SEDUCTIVE: A Contemporary Romance Anthology

by Anthology

  “Understand what?” She pushed up on one elbow so she could face him.

  “That your work as a defense attorney is just as important as my work as a cop.”

  She smiled, a genuine carefree reaction, which made her green eyes sparkle. “Thanks.”

  “To be honest I don’t know how I’m going to function as an officer of the law and be involved with you at the same time.” He brushed his lips over hers.

  She snuggled against him. “You’ll manage.”

  He hugged her close, enjoying the intimacy of their pillow talk. “I’m not so sure about that. I was supposed to deliver you to the precinct to finish your questioning hours ago.”

  “The fact that you have brought up my interview with Captain Tate and the FBI contradicts the notion that you won’t be able to function.”

  It was his turn to laugh. “I haven’t even called them. I’m surprised they aren’t hammering down the door.”

  She eased away from him and sat on the edge of the bed. Her gaze wandered the room and then focused on him. “I have to move. Ethan knows where I live.”

  He knelt on the ground in front of her, clasping her trembling hands in his. “Move in with me.”

  She considered it, her lips pressing into a thin line. He thought she would reject his proposal, but instead she said, “Isn’t that a little fast? We haven’t been on a date in twelve years.”

  “I can take you out if that’s what you want. Where do you want to go?” He sat on the bed next to her, still holding her hand.

  “A crowded place where we won’t end up in bed.”

  “We don’t need a bed to have sex. I mean, we did it in your office and on your kitchen counter. I can pick you up and take you to a fancy restaurant, but what’s the chance we’ll make it home? My car does have a backseat.” He waggled his eyebrows and was pleased to see her blush as fear vanished from her eyes.

  “We belong together. Stay with me.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”

  “Let’s have a trial run. I’ll move in with you, and if we don’t kill each other in the next six months, we’ll look at getting a place together. Deal?”

  “Deal.” He already knew he wanted her to stay forever, but if she needed time, that was fine. Blood engorged his throbbing penis as it sprang to life again. He leaned back, pulling her on top of him.

  She straddled him, positioning herself so her legs were either side of his hips. His cock wedged against the opening of her vagina.

  “Is this how you always seal a deal?” she panted as she eased herself onto him.

  “Only with you.” It was the last thing he managed to say before he was caught up in the maelstrom of their lovemaking.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Special Agent Finn Callaghan cracked open a beer bottle and took a long hard swig. None of his triggers had been activated while he was out. He double-checked the carpet. He always vacuumed before he left, being sure to brush the pile in the same direction so if someone stomped through his home he would be able to see their footprints in the rug.

  His small rental was clean, sparse, and military neat. It would never be homey, but that was fine with him because he wasn’t planning on settling down.

  He set his beer on the counter and then pulled his fridge to the center of the kitchen, revealing a suspect board hidden on the wall.

  He’d recently become aware of a group of businessmen who called themselves The Syndicate, which was a cheesy Hollywood name as far as he was concerned. He suspected they were using violence and manipulation in order to protect their financial interests, but he couldn’t be sure of their real objective. He had no proof or leads of any kind.

  He also believed they had a mole inside the Department of Justice, one who had accessed his personal files and shared them with businessman, Lance Ackerman. Ackerman had tried to use the information to blackmail him. It hadn’t worked, but the whole thing set off Finn’s alarm bells. Something nefarious was going on, and he needed to figure out what it was. He had the feeling that a countdown had started. He just didn’t know what the crime would be and who the suspects were.

  Any sensible man would let it go, but he couldn’t. It wasn’t only the injustice of a group of rich businessmen controlling events, killing innocents, and doing whatever necessary to consolidate their power; they had tried to kill his friends. This was personal.

  He took another swig of his beer and studied the photos and facts arranged on the wall. He wished he could have discussed the details with his partner, Kennedy. She knew of their existence because she’d worked the Quinn and Morgan cases with him. But he had decided to shut her out. It wasn’t that he couldn’t trust her. She had proven she would do the right thing no matter what the cost, but he wanted to protect her. She was a young agent with a bright future, and he was risking his career and maybe even his life.

  He moved Ethan’s card to the center of his murder board. He had no doubt Ethan was an assassin for The Syndicate. The big question was why did they want to expose an arson scam in Granite City? The obvious answer would be that it threatened their interests, but he had no idea what those interests could be.

  He took another drink. The syndicate had come to his attention when one of their members, Marshal Portman, had tried to blame his friend, David Quinn, of kidnapping and murder. They had surfaced again when they had tried to acquire Molly’s Mountain, a property that bordered another friend, Tim Morgan’s, land. The Syndicate hadn’t initiated Tim’s legal troubles, but they had sent Ethan to murder the local police chief and then tried to frame Tim for the crime. That plan was thwarted by pure dumb luck.

  He considered his suspect list, people who he believed were part of The Syndicate: Marshall Portman, Lance Ackerman, Brad Harper, Ethan Hunt, and Lucy Portman. Of that list, only two of them were still alive, Lucy and Ethan.

  His superiors had told him to back off where Lucy was concerned. He understood, even if he didn’t like it. She had money, connections, and a high-priced lawyer. As far as law enforcement was concerned, she was in the clear. If he was going to go after her, he needed irrefutable evidence, and that was in short supply.

  Ethan was another matter altogether. Finn suspected he was a hired thug who had murdered the police chief of Hopefalls in the grizzliest manner possible. And now he had shown up again, the mastermind behind a successful bank robbery, but Ethan’s only goal was to attain evidence of a criminal conspiracy. He hadn’t even taken the money. It had been recovered along with the contents of the safety deposit boxes.

  Sophia Reed’s description of him was a little off. She had said he was balding. Just four months ago, Tim had described him with short, thick hair. Finn eyed the composite picture of Ethan. He had a plain face. It would only take a few small tweaks to change his appearance.

  He cursed and pushed the fridge back into place. He would question Sophia again tomorrow, but he suspected it would be another dead end. All he could do was wait until he surfaced again. Sooner or later, Ethan would make a mistake, and when that happened Finn would interrogate him. One day he would get the answers he needed.

  For more of these characters set in The Gathering Storm series, check out Sun Storm, Fire Storm, and The Wedding Deception.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  After being thrown out of England for refusing to drink tea, MARLOW KELLY made her way to Canada where she found love, a home, and a pug named Max. She also discovered her love of storytelling. Encouraged by her husband, children, and let’s not forget Max, she started putting her ideas to paper. She enjoys writing suspenseful, fast-pace romance stories that always feature strong women.

  Marlow is an award-winning author, and a member of the Romance Writers of America.

  WEBSITE | AMAZON

  WATERMELON SPICE

  by DONNA MERCER

  Story Edited by Crystol Wiedeman

  CHAPTER ONE

  “How is she today?”

 
; He was back again. His voice was the one anchor, tugging her from the darkness, her constant companion. Over time it had changed, deepening. Yet somehow it stayed familiar, safe. Words changed, but the cadence stayed the same.

  Soothing.

  Loving.

  Every encounter with that voice started with the same question. If she could react, she would smile at the constant concern.

  This had become their pattern, a worn path they continued to walk. Sometimes it was harder than others, to use the voice to emerge from her trap. She wanted to answer, to scream that she was there. But her brain kept her locked down: silent.

  No sound came out between her frigid lips, she barely even tried. Instead, she listened.

  Nobody knew she was listening. She was a victim of her own mind.

  All the nurses and doctors scurrying to monitor her every day, never noticed. They didn’t know she was awake.

  “No change,” the secondary voice answered. This voice differed from exchange to exchange and she always disagreed with it. There is a change. You just aren’t aware of it.

  “I’m going to have to disagree with you on that one doc.” Her heart fluttered that he echoed her thoughts so perfectly, his voice strong in his confidence. “There is a change every day. She is in there and I know she can hear me. It’s just a matter of finding the right combination of pieces to set her free. Like that game Tetris. You just have to wait on the long four block piece to drop so that you can fit it in the spot it was made for.” Even now, she could hear his hope, there was not even the slightest hint of doubt in his deep voice.

  She loved his confidence. His love and determination not to give up on her, all of it made her heart ache.

  Trapped here, every day she couldn’t help but feel helpless anger as the nurse roughly cleaned her unresponsive body. Frustration coursed through her when they discussed how he needed to let her go, not knowing she heard every word. How selfish she felt for clinging to his love. Causing him pain. Keeping him from living a life of joy, free from this hospital bed that bound her.

  Yet again those thoughts clouded her mind, she should seek an escape from this world, pass into the next and set him free.

  Yet whenever she felt overwhelmed with despair, there he was, confident, soothing, hers. It was his determination to keep on fighting for her that stopped her from giving into the weakness. It kept her strong even when the desire to give up overcame her. To let go. To be free and journey on.

  Her love for him anchored her to the bed. Being turned day in, day out by sometimes indifferent, uncaring hands. Hearing snippets of conversation from the nurses about how her life was such a waste.

  They claimed he was being selfish.

  It was those moments when the nurses spoke of how he was keeping her here, suffering.

  Living.

  Existing. Not living.

  Every voice, every statement renewed her determination to fight free of the darkness and its hold on her. To be able to hold him in her arms again. His dedication would not go unrewarded. If he could continue to fight for her, then she could continue to fight for him. For the love that sustained her.

  One day she would tell that voice how right he was.

  She was here.

  She was always here.

  The voice was important to her. Every time she heard it, her heart would flutter, and her fingers would tingle to reach out and touch the man it belonged to. Despite her best efforts her mind cage was holding her back.

  “When is the clinic going to try a new treatment plan?”

  Royce. His name was Royce.

  It always took her a few minutes to remember it, but eventually he came back to her. Every time was like a foggy reset. And each time she was regaining more and more of him. Faster and in more detail.

  Royce, her best friend.

  Her lover.

  She had known him as long as she knew of her own existence.

  Royce was important.

  “You know we are never going to agree on an alternate treatment, this is the standard.” A woman’s hawkish voice spoke. She had no memory of the female, just a feeling of dislike at the condescending tone she used when she spoke to her Royce. She needed to open her eyes. She needed to express her anger. Nobody spoke to her Royce like this woman did. She needed to break free and show her the error of her ways.

  “Of course, they aren’t going to allow an alternate treatment. Why would they? If she woke up from this coma then you couldn’t collect the big fat hefty fee you’re charging every day for her care.” His tone was biting with pent up anger. Did the woman not hear it? She could almost see his tanned fists bunched up, hidden behind his erect back.

  His tall, lean build towering over the doctor. His confidence obvious in his broad muscular shoulders. Was his hair still the sun-streaked brownish blond? Did it still brush the collar of the tailored shirt he always wore when he left the house for anywhere that wasn’t the beach? She imagined so.

  That’s it Royce. You give it to her! Melony cheered from inside her shell. Don’t hold back, people in authority are always trying to stick it to us little people.

  “Why does it matter to you Royce? She is getting excellent care,” the judgement filled voice of Dr. Sinclair seemed to fill the room with her hot air. The memory of the snide woman was slowly emerging from the swamp of memories.

  The urge to get up and punch her in the nose for speaking to her man that way was strong. Even that didn’t inspire so much as a twitch.

  The feisty side of Melony, the one that never gave up the fight, was awake and ready.

  “Her insurance is paying for it.” Dr. Sinclair continued.

  “Well that goes to show how much you know Doc,” her Royce, he never had liked authority and it seemed his hatred was audible especially to her expert ears. Some things just didn’t change with time, “but the insurance ran out years ago.”

  “Then the settlement she got from the accident is covering her stay here at Leisure Haven,” Dr. Sinclair scoffed unconcerned.

  Royce made a harsh buzzing noise in his throat, “Try again.”

  “What?”

  “In order for there to be an insurance settlement the person that hit her has to have insurance. You would be amazed at the number of people speeding around on the road that don’t bother to get insurance always thinking that they will be the one not to get caught.” A sigh of frustration escaped him. “It amazes me that the guy who hit her, the one that caused the accident in the first place has served his prison term and is out free roaming the world while Melony is still trapped in hers. She was the victim. He didn’t even have to pay the settlement the court ordered.”

  Melony pictured an updated version of Royce Copenhagen running his hands through his wavy brownish-blond hair in frustration. Pushing the lock that always fell over his left eye out of his face. Showing the world, the warm brown eyes always filled with laughter. Full curving lips that smiled with the joys of life, now drooping in sadness and anger. “He filed for bankruptcy and got out of the settlement.”

  It was a habit he developed when they were young. A habit she was sure no matter how many years passed he would never give up even after he went bald with old age. The image of him as an old man, hunched over and running his hands through the deserted scalp would have had her rolling with mirth.

  “Well I guess as her husband you would be in a position to know her financial situation,” Dr. Sinclair reluctantly stated.

  Melony’s acute hearing picked up the disgruntled tone bristling. She sounded like she was sucking on lemons. It was strong enough to leave the taste in her mouth.

  Good. She really disliked Dr. Sinclair. She didn’t like that she felt she had the right to question Royce. Royce didn’t like to be questioned either. Melony was surprised he even answered her to start with. She wouldn’t have.

  Her Royce. A rebel through and through.

  “Besides, Copenhagen Conglomerate exists solely for the purpose to support Melony Copenhagen.
”

  “That is right. You do own Copenhagen Conglomerate? The make-up company.”

  Dr. Sinclair doesn't do the fake surprise thing very well, Melony noticed. There was an insincerity to her tone.

  “Skin care and cosmetic company.”

  Melony heard soft footsteps cross the floor. She may not be able to see what was going on or move to participate in the conversation, but she could hear everything within a phenomenal range. Like the sound of the door opening. “Now if you would excuse us, Dr. Sinclair, I would like some privacy to visit my wife.”

  There was a second set of footsteps, louder than the first, landing harder than a normal walk. The swish of a coat brushing against pants as someone took quick, forceful strides. Portraying the walker’s anger.

  The door closed quietly behind the footsteps, but Melony was able to hear the conversation clearly even with the door shut.

  “Sometimes spouses are the biggest pain in my ass,” Dr. Sinclair declared loudly, she doubted Royce missed that.

  “Why? Because Mr. Copenhagen won’t go away and let you do whatever you want or is it that he keeps fighting to see improvement in his wife? See that is what is wrong with some of you doctors, you never take the time to look beyond your patient. To find out about the people who love and care for them.” A different voice responded. “I would love to have an advocate like Mrs. Copenhagen. Someone who cares about me no matter what.” A dreamy wisp echoed through her voice.

  “Husband?” The word flitted through her mind. It brought up pictures of people smiling and laughing in celebration. Different couples.

  Love.

  Joy.

  Happiness.

  No, the picture of her that flashed through her mind was of tiny black braids with the ends dyed pink.