by Lucy Lambert
They all chased us across town.
I saw people standing out on their porches, on their lawns, pointing and watching. Some waved. There were even more, I knew, inside their homes, watching the whole thing on TV.
I dared to look over Dash’s shoulder.
I saw the tall, forgotten grain elevators looming. Another helicopter, its spotlight shining, circled those towers, throwing up clouds of dust and making the dead stalks in the field around it dance and sway.
Dash turned away before we got there. “We need to lose them!” he shouted over the wind and the rotors and the sirens.
We ducked down another side street. The sheriff stayed on us, the back end of his big cruiser kicking out as he swerved to turn.
We cut across a lawn.
“Down!” Dash said.
I hunkered down with him just in time to keep from being swept off the bike by a tree branch that loomed out of nowhere.
Somehow we’d managed to lose the helicopters as well. It took my eyes some time to readjust to the sudden darkness.
We sped off, got onto a road just outside town, houses on one side and field on the other. It was a wild field, full of tall grass and errant stocks of corn.
Dash pulled the bike off the road.
“Why are we stopping?” I said.
My thighs ached from squeezing the bike saddle so hard. My arms ached from squeezing Dash so hard. I thought of that and felt instant guilt, but he said nothing about it.
“It’s harder to spot us in here,” Dash said. “When the helicopter sees us it will land. It will take us back to the city.”
He took my hand and started leading me towards the field. There was an old, mostly broken wooden fence along the perimeter. Dash stepped over it but I stopped short. When he felt the slack in my arm go tight he stopped and looked back.
“I… I still don’t know if I can go,” I said.
It was ridiculous, even to me. But fear isn’t rational, and is often deep-seated. I knew I needed to go with him. I knew the longer I stood there and stalled that the sheriff or Bobby or the helicopters would find us.
But I didn’t think I could go. I tried to urge my feet to go forward but they stayed planted firmly on the gravel of the shoulder separating the road from the field.
I thought of how often I wished I’d gotten on the bike with him while I sat in that cell. I wanted to laugh at myself. I wanted to cry. My stomach boiled.
Somewhere behind us a helicopter whipped by, scanning the houses and lawns with its light.
Dash turned to face me fully. The fallen crossbeam of the fence stood between us.
“You do know,” Dash said. “You know you can go. Let it go. Let it all go. I did.”
My throat started closing up. I swallowed against it. I shook my head. “You’re stronger,” I said.
He laughed then, actually laughed. He took both my hands. “No, we’re the same. I came back for you. I know you can leave for me.”
“You did, you came back,” I said, mostly under my breath.
I forced one foot forward, then the other. I climbed over the fence. He still held one hand.
“Come on, I know the way,” he said. Above the dead grass and corn I could see the mill.
When we got there, the helicopter spotted us and landed. We ran for it.
We got closer and the door slid open, revealing Mr. Chase. He and Dash helped me in and then Dash climbed in as well, slamming the door shut behind us.
We took off. I looked back. Robert’s cruiser stopped in the lot we just vacated. He got out of the car and looked up at us.
Pleasant faded into the night slowly, turning from a town to a glow on the horizon to nothing.
Dash reached out and took my hand.
Epilogue
To say the last few months were crazy were something of an understatement. Our little motorcycle chase got international attention, for one.
As more details of Dash’s journey came to life, running from New York on his old bike, things became even more interesting. People wanted to interview both of us constantly.
I even heard that Harley-Davidson stock prices had gone up, and that sales of classic bikes were at an all-time high.
We did our best to stay out of the spotlight, and only recently had the phone calls died down. It was funny how even a billionaire couldn’t keep a phone number secret in this day and age. No matter how many times we changed it.
Lifetime kept contacting me, practically begging for the movie rights. I kept refusing. Though it stroked my ego a little when they mentioned the actresses ready and willing to play me.
And I didn’t want to think about former sheriff Robert and his son. A report in the New York Times detailed decades of corruption on Robert’s part, and had nothing kind to say about his son.
But I put all that out of my mind.
We were packed and ready to go. I sat on the foot of the bed and looked out into the night.
Except it was never truly night in New York, not the way it was back in Pleasant. Not with all the lights and the people.
It was the penthouse unit of a building on the Upper West Side.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to being so high up.”
Dash came into the bedroom already in his jacket.
He had something in his hand. It was a big old suitcase, scarred and dirty from who knew how many decades of use. He set it down on the hardwood floor that was so polished I could have used my reflection in it to put my makeup on.
“Look what I found,” he said.
“It’s your old suitcase!” I said, pushing off from the bed. I looked at it, saw the engraved lettering on a small brass oval near the handles. D.B., the letters said.
“Are you bringing it? You want me to move your things over from your other suitcase?” I said.
“Actually I just wanted to show it to you first.”
“First? What are you doing second?” I said.
I looked him up and down. Something hot stirred inside me, and I found myself wondering if maybe we could delay our flight a little longer.
“I’m getting rid of it. For real, this time,” he said.
“What? But why? I thought you said it helped you remember where you came from and some deep life lesson or something?”
“Now it’s just an old, empty bag,” Dash said. “I’d rather think about the life ahead of us instead of the one behind.”
“Us?” I said, circling his waist with my arms, “I like the sound of that.”
He bent down and kissed the tip of my nose. My body sang with desire and I tried for more, but he leaned away.
“So, have you decided where we’re going yet?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I figured we’d get there, check the departures, and just head wherever sounds most interesting. But first…”
“First?” He said, eyes glinting.
I sat down on the bed and gave him my best come hither look.
“The airport can wait,” Dash said. He shrugged out of his jacket.
“But I can’t,” I said. I lay back and smiled as he climbed on to the bed with me.
Thank you for reading DASH!
Thank you for reading “DASH”! I hope you’ll enjoy another of my books, “Anything He Wants”.
Anyone He Wants: A Billionaire Romance
Alexander Crossley has a major image problem. He's the player, the womanizer, the CEO who gets anything - and anyone - he wants. It's gotten to the point that news networks send their prettiest journalists to interview him, just in the hope that they can get the scoop.
Something has got to change. So when a local school district invites the billionaire to speak at an inner-city school, his PR team jumps at the chance to show their client's caring side. The only problem? He's being sent to the classroom of the prettiest teacher in school, Charlotte "Charlie" Morgan.
When Alexander tries to seduce Charlie, she makes it clear that she's only interested in helping the kids.
But what starts as a PR stunt turns into a real reminder of where the billionaire came from and Charlie sees the side of Alexander that he hoped to lock away forever.
He could have anyone he wants. But now, he wants her.
“I think this is your stop,” he said. A little rivulet of water ran down his cheek and I had the sudden urge to kiss it off him.
“What we did back there…” I started.
“I’m not sorry. I’ve been wanting to do that since we met,” he replied.
My heart did its best to punch through my sternum. I didn’t think it possible for a person’s blood to feel so hot.
He held my eyes with his. That electricity sparked between us again, but this time I didn’t lower my gaze.
“Will you come upstairs with me?” I said, nervous energy tickling me like I was at a school formal asking my crush if he wanted to dance at the next slow song.
“Why?” Alex said.
“…what?” I said. That had been the last response I’d been expecting.
“Why do you want me to come upstairs with you?” he said, something glinting in his eyes.
I swallowed hard. Unable to burst forth from my chest, my heart decided it wanted to try exiting up through my throat.
“I think that you know why.” I found some of my old strength and I pushed open the door. The rain had slacked off a bit, the first earthy smells of petrichor coming up from the ground, “So are you coming or not?”
“Yes,” he said.
I don’t remember the journey from his car to my front hall. My memory resumed when he closed the door behind us, grabbed me, and pushed me against it, trapping my body between his and that door.
Chapter 1
ALEXANDER
We kept up the pretense until we knew no one could hear us.
It was a fun game, pretending. And it also kept my mind off thinking about what was coming.
“Here are the reports you asked for, Mr. Crossley,” Alisha said, putting the iPad down on my desk. She leaned forward enough so that I could see the delicious swell of her breasts. She always kept the top two buttons undone.
“Thank you, Alisha,” I said, picking the tablet up and thumbing the screen so that the document pages scrolled quickly. It looked like a takeout menu for a local Chinese place.
The door to my office swung shut, and Alisha sat on my desk, her skirt hugging her hips. “There’s something else I think you need to see right away,” she said. Her lips were full, red, and glossy. I knew from experience how warm and soft they felt, too.
“Then I don’t see any reason to delay,” I replied. I stood, my desire thrumming inside me in shivering waves of hot and cold.
I came around the desk and grabbed Alisha up, pulling her body to mine. I kissed her savagely for a moment, loving the way she shuddered with her own desire against me.
Though one of the things I loved most that it was desire and nothing else. No feelings. No attachments.
Then I turned her around, her ass pressing against my hips while my hands started undoing her blouse. Her head fell back against my shoulder and I couldn’t resist running my lips up and down the smooth, sensitive skin of her long and graceful neck.
I could smell her lavender-scented shampoo, the floral scent racing through me.
“Alex...” she moaned through clenched teeth.
What Alisha and I had wasn’t love. It wasn’t a relationship. It was fulfillment. Fulfillment of lust, of fantasy. Neither of us were married. I was the CEO of this company. It didn’t matter if anyone knew what we were up to behind closed doors.
But still we kept it a secret. There was something thrilling about a secret like that.
I tugged the tails of her blouse up out of her skirt, my hands eager to feel the taut, smooth skin of her bare stomach.
“Here? On your desk?” Alisha asked. Her cheeks had the sexiest red flush to them, and as my hands slid slowly up her stomach her breath kept catching in her throat.
“Wherever I want you,” I replied. And then I pushed her down onto my desk, unzipped her skirt, and slid it down her thighs. My own breath hitched in my throat as I did. Sometimes I thought that moment of anticipation right before being with a woman was the best part of the whole thing.
That moment when desire crescendos, when every nerve in both of you burned and sparked until it hurt.
I barely took note of the sight of the Chicago skyline seen through the plate glass windows on the other side of my desk. We were on the 52nd floor and the view up here was stunning, but the view of Alisha’s toned body, quivering with the need for me, was better.
When we finished I went and sat in my chair, watching Alisha put herself back together. Her hair was in disarray, and that flush I’d noticed earlier still radiated from her cheeks.
I was relaxed, my muscles loose and ropey, a pleasant heat spreading out through me.
I looked at her and thought that this situation was perfect for me. It was just sex. No feelings to get in the way, no obligations to worry about. Feelings were an obligation I could do without. Just satisfaction. I also thought that that was exactly all I wanted, and all that I’d ever need.
As always, I ignored that small pang inside me that signified wondering whether there could, or should, be more.
Except Alisha didn’t leave. She stood in front of my desk, watching me. Vague discomfort shouldered its way into my mind, and I wondered if maybe Alisha thought that this was something other than casual sex.
Even though she had told me on several occasions that it was not.
“Yes?” I said. I would regret firing her, but I’d still do it. I wasn’t about to let her get in my way.
She brushed a few stray strands of blond hair away from her forehead. That lovely red flush finally started leaving her cheeks. “Your meeting with the head of PR is starting soon.”
And just like that my worries about her melted away. Once more she was businesslike. As though what we’d just done hadn't done what we’d done.
“Oh,” I said, “That.” I wondered if maybe I should fire Alisha anyway. Get rid of the problem before it started. We’d been having our liaisons for, what? Three or four months now, I realized.
Far longer than I usually went on with a woman. I should cut things of before they could get complicated, I knew. But she was just so stunning. Even though I could see that she wasn't a nice or good person.
But this was about the sex and not the person.
Fifteen minutes later my head of public relations, Jean Carmody, sat across my desk from me. She was an older woman who preferred pantsuits and had a head of silver hair pulled back into a taut ponytail.
“I still don’t see why this is necessary. It’s not like I’m running for office,” I said.
Carmody gave me one of her tight-lipped smiles. I thought she would have made a good school principal. A somewhat ironic thought, given what we were talking about.
“No, sir, I understand that. But we do have to do something about the company’s image before we start seeing an impact on the bottom line. You said as much yourself at the retreat last fall. That’s why you signed up for the program in the first place.”
“Yes,” I said, “But I don’t like schools, and I definitely don’t like kids,” I said.
“Teenagers. The market just opened twenty minutes ago and we’re already up two points on the news. If we cancel now we could see a drop. A big one.”
“And I have to do this for how long? Two weeks?” I said, turning in my chair so that I faced the window and the view of Chicago’s skyline again. I could see Carmody’s reflection in the glass.
I wished that I’d told Alisha to stay for the meeting. At least then I could have looked at her, maybe started coming up with some new fantasies to fulfill.
“Two weeks,” Carmody confirmed.
I took a deep breath and then blew it out, resigning myself to whatever fate had in store for me. “What’s the name of this place again?”
“Thomas A. Edi
son High,” Carmody replied. “I’ve already spoken with the principal, a Mr. Stockwell. They’re expecting you.”
I pushed myself up from the chair, “Let’s get this over with.”
Chapter 2
CHARLIE
I picked up the stack of marked essays. Thirty seven in all, I knew. There were forty students in this class, and I knew I’d have to have a talk with the three who decided that they didn’t need to hand in their papers.
I ran my thumb over the top right corner of the stack, flipping through them like a mobster might run his thumb through a wad of cash, making sure some wise guy hadn’t tried hiding singles between a couple $100 notes.
The paper was all the same. I knew because I’d bought it. 20-weight stuff from Staples. On sale of course. A teacher’s salary pretty much made sure you didn’t buy things at full price.
I’d had everyone email their essays to me so that I could print them here at school. Many of my students didn’t have printers, let alone paper to print on.
Not here at Thomas A. Edison High, where average family income for students usually dipped below the poverty line.
I had the papers arranged by grade, all in red ink. And I had to say that I was pretty proud of the number of A and B level grades in there.
I glanced at the clock and rubbed at my eyes, hoping I didn’t look as tired as I felt. And then I took a quick look down at myself, feeling a sudden moment of panic as I wondered if I’d put on the blouse with the ink stain on it.
“Hey, Miss M.”
“Hey, Tyler,” I said, smiling at the young man as he walked in and sat at his desk. It was like he’d broken the seal. My classroom soon filled with youths. They smiled and laughed and didn’t seem to notice how cramped the space was.
It was a plain room, with cinder block walls and rows of efficient fluorescent lights in the ceiling. For the past two weeks the tube in the back left corner had been flickering and buzzing. Three others at various points in the room were dark. On cloudy days it could get pretty dark in there.
