Published by Evernight Publishing at Smashwords
www.evernightpublishing.com
Copyright© 2014 Moira Callahan
ISBN: 978-1-77130-900-4
Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs
Editor: Laurie Temple
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
Right off I'd like to thank my editor, Laurie. Once again her gentle guidance, wisdom, and good humor made this the most enjoyable of experiences. She is truly one of a kind, and I am blessed to have made her acquaintance during my journey as an author.
I would also like to thank the coffee industry in general. Without your wonderfully roasted beans, ground to perfection, and slow dripped into a heavenly brew I know this book wouldn't be what it is today. So thank you, grand masters of the mighty coffee bean, thank you.
DANGEROUS TIMES
C&M Security
Moira Callahan
Copyright © 2014
Prologue
The sexiest man Tamara had ever met slid his hand down her arm slowly, gooseflesh rising wherever he touched, and then he leaned in closer. He smelled like sandalwood and man, pure sex, and so damned sinful. She was having a hell of a time focusing, especially when he leaned in to brush his lips over her cheek. A shiver worked through her body at the light caress.
“You are so gorgeous,” he whispered. His voice was pitched deep and low, intimate in the romantic setting of the room.
There were easily a hundred or more people in the club with them. But, in that moment, it felt like they were the only two people in the world. The music was low, a deep throb of bass that didn’t help with the same pulsing sensation in her veins.
Curling her fingers around his arms, just above his elbows, she swayed when he brushed his lips lower and then lower still. He drifted down her neck and toward the hollow of her throat. He was trying to kill her. She knew it and didn’t care, because it was the only way to truly die happy.
Well, maybe not happy per se. With a smile on her face, absolutely! Happy…not so much. Not with the crap currently going on in her life.
“Hey,” he growled, his head lifting. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
He genuinely sounded concerned and worried. Which was clearly reflected in his eyes. She couldn’t even remember his name, but she was touched that he picked up on her silent cues after only a couple of hours.
Shaking her head, Tamara lifted a hand to trace a finger down his cheek, the scruff on his jaw abrading her fingertip in the most delicious of ways. “Nothing,” she said quietly. “My mind just decided to drift for a moment and nowhere good.”
He pressed closer to her at her words. She could feel the erection he was sporting digging into her belly. With her mouth going dry, she fought to hold in a whimper. She wanted that big cock inside of her and soon.
“Then you are obviously bored,” he said, easing back a little.
Wait, what? No! She gripped his arms harder and shook her head. “It’s not that,” she said, hoping he could read the sincerity she was trying to throw his way.
“Then, what is it?” he asked. He leaned back into her again. Thank you, God.
“Too much going on. I just can’t get my head to shut down for even a moment,” she admitted.
His arms slid around her body and pulled her tighter to his hard frame. “Can I help with anything?” he asked, sounding one hundred percent sincere.
She could feel tears welling up at his offer and shook her head. Slipping her arms around his neck, she pressed her nose to his throat and inhaled. Tamara so wanted to forget, he could do that, she was sure he could. “No, I don’t know if anyone can, but thank you for offering when you didn’t have to.” Good God, what the fuck was his name?
His chuckle had her body clenching in need and she moaned softly, arching against him. Scraping her nails lightly up into the short dark hair at the back of his head, she nipped at his jaw. The feel of his whiskers on her lips had them tingling.
He turned his head and caught her lips. Moaning, she smiled. God, but the man could kiss. She let out a groan a moment later. Her ass was vibrating, and Tamara suddenly realized and it wasn’t from need.
Drawing back, she gave him what she hoped would be an apologetic look. Digging out her phone, she cursed. “I have to take this,” she said. “Sorry.”
“No worries. But you’ll never hear anything in here,” he told her. “Bathroom is likely the only place, without going outside.”
“Okay,” she looked around until she spotted the discreet sign. “Wait for me?” she asked, hopeful. He was too good looking and she knew he’d be snapped up right quick. She crossed her fingers.
Nodding, he smiled and pressed a kiss to her lips. “Meet me at the end of the bar closest to the bathrooms. I’ll be there.”
Tamara shivered and pressed a hand to his chest, then answered her phone. “Hold on a second, getting somewhere I can hear you,” she said into the device.
Quickly weaving her way down the hall, she moved to the ladies room and inside. The lack of sound was nearly deafening, in reverse, from the club. Popping her jaw, she moved to the sink furthest from the door, so no one would think she was waiting in line.
“What is it, girl?” she asked with an amused look in the mirror.
“Where are you?” her ex, Damien asked, in a whiny, demanding tone. Definitely not the voice she was expecting given the number that had shown up.
“It doesn’t matter, does it? We’re not together anymore, so what I do doesn’t matter.” She tried not to grind her teeth together.
The only reason she’d taken the call was because of the phone number. It belonged to her best friend, Rhonda. Obviously, her ex was being a sneaky assed shit again and had conned Rhonda into letting him use her phone. Or Rhonda had no clue he was on it.
“You know I love you,” he whined.
God, it really was fucking annoying.
“I made a mistake, I’m sorry.” He sounded like he was pouting now.
“Bull. Shit,” she snarled. “A mistake would have been being so drunk, you had no idea what you were doing. Even then, I wouldn’t have forgiven you. But you were sober and did it anyway, because you are a fucking sick and disgusting control freak.” He’d punched her. Just one time. Way more than enough for her to realize just who and what he was and to leave, fast.
She could hear a banging sound in the background. “Are you at Rhonda’s, you sick fuck?” she hissed out.
“I wanted to see you and knew she’d know where you were, but she wouldn’t tell me. So I faked the need to throw up and borrowed her phone. You’re mine, Tamara,” he said, not sounding so whiny suddenly. He actually sounded cold and mean. “And I will get you back or make sure no one else has you. Period.”
“Fuck you, asshole. You come within fifty feet of me and I’ll make sure you have to have testicular retrieval surgery if you don’t want to sing soprano for the rest of your life,” Tamara hissed out and hung up. Fuck, she’d have to get a new number, again. Fucking terrific.
Turning the phone off, she stuck it in her pocket. Waving a hand under the faucet, she bent and threw some water on her face. She wasn’t one to wear a lot of makeup, so washing off what little she had on, she honestly didn’t care about it.
She tore a couple of paper towels free of the di
spenser and patted her face dry. Taking a slow, deep breath, she let all the tension that call had brought up just slide away as best she could.
There was one hell of a sexy man out in the club waiting for her. She would not keep thinking about the asshole that had tried to make her into a doormat. Something she wasn’t and never would be.
With the thought of, shit, what’s-his-face solid in her mind, she left the bathroom. She would dance, get herself wound up again and, if she was lucky, end up going home with him. She wanted him and she knew he wanted her. Spotting him at the bar, Tamara smiled. When he turned and his gaze landed on her, all the heat that call had wiped out came swelling back in. Oh, yeah, she definitely wanted this sexy man.
Chapter One
The next night...
The sound of shattering glass woke her up. Groggy, Tamara fumbled for the light next to her bed and flipped it on, temporarily blinding herself in the process. Blinking rapidly, she sat up and pushed her blonde hair out of her face, squinting at the clock. Two in the morning.
Fuck.
Wiping a hand over her face, she tried to figure out where the sound had come from. A thump in the other room had her heart leaping into her throat. Grabbing her cell she hit 911 and slid from the bed as the line rang.
“911, what is your emergency?” the operator asked.
“My name is Tamara Karen Phillips and I think there’s someone in my house,” she whispered. Quickly providing her address, she snuck to the bedroom door and flipped the lock, wincing at the overly loud sound. “I don’t have roommates, no one visiting, and I have no pets. But I heard glass breaking and just heard something from the other room.”
“Where are you right now, ma’am?”
“The bedroom,” she said softly. The doorknob wiggled and then there was a bang on the door.
“Tamara, let me in. Come on, baby.”
Fucking hell, she knew that voice.
“Shit,” she hissed out. “My ex, Damien Hofstadter, is out there. He hit me once so I broke up with his ass. He’s been harassing me though, got a hold of my new number both times I changed it and has been making a menace of himself around my friend’s place as well.”
“He’s violent, ma’am?” the operator asked.
“Yeah, you could say that,” she muttered. Looking around, Tamara moved to the bathroom and slipped inside as Damien began to pound on the door. He was alternating between promises and threats as she shut and locked herself into the other room.
“Are you somewhere safe, ma’am? Do you know if he has a weapon?”
“I locked the bedroom door but it’s a newer model and likely won’t hold up if he really decides to get through. I’m in my bathroom now which has an old, solid wood door on it with a really good lock, it should hold a little longer. As for a weapon, I have no clue and I don’t really think I should ask.” A crashing sound reached her ears. “Shit, he just broke through the bedroom door.”
“Units are on their way, ma’am. Stay on the line with me,” the operator told her.
Like she was going to do anything else. Rolling her eyes, she looked around her bathroom, for anything she could use as a weapon preferably. Damien wasn’t likely to use a gun. He much preferred his fists and that up close and personal touch. Asshole.
As if hearing her thoughts he began to bang on the door, hard. She was sure he kicked it, cursing violently when that didn’t gain him access. Smirking, she threw the bird to him and thanked her lucky stars she’d been slow to replace the old door.
“Is that the intruder I hear, ma’am?” the operator asked.
“Yeah, that’s him,” she said, keeping her voice down. “Where are the police?” she asked. She was nervous as hell the longer she had to wait.
“Three minutes out, ma’am.”
Three minutes. Not that long and yet a fucking eternity.
Frowning at the door, Tamara moved closer to press her ear to the wood. She could hear rummaging on the other side but didn’t know what Damien was up to. With the sound of footsteps getting closer she backed off. Good thing, too. He was now hitting the door with something a hell of a lot harder than just his fist or foot.
Running the inventory of her bedroom through her head, she tried to figure out what the fuck he might be using. She froze as she landed on the answer. “I think he’s using one of the tripods for my photography to get through the door.”
“Units are two minutes out, ma’am,” the operator said.
Wood cracked. He was fucking hacking at the door. Damn it, he was using her big one to get through. Not good. That thing had cost her an arm and a leg, for fuck’s sake.
Shards of wood flew past her face. “He’s through the door!” she yelled at the operator as she backed up.
When he snaked his arm through the hole he’d made, she cursed and put the phone down. She was going to need two hands for this. The door opened and there he was, dropping the mangled tripod to the ground.
“Tamara, Tamara, Tamara,” he said shaking his head. “Bitch, you and I are going to be having words.”
“I only have two for you, Damien.” She smiled and lifted the can of aerosol hairspray and the lighter. Thank God for hair that resisted styling and a desire for candles during her bath time. “Fuck you.” She started spraying the hairspray and hit the lighter. Holy shit! It actually worked like on TV and in the movies. Not exactly the time to discover that, but hell, she could have thrown it at him had it not worked.
His scream made her gut clench, but she kept pressure on the nozzle. Turning her head away, a mistake she’d realize later, Tamara closed her eyes. Her second mistake.
It must have thrown her aim off a little, because suddenly the can of hairspray was gone and she was getting a fist to the face. Sirens could be heard far in the distance. Shit, more than two minutes you asshole, she thought in relation to the operator.
Covering her face, Tamara rolled to try and protect herself as his fists rained down on her body. Then she stiffened and looked down at her body at the sharp pain. A blade stuck out of her belly. “You stabbed me?” she asked, stunned.
“You are mine, bitch,” he snarled at her. Part of his face was blistering from what she’d done. “And that means I can do whatever I want with you.” He twisted the knife and she screamed in agony.
“Mine,” he grinned at her.
****
Three years later...
Jerking awake, drenched in sweat, Tamara slapped a hand to the touch lamp on her bedside table. As light permeated the pre-dawn darkness, she pressed a hand to her stomach. Damien had been sentenced to five years in jail. But everyone claimed he was a changed man, had found God, and they expected he’d get out early for good behavior.
Yeah, psychopathic fucking freak that he was, he likely would.
While she had nightmares nearly every single night, he would get out of jail sooner than later, and there seemed to be jack shit she could do about it.
Rubbing at the scar that only hurt if she pushed herself too far physically, or right after a nightmare in a ghostly echo, she sat up and threw her legs over the bed. The clock said just before six. Not a surprise, given the muddy light coming through the drapery.
Sighing, Tamara got up and headed for the bathroom. A hot shower and she’d feel more awake. She knew it, especially after three years of doing it. The same shit nearly every night. The same shit every morning when she was jolted awake.
Twenty minutes later, she was in her kitchen with a cup of coffee in her hand. Staring out over the buildings that were her condo’s neighbors, she sipped at the strong brew.
Frowning when the phone rang, she checked the time. Ten to seven, time had slipped past as she daydreamed. Picking up her cell with a muttered curse to herself, Tamara answered, “Yeah?”
“They’re letting him out on parole,” the familiar voice said. Rhonda, her best friend and the one person in the world who had gotten her through the attack and the horrific aftermath.
While Tamara loved
her mother and even adored her stepfather, she hadn’t been ready to put up with their stifling and smothering natures. She’d had Rhonda there to help her when she’d gotten out of the hospital and that was all she’d needed. She’d spent some time with her mom, but after two weeks, it had be way more than enough.
She’d wanted to get on with her life and being coddled hadn’t been part of the plan.
Having Damien out on parole was most fucking definitely not part of the plan. “What do you mean?” she asked, her heart in her throat. Pushing a hand through her long blonde hair, Tamara let out a shaky breath.
“The fucking parole board believed that he’s seen the error of his ways and has found God. He’s not an idiot. You know that. He’s got the psychiatrist believing all his bullshit. The board did do one thing that makes me slightly happier, and only because I raised a stink, along with the lawyer. He’s got to wear a tracking bracelet for one year. He’s permitted in his home and on the property, to his parole officer three times a week and to a place of employment yet to be decided and approved of.”
That made the tight feeling in her chest ease a little, but not enough. “Fuck,” she breathed out. Setting her cup down, because her hand was shaking so badly she was afraid she’d burn herself, Tamara slid down the front of the lower cabinets to sit on the floor.
“I know,” Rhonda said quietly.
“So he’s going to be free. Free to pretty much figure out a way to make my life miserable.”
“To a degree,” Rhonda muttered.
Yeah, they both knew that Damien was smart enough to find a way to work with that damned bracelet. He’d be quiet for a while once he was out. But he’d be working to find Tamara. Where she lived, where she was currently working, and he’d find a way to ensure his job was somewhere that she was in the middle of his travel path. With his friends and connections, he could get a job nearly anywhere in the city. Rhonda had told her Damien’s friends believed one of two things about Tamara. That she’d provoked him into the attack and therefore deserved the punishment he’d doled out. Or she was trying to make him punish her for her “whoring” ways and therefore deserved it. Either way, according to them, she deserved what she got for being so faithless.
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