Wow, you sure showed me.” I don’t even try to hide my glee.
“We’re just getting warmed up, aren’t we buddy?” Infinitely patient when it counts, Payne starts over, this time dipping a piece of baby cereal in the carrot before handing it to Liam. Our boy grabs it in his pudgy fist and shoves the whole thing in his mouth, fist and all.
“Nicely played.” I glance at the whiteboard. “How long are you going to keep updating this thing?”
Payne shrugs wh
ile setting up for bite number two. “No plans of stopping. It reminds me of where I’ve been and where I’m heading.”
“I’m just thinking that maybe it’s time to start narrowing the criteria down a little. You’ve got this whole not-killing-people thing down. Don’t you think maybe we can raise the bar up to say, not insulting the clients?” Being stuck on baby duty has made me the de facto customer service partner, and I can’t say I’m finding it very fun. I miss dealing with scumbags I can actually threaten.
Payne gives me a pointed look. “I don’t shoot them, and I don’t punch them.”
I blink.
“I mostly don’t punch them. Besides, you’re just jealous because you aren’t allowed to punch that snotty lady in the Mommy Songtime group.”
He’s not totally wrong.
Liam downs his fourth carrot covered O and starts fussing. I take him out of his chair and wipe him down before putting him on the floor where he of course finds a piece of carrot and voluntarily eats it before showing off his new scooting on his butt trick. I pretend not to notice, but make a point of scanning the floor for any more forbidden treats.
Payne stands and slips up behind me, sliding his hand up the side of my shirt and stroking the side of my breast.
I bat him away with a laugh. “Later, you perv.”
“Your perv.” He nuzzles my neck.
“You’re one of the good ones, Payne Carter.” I turn around in his arms until our lips meet in a kiss.
“Because of you, Mrs. Carter.”
It’s an old argument that I’ll never win, so I smile and kiss him again. My husband is a good man, and while I helped pull him back onto the right path, he’s the one keeping himself there.
Maybe he’ll never be able to totally let go of his past, but he doesn’t have to, so long as we keep moving forwards together. Because I know the man underneath it all.
“I love you,” he murmurs into my ear as I reluctantly pull away to keep Liam from scooting too close to the stove. As I turn to smile, I get a swift pinch on the butt.
“Hey!” I yell, but his boyish grin and laughing eyes disarm me. Instead I just stick my tongue out at him before redirecting Liam towards his toys.
At least he’s my Payne in the ass.
Mine
A Stepbrother Romance
1
Liz
“Hunter Campbell is an ordinary man.”
The narrator’s deep voice rattles the speakers on my cheap TV, bassy and over the top, like an action movie preview. Hunter comes into view, handsome and mysterious as he leans against a marble balustrade, framed by a backdrop of deep blue-green ocean. In nothing but black board shorts, his every muscular edge and angle is highlighted by the bright sun playing over his inked and tanned skin.
I roll my eyes. Sure, he’s nice to look at. He always has been, and time has been kind.
Very kind.
He’s filled out, no trace of the slender boy I knew in his broad frame. The ink is new. I bet those tattoos piss off his father. Still, they suit him, but it doesn’t make me like him any better.
A jerk in a pretty package is still a jerk.
“An ordinary man with an extraordinary amount of money,” the voice continues in a low rumble that builds power like an oncoming storm.
Wind tousles Hunter’s short, blond hair while he flashes a dazzling white smile at the viewers. His crinkled blue eyes and full lips are inviting and seductive. “Come to my tropical paradise,” they promise. “There’s great sex here. With me.”
There was a time where I’d be one of the girls lining up for a chance at that promise.
But that was a lifetime ago, and I’m not that girl anymore.
The camera zooms out, revealing an extravagant terrace overlooking a bright white sandy beach. Tall palm trees provide shade, while tropical birds flit about, chirping happily. An island paradise. My island paradise. I should be on that terrace, instead of in this piece of shit, roach infested apartment.
“An ordinary man, with a private beach…”
In a single smooth motion, Hunter climbs onto the balustrade and leaps into the air, throwing his colorful and well-defined arms out into an elegant swan dive. The view lurches forward while tilting down, showing how the gentle waves lap against the house wall below. He soars, his athletic body seeming for a second to hover, before he plunges straight down.
There’s hardly a splash as he cuts into the water, the azure liquid so clear he’s easily visible beneath the surface. He twists with the grace of a seal, swiftly bringing himself back to the surface with powerful strokes.
“…and a magnificent estate…”
The camera leaves him behind as it zooms out to a bird’s eye view, showing off a sprawling estate in white stucco and shining marble. A golf course extends inland in one direction and a dirt road in another, flanked by tennis courts and a helicopter pad.
It must’ve cost a fortune.
I liked it better when it was trees and flowers.
“…on his own private island in the Caribbean!”
The view rockets upwards until the estate is just a big white blob surrounded by lush green jungle, which is again surrounded by a wide ocean, so brilliant the color looks fake, like the producers added it with special effects.
I know they didn’t, but that’s because I grew up on that beach.
That blond, too-good-looking-to-be-true waste of oxygen dove from a terrace that should’ve been mine, at an estate that should’ve been mine, on a private island in the Caribbean that should’ve been mine.
“Hunter Campbell has everything. A wine cellar worth millions.” The dusty, windowless room I used to play hide-and-seek in flashes on the screen.
“His own private plane.” A sparkling white seaplane takes off from the blue-green ocean with the chalky white manor resting majestically over the cliff in the background.
“His own private yacht.” A sleek and powerful luxury vessel courses through the water, its sharp prow cutting through the waves like a knife, while the camera pans dramatically across the bow.
“An art collection worth millions!” The west wing flashes onto the screen, our old sitting room converted into an opulent gallery.
Modesty, thy name is not Campbell.
“The only thing he doesn’t have…” Long dramatic pause, as the camera zooms slowly in on Hunter’s face, hair slicked back and wet from his dive. “Is someone to share it with.”
He could’ve had someone to share it with, if his father hadn’t ruined everything.
“The Reality Channel presents: I’d Marry That Billionaire! Watch ten beautiful, ambitious women who will stop at nothing to win the opportunity to become Mrs. Hunter Campbell. For four weeks, they’ll live in the lap of luxury. Every whim catered to, every wish fulfilled, every desire made real, so long as they make a good impression. Mr. Campbell has high standards, and at any time another contestant could be sent home, her hopes crushed and her dreams washed away with the salty tide as the pool of suitorettes dwindles.”
Suitorettes? Is that even a word?
“Who has the grace? The persistence? The willingness to do whatever it takes to Marry That Billionaire? Watch the premiere, coming this fall on TRC!”
With disgust, I click off the TV and throw the remote onto my worn down couch. I frown at yet another spot where the padding is starting to poke out. I’d meant to replace it by now, but with Mom’s bills, it won’t be happening any time soon. This thing was already threadbare when we had to sell the house to pay off her credit cards, and it sure hasn’t gotten any better in the three years since. Some shade of deep burgundy when she bought it, it’s faded to an unattractive pink. What we have left barely pays for her place at the clean living facility as it is. Where am I supposed to get the money for a new couch?
The announcer’s right about one thing. I will stop at nothing. For the billionth time, I look at my airline ticket to Puerto Rico, lying next to my acceptance letter. It’s the only tangible p
roof I have that it’s true. That, somehow or other, I’m going to be one of those ambitious women prancing around to impress Hunter Campbell.
A man whose father stole my life.
My stomach knots at thought of the five thousand dollars it cost me to secure my spot on the show. Nobody does something for nothing, even for a friend of a friend. Luckily they wanted a couple “average” looking girls to make the group look realistic. I’m pretty enough, but not exactly your typical reality show material. I have a bikini body because I have a body, and I can put a bikini on it, but it’s not like modeling contracts are lining up at my door.
Living on rice and beans to help make up for the bribe money has streamlined my curves a little, which is nice, but it hasn’t magically turned me into a supermodel.
Now there’s nothing left to spend, and nothing left to lose. This is going to have to work.
Maybe my plan’s crazy. I don’t know.
Actually, that’s a lie. It’s totally crazy and if Mom was sober, she’d try to talk me out of it.
I’ve never understood why she accepted being screwed out of her home so easily. Mom’s no angel, but she deserved better than what the Campbells did to her, and so did I.
I pick up tomorrow’s boarding pass, needing to feel that it’s real, the glossy paper smooth between my fingers. First I fly to San Juan, then I’ll be picked up and brought to Frederick Island by sea plane. After that, who knows?
They haven’t told us anything, and I’m sure it’s on purpose. Whatever’s coming, they want our reactions on camera, and being prepared doesn’t make exciting TV. I’ll have to pretend as well as I can, and not let on that I probably know the island far better than any of them do.
Maybe even better than Hunter. He didn’t grow up there, after all.
