Wild Man

by Kristen Ashley

“Dade,” I whispered.

  “They’re terrified of her,” he announced. “Or, for her.”

  I closed my eyes and looked away.

  Then I opened them and looked at him. “You need to speak to Brock.”

  This time he kept his mouth shut.

  I leaned forward and put my elbows on my knees, holding the cup and saucer in front of me. “If you have concerns, their father should know.”

  “I have had concerns for some time, Tess. My concerns are one of the reasons I hired someone to watch my wife, outside of the fact that she’s slept with her tennis instructor and her personal trainer and the massage therapist at her spa. She likes to collect men. This is her pastime outside of spending my money.”

  “Perhaps you’ve misunderstood these relationships. Perhaps she’s just, um… friendly,” I suggested lamely.

  “I have pictures.”

  Eek!

  “Okay,” I gave in.

  “She’s a different woman than the woman I courted.”

  Jeez, he said “courted.”

  I nodded. “I’ve heard that before.”

  “I’m certain you have.”

  I had nothing to say to that so I didn’t say anything.

  “I have not spent decades being relatively successful in a boardroom only to get played by an out-of-the-bottle, forty-four-year-old blonde who doesn’t know the difference of the uses ‘their,’ ‘they’re,’ and ‘there.’ ”

  “I’m sorry,” I said quietly.

  “I am too,” he replied.

  I put my saucer down on the coffee table, picked up the plate with the cookies, and extended it to him.

  “They’re store bought and that would be ‘they’re,’ with the apostrophe ‘re,’ ” I said in an attempt at a joke. He blinked and I smiled. “If I’d known I was going to have a heart-to-heart, I would have been certain to make a chocolate cake, the heart-to-heart kind with the whipped chocolate frosting between the layers and ganache on top. Unfortunately, I didn’t know, so this is all I have.”

  He studied me and his face softened.

  Then he said quietly, “I’ll decline. But perhaps you’ll send a slice of your chocolate heart-to-heart cake back with the boys sometime.”

  “I’ll be certain to do that,” I whispered, setting the plate down.

  “I would advise you to hurry,” he went on.

  I got the hint and I smiled sadly at him.

  “I’m so sorry, Dade.”

  “She speaks of you,” he whispered back and I pulled in a breath. “To the boys and me. You’re all that’s on her mind.” He smiled a small smile. “And that would be ‘you’re,’ with an apostrophe ‘re.’ ”

  I smiled, then sat back in the sofa, muttering, “I was afraid of that.”

  “She does not give up easily, Tess,” he warned and I pulled in another breath. “After my wife died, I told myself, not again. Never again. My wife was a good woman, kind, generous. I did not wish to…” He paused. “But Olivia, she worked hard at it. Three years. I thought I was lucky to be a man who, in his lifetime, found two beautiful, kind-hearted women.”

  I bit my lip again.

  Dade finished, “I was wrong.”

  I tilted my head to the side, about to say I was sorry again, when the front door opened.

  Crap!

  I turned to it to see my man in a black skintight long-sleeved running shirt with dark gray piping and matching (but loose) track pants. His hair was wet with sweat, as were the muscles of his neck, and you could see the dark stain of it on his shirt even though it was black wicking.

  He took one look at Dade on my armchair, his brows snapped together over dangerously narrowed eyes, and he rumbled, “What the fuck?”

  I jumped up and rushed to him.

  “It’s cool, honey. Joel told him where I live and Dade he’s… well, coming to terms with some things and those things aren’t the things that Olivia may have told you they are,” I explained, then continued, “You need—”

  “No shit?” he cut me off, eyes never leaving Dade. He slammed the door behind him, took two long strides into the room with me following and staying close then stated, “You got issues, you do not bring them to my woman’s doorstep.”

  Dade straightened from his chair. “Lucas, I was under the false impression—”

  “That I was fucking your wife,” Brock finished for him. “Yeah, Dade, I know. Your PI sucks. I clocked him five minutes into my first nightmare meal with Olivia so I obviously clocked him five seconds into my second one. What you obviously don’t get is that, in a healthy relationship, a man doesn’t keep shit from his woman or vice versa.”

  Ouch!

  “Lucas, I—” Dade started but Brock cut him off again.

  “If you got something to say, say it to me. Do not land your shit on Tess’s door.”

  “He’s a little protective,” I said, defending Brock to Dade and then I turned back to Brock. “Honey, I think you might want to get over being pissed and sit down and talk with Dade.”

  Brock’s eyes narrowed on his ex-wife’s husband.

  Then he asked, “You gonna tell me why my boys are jumpy as shit?”

  “Yes,” Dade answered but said no more. Or at least he didn’t speak fast enough.

  “So…” Brock started, “spit it out.”

  “She’s fragile,” Dade stated.

  Brock let out an entirely unamused, short bark of laughter before he declared, “Man, Olivia’s made of stone, figuratively, and I assume you’ve fucked her so you know also literally.”

  Ouch again!

  “Brock, honey,” I whispered as Dade’s mouth got tight again.

  “No, Lucas,” he bit out. “What I mean is, this is what she communicates to the boys.”

  Brock’s entire body went still.

  Then he asked softly, “She’s playin’ my boys?”

  “With every breath she takes,” Dade answered.

  I froze and stared at Dade.

  Oh my God.

  “Why the fuck would she do that?” Brock asked what I thought was a very good question.

  “I would assume, since you’ve known her longer than I, you understand that she’s careful to acquire important allies. And I would assume, as you divorced her, that your reasons for this were at least partly what mine are going to be.”

  I heard Brock pull in a sharp breath through his nose at learning this news but Dade went on,

  “And she simply is who she is. So, I would assume that you understand that her needing as much attention as possible is as necessary to her as breath. But she’s forcing affection she’s not capable of obtaining in natural ways in case she should, for instance, need to battle me or…”—his eyes slid to me, then back to Brock—“you.”

  “Fuckin’ piece of work,” Brock clipped under his breath, looking away while lifting a hand and tearing it through his wet hair.

  “They’re exceedingly cautious around her because she dissolves into tantrums or tears often and at random. They have no idea what will set her off so they’re careful with everything,” Dade continued sharing, and he looked at me. “She was not like this prior to us being married or, at least, not that I knew.”

  “Let me guess,” Brock put in and Dade’s eyes moved back to him. “It happened, what? An hour after she signed the marriage certificate?”

  “Upon return from our honeymoon,” Dade corrected.

  “Terrific. At least you got the honeymoon,” Brock returned and Dade’s eyes widened.

  “No,” he said quietly.

  “Uh… yeah,” Brock replied.

  “My Lord,” Dade whispered.

  “So you’re divorcin’ her ass?” Brock asked.

  “Indeed,” Dade answered.

  “Shit, fuck, fuck,” Brock muttered harshly to the floor.

  I would guess there were several reasons for Brock cursing at the floor. One of them would be that, without Dade, Olivia would be on her own again to drain him dry financially. The other was tha
t she would have the time to put more effort into making him miserable.

  Damn.

  Dade looked at him. Then he looked at me.

  He looked back to Brock and said softly, “Whatever move you’re going to make”—Brock’s head came up and his eyes locked with Dade’s—“make it soon. I will delay for a few weeks so the boys will have some stability, a roof over their heads, familiar things around them. But only a few weeks, Lucas. I cannot take much more.”

  I felt my heart beating hard and I felt Brock’s body still beside mine.

  “And,” he went on, studying Brock closely, “if it comes to that, I will do what I can to help you.” He paused. “For Joey and Rex.”

  Wow.

  Whatever they said about a woman scorned, when a man was… whoa.

  When Brock said not a word and continued staring at Dade, I waded in.

  “Dade, that… that’s very kind. Very kind. The boys may never understand but if they did, they’d appreciate it and, um…”—my head jerked to Brock and I finished—“we do too.”

  Dade nodded, then said quietly, “This gives you only weeks to make that heart-to-heart cake, Tess.”

  “I miss the deadline, I’ll bring a full one by your house and leave it on the doorstep,” I offered.

  “My dear,” he replied, moving toward us and stopping in front of me, “ring the bell anytime.” He turned his head and his eyes went up to Brock before he said softly, “I started with a good one. Lucky for you that you’re ending with one.”

  Wow. That was sweet.

  He nodded to me and muttered, “Pleasure, Tess. Thank you for the coffee. I’ll let myself out.”

  He waited for my smile, skirted us, and let himself out.

  I turned to Brock.

  “If you want, I’ll gather all the things I don’t mind you smashing and put them on the coffee table, or an alternate option, I can go grab you a bottle of beer,” I offered.

  He looked down at me. Then he stalked to my armchair, sat down, bent forward, put his elbows to his knees and both hands to the back of his head.

  I hurried to him and crouched down beside him, my fingers curling around his thigh.

  “Seriously, Brock, let this out,” I whispered.

  “Fucked up,” he muttered to his knees.

  “Brock—”

  “Knew I shouldn’t’ve but left them to her for a year. A fuckin’ year,” he bit off.

  “Honey—”

  “She’s playin’ my boys,” he said, still talking to his knees.

  I squeezed his thigh. “Honey—”

  “With every breath she takes.”

  I squeezed his thigh again but kept my fingers tensed into his flesh and also kept silent.

  “Fuck!” he exploded, then threw himself back against the chair.

  I straightened, moved, and climbed in, putting a knee in the seat on either side of his hips so I was astride him. I leaned forward, hands on the fast-drying material of his running shirt, and put my face in his face, feeling his hands curve around my hips.

  “This, too, shall pass,” I whispered.

  “Yeah, babe, but it needed to pass yesterday or, say, two fuckin’ years ago,” Brock responded.

  “Okay, it didn’t. You can’t turn back time, honey. Just talk to them.”

  “And say what, Tess? That their mom is a miserable, scheming cunt and their dad is an asshole who put his job before them and left them to that bullshit?” Brock asked angrily.

  “I would shy away from the c-word,” I advised on a whisper, sliding my hands up to his neck and holding tight. “And, also, maybe the a-word too.”

  He sucked in a breath through his nose and looked over my shoulder as his fingers dug into my hips.

  Then his eyes came back to mine. “I want you over tonight.”

  I shook my head and squeezed his neck. “You should be with your boys and Martha came by earlier. I’m meeting her and some friends at Club.”

  “You didn’t hear me, Tess. I want you over tonight.”

  “Brock, they need their dad and me being around is just confusing them and making them feel torn and maybe even guilt.”

  “Babe, you are not gonna disappear every time I have them especially when I have full custody of them. Eventually, this two-house bullshit we got goin’ is gonna be done, we’re gonna be livin’ together, and they’re gonna be with us.”

  My fingers spasmed on his neck at this news. News it appeared Brock took for granted. News that was news to me.

  Happy news.

  He kept talking, cutting into the tingles I was experiencing due to receiving this happy news.

  “They gotta learn her games just like the rest of us and they also gotta learn that a woman who’ll work twelve-hour days and still break her neck to give them a fuckin’ good Christmas, smilin’ bright even though she’s got fatigue in her eyes, is not someone they need to feel torn and guilty about likin’.”

  Okay, he wasn’t wrong about that.

  “Okay, honey, but I have to go out with Martha. She came over and had a drama about how she never sees me. I need to give her some time.”

  He stared at me and I could tell this wasn’t going over very well.

  I leaned closer. “You have your talk with your boys, dinner, guy time. I’ll have my girl time and come over later. And tomorrow, I’ll make something fabulous for breakfast.”

  “Tess—”

  “Payback, Brock,” I cut him off and his eyebrows shot together. “They asked me to go to the mall with them. I declined but traded free baked goods if they found a nightie that a bad-boy hot guy would appreciate being given for Valentine’s Day. I’m sworn off the mall until March. For you to have a happy Valentine’s Day, you owe them.”

  He stared at me again for a few seconds then his lips twitched and he shook his head.

  “My sweet Tess,” he muttered before he leaned in and touched his mouth to mine.

  When he leaned back, I whispered, “It’s all gonna be okay.”

  “Yeah,” he whispered back.

  I smiled at him then informed him, “You need a shower.”

  “So do you,” he replied.

  “I took one this morning,” I reminded him.

  “Well you’re gonna take another one,” he told me.

  The tingles came back.

  “Okay,” I whispered and he grinned.

  Then he stood up, taking me with him and putting me on my feet, saying, “We gotta be quick, babe. I gotta get the boys.”

  We’d done quick before. I preferred not quick.

  But quick would do in a pinch.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  When Exes Attack

  I HAD MY head thrown back, Brock’s hand was lifting my breast to his mouth, his mouth pulling hard on my nipple, his other hand was curved around my other breast, thumb circling the nipple, my fingers were in his hair, and I was grinding into him hard.

  I’d accepted a lift from Daisy (who was my new best friend seeing as she had a limo and a driver and she was sweet and she was hilarious) to get to Brock’s from Club.

  I’d done this because I was more than slightly inebriated.

  I’d also attacked my drowsy hot guy bad boy the minute I hit his bedroom and I’d done this because, as I said, I was more than slightly inebriated.

  Obviously, he didn’t mind.

  I started to make noises that Brock had heard many a time thus he did not misinterpret.

  His mouth left my nipple, his thumb stopped circling the other one only to be joined by a finger and start rolling, and he growled his order of, “Mouth.”

  I stopped grinding and started to ride him, whimpering deep, too caught up in what was happening between my legs to respond immediately.

  “Tess, mouth,” he growled again.

  My head tipped down, his hand slid up my spine, my neck, fingers in my hair. My whimpers became gasps as the sensations grew brilliantly desperate. He pressed my mouth down so my lips were against his, my noises filling his
mouth. I was this close when we heard the knock on the door.

  We both froze, me doing it after a downward glide so I was full of Brock.

  Then both our heads turned to the door when we heard Joel call, “Dad? Mom’s on the phone. She says it’s urgent.”

  Oh.

  My.

  God.

  “Tell me this isn’t happening,” Brock whispered, his voice super low but vibrating with fury.

  I wanted to tell him it wasn’t happening. I really, really wanted to tell him that. But I couldn’t tell him it wasn’t happening because it was.

  My eyes went beyond Brock to the alarm clock on his nightstand to see it was two thirty-four in the morning.

  A nanosecond later, Brock’s hands were at my waist. He pulled me swiftly but gently off him, twisted, and then I had my back to the bed, head to the pillows.

  He quickly bent and kissed my belly, rolled out of bed, and tossed the covers over me as he called, “Just a sec, Joey.”

  I pulled the covers all the way up to my neck and watched Brock tag his pajama bottoms from the floor, tug them on, and stalk to the door. Then I watched him put his hand to the doorknob, take in a deep breath, and open the door a wide crack while crouching at the same time.

  At this point, I heard a Joey I couldn’t see say a trembling, “Sorry, Dad, but she sounds scared.”

  I felt my mouth get tight as I watched by the hall light Joel had turned on as Brock’s did the same then I saw him reach out a hand.

  I watched him put a cell phone to his ear and my brows drew together.

  Since when did Joel have a cell phone? The kid was twelve, for goodness sakes.

  “Olivia?” I heard Brock ask as I turned and shoved my hand under my pillow to grab my nightie. “Intruders?” Brock enquired as I struggled to get it on under the bedclothes, then, “Where’s Dade?” Pause, then, “Have you called the cops?” Another pause, then, “Yeah, I’m the cops, Olivia, but I’m not available for personalized 24/7 callouts. Call the cops.” He paused while I got the nightgown down then rolled, put a hand to the floor, and stretched an arm out to nab my panties. “You won’t. I will, Olivia. If someone’s there their ETA will be a fuckuva lot shorter than mine. Stay put and I’ll call dispatch.”

  I was not having an easy time pulling my panties on under the sheets as I heard Brock snap the cell closed, then, “Wait here, buddy, I’ll be right back.”