METHOD

by Kate Stewart

  What in the hell, Lucas?

  “Just a party. Maybe he has a plan. Don’t freak. Be the cool wife. Don’t kill him. Don’t kill him.” The longer I swig, the easier it is to try to relax. That is until I hear a loud roar come from the living room and glass shatter.

  “Come on, really?” Sipping more wine, I count to a thousand before stepping out of our bedroom. Lucas loves this house and is typically highly protective of it rarely ever inviting anyone over, especially when he’s working.

  Rule two. Go with it and trust.

  Swallowing more wine straight from the bottle, I look around the top floor for any sign of Lucas and come up empty. The music stops suddenly and is replaced by the unmistakable sound of an organ, drums, and a guitar. Don Henley’s “Dirty Laundry” blares from every speaker.

  It’s then I hear the unmistakable voice of one of my favorite people in the world. “Stop your whining, if I’m going to tolerate this frat party, I’m the deejay. That’s right, bow down, bow down to the King!”

  Unable to stop my grin, I land at the stairs of the gym and see Stella on my elliptical with a bottle of tequila in hand.

  “Crowne,” Reid corrects from the porch. “That’s bow down to the Crowne. That’s what you meant to say right, wife?”

  Stella’s eyes bulge a little before she nods. “Of course.”

  “Thought so,” Reid says, chuckling. He watches her with amusement while she picks up her pace on the machine. “Put that tequila down, babe. I’m not carrying you out of here.”

  “You so will carry me out of here, and you’ll love it,” she sasses back. “Besides it’s Cinco De Mayo.”

  That’s when Rye steps in. “Uh, Stella, aren’t you the one who says every day you aren’t from Mexico?”

  She pauses her exercise and takes a sip from her bottle. “It’s complicated.” They both crack up, and I can see Lucas standing behind them on the porch. Reid and Rye spot me first with a wave I return, and Lucas sounds from behind them.

  “There’s the lady of the house.” Lucas smiles at me, and it’s genuine, and I’m utterly confused. Narrowing my eyes, I move to go to him when Stella spots me and stops me in my tracks.

  “Mila, thank God. If I had to be here one more hour surrounded by this cock fest, I was gonna puke.” Delaying the inevitable fight with my husband, I walk over to where she’s working the machine. Stella is a force of nature, half Latina and stunning in appearance with dark hair, natural beauty and never-ending opinions that lengthen her smaller stature. She’s a fireball to put it mildly and one of the few women I respect.

  I met Stella on the set of Drive, where Lucas played the lead guitarist, Rye. Though Stella is a music journalist, she decided to write a memoir of her journey with the band and her relationship with her husband shortly after her wedding. When she submitted the script, it ended up in a bidding war between two major studios. With the ball in her court, she’d made it a stipulation to oversee both casting and production along with her husband’s band, The Dead Sergeants, who wrote some of the music for the soundtrack. The Dead Sergeants were globally known, and the movie made a killing at the box office. Rye had personally charged himself to train Lucas on the guitar, and he’d done a fantastic job, but Stella was the one to suggest Lucas for the role.

  It’s all I can do to keep from laughing as she waves me over to her.

  “What in the hell are you doing?”

  “Cardio and a buzz, it’s the same as dancing. Looks like I’m not the only one with a bottle in hand.”

  “True,” I say with a grin. It’s damn near impossible to be pissed around Stella. She’s my only consolation for what the day has turned into.

  She steps off the elliptical, and we toast, drink, and then hug.

  “What are you doing here?”

  She narrows her eyes at me. “If you would have called me back yesterday, you would know.”

  “Sorry,” I say. “I’ve been busy.”

  “Busy looking hot! You look good, girl,” she says with a wink. “Maybe I should switch to wine.”

  “Not a bad idea,” Reid’s voice carries from the porch.

  She raises her hand in his direction. “Hush, man, or no drunken sex for you and you know damn well I’m getting good at it.”

  I lift a brow at Reid, and his gaze is fixed on his wife as he slowly shakes his head.

  “Keep it up,” he warns before turning his back and continuing his conversation. Reid looks every bit the rock star he is and if I wasn’t living the dream with one of my own, I would be jealous of their connection. Though I have to admit today, I’m feeling a small stab of it.

  Stella keeps her eyes on me.

  “Is he still looking at me?” she asks.

  “No.”

  “I’m trying to be more assertive with his alpha before we procreate. Momming is no joke. I will not barter on certain issues.”

  “Looks like it’s working,” I say.

  “Really?” she asks, hopeful.

  “Absolutely not,” I reply with a laugh.

  She joins me. “Yeah, I didn’t think so either.”

  “So, what brings you from Seattle?”

  She takes the bottle from my hand and sips my wine. “Why music, of course. The boys have a concert tomorrow and we wanted to see you guys. I couldn’t get a hold of you, but Reid managed to get Lucas.”

  “Funny,” I snort. “I haven’t managed to get Lucas today.”

  She stops my wine bottle halfway to her mouth. “I thought this party was odd. I didn’t think Lucas got down like this.”

  “Lucas doesn’t.”

  “Ah, yeah, he’s a gangster now, right? I have to admit, I’m excited to see him bring it like that.”

  We both glance over at Lucas who looks gorgeous in jeans and a T-shirt. He’s talking so casually and looks lighter on his feet today, like there’s less weight on his shoulders. It’s enough to curb my anger for the moment.

  “So, I’m guessing this little impromptu party wasn’t your idea?”

  “Nope,” I say, grabbing the bottle.

  “Shit, woman, I’m sorry. If I were you, I would be dismembering people. How are you keeping calm?”

  “Because fuck it,” I say simply. “Go with the flow. At least for another couple of months.”

  “Your tortured artist strikes again, huh?”

  “Looks to be that way.”

  “You know, Reid goes off the grid sometimes when he writes music. He doesn’t talk for days, gets heavy and locks himself in the studio, doesn’t eat. I’m not a fan of that shit, but in a way, I guess I understand it. Music takes me there sometimes. But I don’t necessarily think you have to bleed to get the job done.”

  “It’s the way he was taught,” I say with a shrug.

  “Yeah, well, what works, right?”

  “Right,” I nod.

  “Come on, lady, we won’t let this get you down. We’ll go get drunk and then swim naked just to piss them off.”

  “I fucking dare you,” Reid sounds from the porch. Lucas is standing right next to him, staring me down with an expression I can’t read. I’m too upset to care.

  “How long have you two been listening to our conversation?” Stella demands.

  “For as long as you’ve been yelling it, Grenade,” Reid answers with a smirk.

  “My bad,” she yells my way. Lucas’s eyes are still on me as I raise my sundress over my head baring myself in a bra and panties.

  “Clean up my kitchen, Walker,” I snap, grabbing Stella’s hand and making my way toward the door to brush past Lucas.

  “See,” Stella says, turning back to Reid when we get halfway across the deck, “she gets to swim naked.”

  “She’s not naked,” Reid mutters dryly.

  “Fine, I’ll keep my underwear on.”

  “Bra too,” he snaps.

  “Fine,” she says, laughing as we make our way to the surf.

  We plant our asses on the sand and stare out at the ocean.

&nbs
p; “It’s so beautiful here,” Stella says. “Maybe we should get a place here too.”

  “You can just stay here. You know that. Anytime.”

  “No offense, babe,” she says, discarding her T-shirt, “but if you can’t tolerate a house party, we really aren’t your style.”

  “I can.”

  Stella turns to face me her gaze inquisitive.

  “You okay?”

  “Trying to be.”

  “I was sorry to hear about Blake. I wish I would have gotten a chance to know him better. Is Lucas handling it okay?”

  I nod over my shoulder toward the party. “I wish I knew.”

  She nudges my shoulder. “It’s just a movie. He’ll be back to his charming self in no time.”

  “It’s not the party or the movie.”

  “Then what’s wrong?”

  I can’t hide the hurt in my voice when I reply. “Today’s our sixth wedding anniversary.”

  She immediately uncaps the tequila bottle and starts pouring some in the sand in front of us.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Pouring some out for my homie, Lucas. May he rest in peace.”

  Hours later I wake up confused when rough hands grip my hips and pull me toward the edge of our bed. Caught off guard and still mildly buzzed, I look up to see Lucas briefly before I’m flipped on my stomach and lifted on all fours. Any protest on the edge of my tongue comes out as a moan as his teeth sink into my neck. My panties are yanked down to my knees before rough fingers plunge into my sex and find me ready. Moaning, I push back into them and hear how slick I am before I’m left empty. Wet fingers circle my neck, and I’m gripped from behind before I hear the hiss of his zipper. Anticipation pulses in my clit as my breath picks up. Seconds later, it’s stolen when he buries himself in one unforgiving thrust…before he unleashes hell. He fucks me like a savage, taking his pleasure with no thought for mine. Skin slapping skin, he keeps me stationary, his hand tightening around my neck as he builds an animalistic pace.

  No words are spoken, no kisses are exchanged. It doesn’t matter, my body recognizes his and my need outweighs all moral thought. Relentless, he drives in, again and again, his stamina jarring as I try my best to balance on shaky arms. I take my own pleasure sliding my hand between my legs and bringing myself to orgasm just before he thrusts one last time and stills, filling me with a grunt. Collapsing on the bed, I turn in time to see him in the half-light of the bathroom before he closes the door. I use his discarded T-shirt to clean myself before curling back into bed with upturned lips. I’d either pushed a button earlier and pissed off my husband when I stripped in front of his friends, or I’d just been fucked by Nikki Rayo. Either way, I loved every minute of it. I’d taken pleasure out of his punishment and was already thirsty for more. Maybe it’s wrong to tempt the devil he’s creating, but it’s the only hand I have.

  “Okay, Nikki, let’s play.”

  “There are four questions of value in life…What is sacred? Of what is the spirit made? What is worth living for, and what is worth dying for? The answer to each is the same. Only love.”

  —Johnny Depp in Don Juan DeMarco

  Lord Byron

  Mila

  PRESENT

  Hugging Audrey tightly, I thank her for saving me the past three days. I’d accepted her invitation for food the night she offered, and we got to talking. Once she learned I was a sommelier, my reality break took a different turn. She’d kept me busy from sunup to sundown each day and taught me everything she knew about growing vines. We laughed like girlfriends and worked ourselves ragged enough to the point I went to sleep at night without much issue.

  “I can’t thank you enough.”

  “Just promise to come back and see me.”

  “Oh, I will, don’t you worry.”

  “Then that’s thanks enough.”

  We share a smile as I open the door to the SUV and slide in. Sighing, I grip the wheel as she stands with her palm on the frame. “Now back to real life.”

  “Make it a good one.”

  “Right,” I say with an uneasy nod. “I can do that.”

  “Yes, you can.”

  “In a way, I feel reborn.”

  “But the ache is still there, huh?”

  “Yes.”

  “Growing pains,” she assures, “good for all of us. Have a safe trip home.”

  “Home,” I repeat. “Just have to figure out where that is.”

  “You know where it is, Mila.”

  Tears threaten, but I tamp them down. “I’m glad you have so much faith in me.”

  “Just a decision,” she says confidently.

  I nod, and she shuts the door with a wave. After a few backroad turns navigating out of the winery, I’m on my way. An hour into my drive, I find the strength to turn on the radio. I’m relieved when I scan the channels and don’t hear any mention of Lucas. The sun beams heavily into the SUV, and the drive is peaceful. Stopping for gas, I keep my head low and fill up at the pump. I don’t get spotted often but, I have an understanding of sorts with a few paparazzi. They know if I’m in the mood, I’ll chat a little and smile for pictures, but if I’m not, they usually give me my breathing room. I’m relatively safe this far from LA, but with Lucas making so many headlines, it’s anyone’s guess, and I’m sure at this point, they’re looking for me. My only saving grace is that none of them know about the cottage which is still titled to my parents and they’d have to dig deep to find it. Feeling stronger than I have in months, I finish gassing up, and slide into the driver’s seat. It’s only when I turn the ignition, and the song starts to play that I’m transported back.

  Your well-hung man: The car will pick you up in thirty minutes.

  I burst into laughter when I read his handle. The man is a bit intrusive when it comes to my personal property, but it never really bothers me. I gave him my password after four months of dating because he’d earned that trust and I didn’t have anything to hide. He never demanded it, but I know somehow, he wanted that trust. He’s been asking for it in small doses since we met and as of late, it’s become second nature.

  Okay.

  Your well-hung man: Dress casual, but don’t do your hair and makeup. I’ve got an appt for you.

  Okay. Can’t wait to see you.

  Your well-hung man: Missed you, baby.

  He’d been doing a lot of pre and postproduction work on his movies, and we’d barely had a day to ourselves the last few weeks. His next project is set to start in a month, and we are stealing every bit of time we can. I’ve been getting more and more jobs, and I know it has everything to do with him, though he fiercely denies it.

  Racing to the shower after a day of pruning our rose bushes, I spend fifteen minutes getting the dirt out from beneath my fingernails before I survey my appearance in the mirror. I’m a little scratched up by the thorns, but I’ve gotten a good bit of sun. Sticking to his rules of no makeup, I take careful care to moisturize. It all feels so Pretty Woman. I hope there will be wardrobe too as I slip on a thin black long-sleeve top with a wide neck that I can easily slip off, dark jeans, and boots.

  Satisfied with my appearance, I spritz on some clean-smelling perfume and gloss my lips just as the doorbell rings.

  Grabbing my purse, I make it to the door on the second knock.

  An older man with a British accent greets me.

  “Good evening, Madam,” he says cheerfully.

  “Hello, there,” I say, locking the door behind me. “Is Paul off tonight?”

  “Yes, he’s on vacation. I’m filling in.”

  “Can’t imagine that grumpy ass sipping fruity drinks anywhere,” I grumble behind him as he walks toward the limo and opens the door. Paul is both Lucas’s bodyguard and driver but has a zero-personality side effect. Once inside, I shoot off a text.

  Heads up, Hollywood! I’ll have you know I’ve just been kidnapped by a handsome older man with a very sexy accent.

  Your well-hung man: Good. See you soon, beauty.<
br />
  Will you give me a hint?

  Your well-hung man: Nope.

  How about a favor for favor exchange? I’ll throw in some incentive. Your cock, my tongue.

  Your well-hung man: Behave.

  Fine. X

  A few minutes into the drive I decide to make polite conversation to disburse some of my nervous energy.

  “Have you been a driver long?”

  “No, just picked it up, actually. I’m retired and got bored.”

  “Well, you’ll love working for Lucas,” I say, watching our route for any clue.

  “Will I?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “He’s a good man.”

  “Have you known him long?”

  “Not very, we’ve only been dating a few months.”

  He eyes me in the rearview, turning left into the hills instead of right toward the main road. “Do you act?”

  “Me,” I nearly snort. “God no, I would be horrible at it.”

  “Must be hard to date someone so scrutinized by the public.”

  “It’s been wonderful,” I say softly. “We haven’t outed ourselves just yet, he, we…” Just thinking about him makes me a grinning fool. I’m falling hard, and it’s wonderful and terrifying, and I’ve had to stop myself a few times from letting the words spill. “He’s making it easy.”

  “You’re happy then?”

  “Very,” I bob my head. “When you meet him, you’ll know why.”

  “I look forward to it. Is he a good actor then?”

  “You haven’t seen his movies?”

  “No, I’m afraid my wife and I watch a lot of old classics if we watch the telly at all.”

  “Oh, well, do yourself a favor and watch Takedown, it’s my favorite.”

  “Will do.”