Unlikely Allies

by C. C. Koen

  Better than any meditation, her personal, magic stress reliever swept an arm over her desk, sending paper, pencils, and a tissue box flying to the floor. He ripped her jacket open and had her khakis undone and off her legs in ten seconds flat. He propped her bare butt on the metal surface. His broad shoulders shoved her legs apart as he dropped to his knees. He blew a heated breath over her slit and swiped his thumb through the slick center. Then he devoured her, a combination of sucking lips, nipping teeth, and thrusting fingers, stirring and fueling her orgasm. His eyes locked on hers, he adjusted his technique in response to her jolts and shutters until she flew over the edge.

  He rose, licking her from pubic bone to chin and melting every brain cell she had left. Mouth to mouth he mumbled, “That was your appetizer. Call me when you’re ready for the next course. I’ll be at the bar stuffing myself with your treats in the meantime.”

  Unable to talk, mush on the inside and out, she let him take control again. He tugged her sprawled body off the desk and on to her wobbly feet. Unwound and on cloud nine, she let him dress her for the grand entrance. When he snapped the last clasp at her waist, she pulled him into a thankful embrace, breathing in his refreshing scent and invigorating spirit. “I love you, Mr. Stone.” She batted her eyes and nipped his upper lip, glossing it with a lick. His wink and sweet-as-pie grin blessed the occasion, a reflection of her own happiness and fond appreciation for all they accomplished together.

  “I aim to please, Mrs. Stone.”

  Oh, he did. No doubt about it, Richard Maxwell Stone had no problems satisfying his wife—over and over and over again.

  Five years later . . .

  Before entering her bedroom, Rick stood in the doorway and watched her primp. A dusting of pink shadow brushed over her eyes, a hint of rose on her cheekbones, and bubblegum-flavored gloss swiped across her lips. His heart lodged in his throat, anxiety clenched his gut, and a throbbing ache in his head told him he wasn’t handling this situation well.

  Cece tossed the makeup into a zippered clutch, glanced in the mirror and blotted a tissue between her lips, catching his watchful gaze. “Daddy, you okay?”

  Whatever he looked like on the outside couldn’t come close to how he felt on the inside. He’d been practicing a never-let-them-see-you-sweat face for a long time. Yet, in the twenty-plus years he’d been CEO nothing came close to the fire in his belly now.

  Cece got up from the bench seat, greeting him at the door by grabbing his cheeks between her hands as she’d been doing from the moment they met. “It’s just a date, Daddy. No big deal.”

  Not so. He knew what seventeen-year-old boys obsessed about. He pulled her into a tight hug and held her close, his chest pounding against hers. He rocked her side to side in a silent dance, her head tucked under his chin, wishing he could freeze time and she wouldn’t grow up.

  “You’re my baby, you know that, right?”

  She squeezed his back and pinched his ribs. “You’re my daddy, the only one I ever had. Ya know that, right?”

  Their strangled chuckles lightened the pressure some, but the fond memories left them both teary-eyed. He swept a thumb along the corner of her eyes, the green in them darker and bolder than the four-year-old version that captured his heart.

  “Mama went over the rules: no kissing on the first date and only hold hands. And Kitty told me not to go past first base.”

  Pounding a fist on his chest, he hacked up the spit that clogged his airway after Cece’s nonchalant presentation of her evil aunt’s instructions. If it were up to him, his daughter wouldn’t glance at boys or go out with men until she turned fifty. Outnumbered in his domain, the females of the house voted against him, ensuring he lost that battle.

  After several long and drawn-out breaths, he pulled himself together and sucked up the inevitable. At some point it would happen. He might as well get it over with now. Besides, the doorbell ringing almost guaranteed the “date” hadn’t ditched his daughter.

  Wonderful.

  Cece patted him on the cheek and reminded him of another time. “Itta be okay.” Then she kissed his chin, leaving him alone to stew on that thought, taking him back to simpler, less traumatic moments.

  Determined she wouldn’t step foot out of the house before he got his hands on the boy toy and dispensed his do-and-die message, he raced down the stairs and into the living room. Hyped up on adrenaline, his grin came easily at the sight of a room full of reinforcements.

  His evil-looking enforcers, Matt and Alex, stood behind the couch with their arms crossed over their bulky chests. The boy of the hour, a blond, pimple-faced geek with wire-rim glasses, eyeballed him just as Rick did. Adam’s apple bobbing, his daughter’s date sat squished between Gramps and Kat.

  Rick marched forward in attack mode as he rubbed his palms together and warmed up by cracking his knuckles.

  “Mr. St-Stone. Nice to meet you, sir.” The stutterer got up and extended his hand. “Robert Stanford.” Grandpa’s snort and Kat’s clucking had Robert’s firm grip turning damp before Rick released it.

  “Where you going? Who’s driving?”

  Shoulders firm and square, Robert looked him right in the eye and gave him a straightforward answer. “The movies, sir. I have a Mustang my dad got me last year for my birthday.”

  Matt chimed in. “I already checked. No tickets.”

  Robert’s chin whipped over his shoulder, aiming his reply at Matt. “I don’t speed.”

  “Don’t blow smoke, kid. You got a car built for zero to sixty in five seconds. You’re not foolin’ anyone.” In a relaxed state with his arms bent and leaning on the back of the sofa, Alex’s intense stare dared the kid to snap and challenge him, so he could strike swift and hard.

  Robert pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Mr. Stone, you have my word. I won’t go over the limit.”

  Just what Rick wanted to hear and opened the door for the next stage of his assault. He grabbed the boy’s shoulders, squeezing them as he laid down the law. “Bring her home no later than ten. No R-rated movies. You touch anything but her hand, I break yours.” The kid’s eyes almost popped out of his head. “Anywhere else, I smash that part on you. Got me?”

  Robert nodded, slowly.

  “Any questions?”

  More than Robert’s head shook this time; the quakes under Rick’s pinching grip indicated he understood.

  “Good. Treat my daughter with respect at all times.” His ominous message delivered, Rick wandered into the kitchen where Maggie kept Cece entertained. Their plan formulated in advance, his wife supported his need to protect his daughter. Maggie hadn’t questioned his defensive approach, much.

  “Is he still breathing?” Cece asked, knowing her dad too well.

  Rick cuddled up from behind Maggie and stroked her swelling stomach. “He’ll live.” He tucked his chin into the crook of her neck and breathed in the new peach and honey almond scent he’d slathered on her skin this morning.

  Cece rolled her eyes just like her aunt did about a hundred times a day and pecked her mama and him on the cheek. “I love you.” After they returned the sentiment, she left them to commiserate with one another, tossing a casual see-ya-later wave over her head, but an eager little hop and skip relayed her enthusiasm to get going. As he watched his sweet pea take gigantic steps into adulthood, the only thing that quelled his displeasure was the fact that there might not be much remaining of Robert once she reached him.

  Matt and Alex worshipped Cece as if she were their own daughter. Horatio Stone would lay down his own life for his precious princess. And Kat would hack off pieces one by one from anyone who hurt her bucket head. Once they all took their hits at Robert, Cece would have to accept whatever fragment or cell still had life. This event might just make it into the record books as the shortest dating experience in history.

  Maggie kissed him under the chin and swayed along with him to the funky rap song playing from her cell phone. Her eclectic tastes in music were on whenever she cooked, took
a shower, or planted vegetables and herbs in her garden.

  He rubbed his thumb along her belly button and sucked on the birthmark at the base of her neck. “How’s the baby?”

  “Hmm, jumpy. He likes music too.” She rested her head on his shoulder, relaxing into his chest while he felt her up. The bundle rotating and kicking in his hand.

  “Maybe she just has the same taste and cravings as her mama?”

  Maggie spun around and slung her arms over his neck. “You just jinxed yourself. Can you handle another girl? Because I hate to tell you this, your daughter gave you a C on the first date test. She cut you a break and didn’t fail you for poor performance.”

  The thumping bass picked up and so did they, rocking their hips and gyrating against each other. “That’s excellent. Maybe her mama should provide private tutoring. I have a lot of lessons in mind.” He emphasized his need by rubbing his length over the seam of her shorts, his finger tracing the stitching and offering a hint at objective number one. “What a ya say, Mrs. Stone? Got any room for me?” He tucked his hand under the hem of her nylon shorts and slipped beneath her panties, marking the moist starting point with a stroking introduction.

  “Mmm, I think I can find time on my schedule. But you’re gonna have to give up something real good to convince me since I’m extremely tight.”

  The clench around his fingers, dipping in and out of her, confirmed he needed to squeeze in a couple incentives to get what he wanted. “What if I’m real, real bad and need extra special attention. You know, to perform just right.”

  Maggie nibbled along his bottom lip, humming in agreement.

  He unzipped his jeans and lined up his erection. A gap appeared when he removed his fingers. “It looks like you’re wide open right now.” Ending any further discussion, he devoured her mouth, their tongues dueling each other. As an overeager and committed student, he braced for a hard and long ride. His legs spread wide, he palmed her butt and dove in head first.

  School—now in session.

  Since bad boys had tons of needs, he required Mrs. Stone’s individualized attention to complete hours of homework before, during, and after instruction.

  Under Mrs. Stone’s guidance, he earned an A+++.

  A perfect score.

  Five years later . . .

  “Mrs. C, where’s that hammer?” Rick shouted, propping the framed Ansel Adams photograph of lower Yosemite Falls against the pine green wall. They had camped there last summer and since the park had been Cece’s favorite, he figured she’d appreciate the addition.

  “Are you looking for this?”

  Not expecting her to arrive this early, the question caught him by surprise, causing him to lose his balance on the padded chair. He threw his hand out to the wall to steady his footing and glanced over his shoulder. A few inches shorter than his six-two, Cece leaned against the doorjamb, a hammer waving in her left hand. Her asymmetrical, shaggy haircut would take some getting used to. For so long she wore it hip length, often in pigtails or a ponytail until she turned ten, then she let the abundant, bouncy curls flow free. Over the weekend, she cut them all off, showing up for Sunday dinner with the hacked, uneven strands, shorter in the back, longer in the front, like sideburns jutting an inch below her jaw. If the cherry-red strands were dyed blond, she’d end up looking like her crazy aunt’s twin. He didn’t know whether it had been a rite of passage, Cece’s coming of age, twenty-one-year-old thing to do, but the cutting-edge style made him cringe. The punk rock, grunge, head-banger combination represented an anti-executive stance. Since Cece always marched to the beat of her own drum, he shouldn’t have been shocked in the least bit. Other than that though, she embraced every bit of the corporate powerhouse persona and suited attire.

  “Daddy, you don’t have to do that. I can put it up.”

  Once he got on solid footing again, he placed the frame on her desk and pulled her into a crushing bear hug. “I wanted your first day to be a good one. I got all the other pictures up. You’re early.”

  Cece pulled her head off his shoulder and looked at him. Her are-you-crazy smile pulled up the left side of her mouth. “Daddy . . .” She pecked him on the chin, then swiped her thumb across his jaw, wiping off her lipstick. “I’m not a newbie. I can handle decorating my office.”

  Yeah, when Cece turned sixteen she started an internship with him, attended board meetings, and trained for an associate’s position. After graduating with a business management degree last week, he’d offered her a partnership, and she’d accepted.

  He brushed his thumb along her cheek, his heart pinching at how fast his sweet pea had grown up. The city had been a huge draw. Cece moved into a Manhattan apartment a month after her acceptance letter to Columbia College arrived. He couldn’t believe four years had gone by, and his baby would be embarking into the next stage of adulthood, an executive at Gateway Enterprises. His dad may have had grand visions of his son working at his side, but Rick never encouraged his daughter to become involved. He didn’t want that type of pressure on a child, not the kind he’d put on himself anyway. Even so, the legacy had been achieved, and the company was at the top. In the process he’d learned about the necessity of balance. He hadn’t let the job rule him after Maggie and Cece became his. Life was too short. He wanted to enjoy his blessings, and he had every reason to. With Maximilian and Katarina just finishing ninth grade and River in preschool, he kept slowing down more and more, took weekends off, and two months scattered throughout the year for family vacations—a renewed tradition that included his parents’ cabin in the Catskills, amusement parks, and camping. As well as any other place or activity Maggie and the kids dreamed up. He became their enthusiastic cheerleader and participated right along with them. Just as his dad had done and brought him full circle. His mom said his father always wanted him to get married and have children. To focus on family, not work. But he hadn’t needed Mom to open his eyes. He figured it out. Finally.

  Now he had to move on to the next phase, handing over the reins. He hadn’t anticipated Cece would jump in and take over. She approached him about learning the ropes, and even though he tried many times to talk her out of it, as usual, her persistence wore him down. And here they were, in her office, adjacent to his. But she wouldn’t be doing it alone. He hired a dozen top business graduates the past month, many of them were homeless teens who lived in the Kensington shelter and interned at Gateway alongside Cece. His philanthropic daughter had become an active volunteer and contributor to the youth home. She obtained a seat on their board at eighteen and hit the pavement running, using her charms to schmooze wealthy execs and celebs, netting millions in donations. John took her under his wing, mentored her, and developed a fond affection for her during their jogging fests, which she had tagged along on since middle school. A track star, 10k events were her preference, but she won many first place ribbons and trophies for sprints, hurdles, and relays. Always on the move, she didn’t slow down often, and when she did, martial arts, cooking, and ballet were her hobbies.

  “It’ll be okay.” Cece patted him on the cheek, pulling him back to the present.

  “I love you.”

  Cece’s smiling eyes darted from him to her desk. Two crystal vases were on each corner, where he always placed her flowers. He gave them to her for every special occasion. She’d be his sweet pea and baby, forever.

  “Knock, knock.”

  They spun around to find Maggie with her hands on her hips, shaking her head. “I guess my daughter has left me in the dust again.”

  Laughing the entire way to the entrance, Cece tucked an arm around her mama’s waist and strolled toward her desk. “Since Miss Sally was gonna tell you how bad River was being again, I figured I’d get out of there before she gave you a report about me too.”

  He sat riveted to the edge of the leather trim between the two vases and secured his wife and daughter’s hand in each of his. “Why? Should we prepare for something you haven’t told us yet?”

  With an inno
cent blink, Cece stuck out her tongue and sucked it back in, announcing with sugary sweetness, “I’m the stay out of trouble, good child. Just remember that when you’re bailing River out. And as the older sister I feel obliged to warn you, Katarina and Max are the sneaky ones and instigators.”

  “Lying again, cupcake.”

  The boisterous, take-charge claim wrenched their attention from each other to the street- smart Don Juan in the doorway.

  Rick scooted off the desk and extended his hand to the new associate. At that exact moment Cece grumbled an f-bomb under her breath. “Carter, welcome to Gateway. Eight on the nose. A good start.” A firm and confident handshake gripped Rick’s and spoke volumes about the tenacious, top-of-his-class Harvard graduate. Yet no one would ever suspect Carter lived on the streets for three years before volunteers at Kensington House unearthed his stabbed and bleeding remains, buried under boxes at the foot of the Manhattan Bridge, saving him at age fifteen.

  “You can depend on me, sir.” Carter launched another greeting directed over Rick’s shoulder. “Mrs. Stone, a pleasure to see you again.”

  “You too. I trust my husband and daughter will keep you busy, but make sure you have fun. Take time to enjoy other things.”

  Carter’s eyes flicked to Cece and narrowed. “Oh, don’t worry, I plan to.” Then switched to his boss. “Mr. Stone, where do you want me to start?”

  Rick wanted to begin by knocking the smug smirk off Carter’s face and throwing him out, far away from his fit-to-be-tied daughter. But Cece banished her daddy and his overprotective instincts years ago after he showed up unannounced at her apartment, let himself in with his emergency key, and got the wind knocked out of him when he found a boxer-clad jock flipping pancakes in her kitchen. His daughter strolled in a few seconds later, wearing a crotch-skimming towel with tangled, wet locks dripping over her bare shoulders.

  Not only did he have to bite his tongue, but he had to swear on a stack of bibles he wouldn’t interfere in her love life. Not that she had boyfriends. No, his daughter embraced college freedom and took after his one-night stand escapades. Payback and punishment for his wild and no-commitments attitude—his adult daughter’s choices came back to haunt him.