Outlaws: A Romance Anthology

by Yolanda Olson

  Puzzled and amused, I reached into the bag and pulled out a rectangular box wrapped in cellophane. “Butterfly Bliss,” I read aloud. A woman’s silhouette in brushstrokes that merged into a butterfly wing was the only hint of what the item was.

  “It’s a sex toy,” she explained, and at the words, I almost dropped the thing on the floor. “One of the best around. Multi-use, covers all the bases. Clit, anus—”

  I held up a hand, feeling my stupid face heat up. “Okay, I got it. Um… thank you?”

  She laughed. “Hon, try it. Nothing makes a girl feel better than self-pleasure.” She winked, then clapped her hands. “Alright, I better go.”

  Another flash of lightning, another crash of thunder.

  “Enjoy!” she called out as she left my office. “I’ll lock up behind me!”

  “Bye, Jess!” I yelled back, shaking my head at my friend and the crazy gift she’d given me.

  I set it on my desk and looked back up at the clock. “Ugh. Okay, work.”

  Just then, the promised rain fell from the sky in heavy, loud sheets, pelting the window and the roof. I heard Jessica curse from the foyer, then the rush of sound as she left the building. My phone dinged, letting me know I had a new text message, and after reading it, I tossed my phone onto the desk.

  Dylan had written that is was looking more like six-thirty before he could make it. He’d call me soon.

  With more than an hour now to kill, I began sorting through the invitations, organizing dates into the computer, then filing away a few things. Twenty-minutes in, it was so dark in the office, I turned on my desk light, shut the blinds, and eyed the Butterfly Bliss.

  Curiosity got the better of me.

  Chapter Two

  Trenton

  I had just entered my house after a grueling day at the office when Dylan called. A storm was coming, and I was just happy to have gotten home before it hit. I was looking forward to a quiet dinner, something delicious that Phyllis, my housekeeper, would have ready for me, and maybe afterward I’d have a glass of brandy, do some reading, then have a long shower before going to bed.

  I sounded like an old man, even to myself.

  “Dylan,” I answered, dropping my keys into the glass bowl on the foyer table.

  “Dad, hey, I need a favor.”

  Feeling a headache coming on, I rubbed the bridge of my nose as I walked up the stairs to my bedroom. “What is it this time, son?”

  “It’s Priscilla. I can’t pick her up, something came up and I’m going to be too late. Got a prospect in Marion that looks too promising to put off until tomorrow. Tom and I are close to making a deal.”

  I ignored the reasoning and went straight to my first thought. “And why is Priscilla without a car?” My daughter-in-law drove a practically brand-new Lexus, had purchased it myself a few months ago, in fact.

  “Well, it’s in the shop. So I dropped her off at work this morning.”

  “I see. And they didn’t offer a rental?”

  He cleared his throat. “Uh… no? I didn’t know they did that. So can you pick her up?”

  The sound of thunder shook the roof at his request, matching the pulsing pain in my temples.

  “Dad?” he asked after a few beats of silence on my end.

  I looked at my watch. It was a few minutes after five o'clock. I’d be able to be back home before six. “Fine.”

  Dylan let out a breath loud enough for me to pull the phone away from my ear. “Thanks, Dad. If it wasn’t so important—”

  “Dylan?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Do better.” I ended the call.

  After changing, I went down to the kitchen and quickly told Phyllis I’d be right back, that I had an errand. But on second thought, I asked her to prepare a meal for two, which she said wouldn’t be a problem.

  The storm had finally landed, seeming to have a good stay over the city as I got on the highway, my windshield wipers working at maximum speed. The Pavilion was only a short drive away.

  I was pissed at my youngest son, so pissed that I had to force myself to slow down.

  The little shit had lied to me. Not the first time, of course, and definitely wouldn’t be the last. And it wasn’t only the lying that had me worked up. He wasn’t taking care of his wife. He didn’t have her best interest in mind. Yes, he was young and they’d only been married practically a year. Also true was that he was spoiled, always had been. My wife’s doing, that. Rebecca had always doted on him, giving him every benefit of the doubt, and because I was so buried into my work as head of the family, I let her.

  We had four children together and had been married sixteen years before she died. Dylan had been eleven at the time, and as the years passed, I admit I let him be, only interfering in his life when I had no choice. Guilt, you see, was a powerful thing.

  He was twenty-five now, five years older than me when I had married his mother, old enough to know what being a responsible adult was all about, especially in our world and the family he was raised in.

  Dylan had married a beautiful woman who still had no clue how to fit into our family. She was simply too gentle. As soon as I met her, I knew she wasn’t right for him, that she’d waste away like a hothouse flower in the cold if she married my son. But Dylan wanted her from the first moment he’d seen her, and again, I gave in, not even questioning it.

  That was a mistake.

  I turned onto the exit, slowing down—still driving too fast—and waited at the stoplight. The rain was relentless, and I could barely see the blurring red light. I gripped the wheel hard as I remembered the words Dylan had said on the phone earlier. Not only had he lied to me, but he had dragged his brother Thomas into his lies.

  What Dylan didn’t know—of course he wouldn’t, that would signify some intelligence on his part, which he lacked—was that I had just spoken to Thomas, who was with Marissa, his wife, waiting for a table at the sushi place downtown. Tom had wanted my advice on a venture he’d been working on, and it wasn’t the supposed one in Marion.

  Ten minutes later, Dylan had called, saying he was with his brother. Right.

  The light turned green and I made my way carefully to the next block, where the Pavilion was. The parking lot was empty, the lobby’s front entrance was dark, but a few windows down, a light shone dimly behind the blinds.

  Turning off the car, I realized my umbrella was in the trunk, of all places. The rain was just too much to be standing at the back of the car spending time searching for it, so I cursed out loud and made a run for the door, my shoes and pant legs soaked from the puddles of rain that had transformed the parking lot into a small lake.

  I opened the glass doors, thinking that I should have called first, both glad and angry—she was all alone, for God’s sake—that the doors were unlocked. I was banking on Dylan letting her know I was going to be picking Priscilla up, but knowing him, that probably hadn’t happened.

  Thunder rolled, covering the sound of my entrance so that when I walked inside the cool, dry foyer, I remembered to slow down so as not to scare the hell out of her. I thought about calling her now, but when I checked my wet pockets, I found no phone. I had left it in my bedroom, dammit, which was proof enough of my irritation at my youngest son.

  I’d only been to the Pavilion a few times, but I did remember where her office was. I quietly walked down the dark hallway, only to abruptly stop, frozen from what I was seeing. Her office door was wide open, the room lit in soft gold, like candlelight. A flash of lightning illuminated the hallway just then, and I absently scooted back to stay hidden. There in her chair, with her long slender legs on her desk, sat my daughter-in-law, her skirt rucked up to her waist, her hand working her pussy, her head back, face flushed, eyes closed.

  I’d never in my whole life seen something so erotic.

  Still frozen, I felt all the blood in my body settle in my cock, swelling, pulsing. When I heard the hottest sound I’d ever heard, a cross between a moan and a whimper, I almost came in my pant
s.

  Fucking hell, it was hot.

  Thankfully, the adult man in me realized I was witnessing something I should never have seen.

  I shook myself and turned away, walking back to the entrance. I gave her a few minutes before making a production of having just arrived. My knock on the glass was loud enough to be heard over the storm outside, but not too aggressive to frighten. I pulled the door open, leaving it gaping wide to allow the rain’s presence to be heard, and then I stomped my feet for effect, letting the door close before calling out her name.

  “Priscilla? It’s Trenton. Are you here?” Causal. Polite. Natural but removed.

  I heard a rustle and what sounded like a drawer being slammed.

  “Mr. Love?” she asked, her voice high and squeaky but loud enough to carry.

  I smiled and shook my head. So proper. She still couldn’t bring herself to call me anything but Mr. Love, even though she was part of the family now, including owning that same last name.

  “Yes, it’s me. I’ve come to pick you up. Are you ready to go?” I added a hint of impatience just for the heck of it. I was still reeling from what I saw her doing minutes earlier and could swear she’d be able to hear it in my voice.

  Rucked-up skirt, long legs spread.

  Fuck me. I’d never get those images out of my head now.

  Who would have guessed such a meek little lamb would be so wanton, masturbating at her desk during a storm.

  Dylan owed me big time, I thought. But then again, the inconvenience my wayward, idiot son had thrown my way was worth all the money in the world. Now I just needed to separate what I’d witnessed from all future interactions with my daughter-in-law.

  I had a feeling I wouldn’t be able to.

  Chapter Three

  Priscilla

  Oh. My. God.

  Trenton Love was in the building, here, now, after I had just—

  No. I wouldn’t even think about the fact he had almost—was seconds away!—from seeing me sprawled out like a… horny, out of control hussy.

  I thought Jessica locked up!

  After practically breaking my desk drawer and shoving the offensive vibrator inside, I stood up, frantic, adjusting my blouse and skirt, patting my chignon, which was a mess. Oh my God. I could only imagine what I looked like. Would Trenton give me a second or two to step into the bathroom?

  “Almost ready, just a sec!” I called out, just as lightning struck way too close to the building, the sound coalescing with the darkness that filled the room. The electricity had gone out.

  Which was a gift to me. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be able to tell how crazy I must have looked.

  I grabbed my purse from the floor, shoved my phone inside, then turned off the desk lamp for when the electricity came back on. Nervously, I hurried down the hall, where Trenton stood, his hands in his pockets, only his silhouette visible.

  “I apologize for the lack of umbrella,” he said, his deep voice making my mouth go dry. “So we’ll have to make a run for it.”

  Confused, it took me a moment to figure out what he was talking about, but then I remembered the rain. “Oh, that’s okay.”

  He only stood there, as if expecting me to say more, but finally turned and opened the door.

  I followed him as he jogged to his car, rain pelting down on us. I cried out when my heels, which were high and lacking any kind of traction, decided to trip me, and I fell in a giant puddle.

  “Here, I got you,” he shouted over the rain. Trenton helped me up. “Can you walk?”

  Wincing and embarrassed, I gingering placed my feet on the ground, but tilted. “Um..”

  Suddenly, I was lifted into his arms, sheltered by Trenton’s neck against my face. Rivulets of water rolled off his hair into my tightly closed eyes. He smelled like expensive cologne, a sophisticated man scent, something well-thought-out and chosen with great care, unlike what Dylan wore, some trendy cologne that blended in with too much testosterone.

  I breathed him in, Trenton Love. The most intimating man I’d ever met. He was carrying me. Effortlessly, in the rain, smelling so damn good.

  He let me down, holding me close so that I could lean on him, and I heard the beep of the car unlocking. He opened the passenger door and helped me get in. Inside, it was dry, so blissfully dry, but I immediately began to shiver. What with being soaked to the bone, the whole situation, and the fact that earlier I’d had the strongest orgasm in my life.

  Trenton got in on his side, and the silence in the car was overwhelming. I didn’t look at him, only down at my lap, shivering, and wondering if it would be socially appropriate to remove my sodden shoes. I decided against it.

  “Let me turn on the heat, you’re cold.” He fiddled with the fancy controls on the dash, and when he leaned closer to me, reaching in the back seat for something, I caught that scent again. So I distracted myself by quietly putting on my seat belt.

  Why did he have to smell so good?

  And why was he even here? Dylan should have called me.

  “Here, this should help.” He was holding a wool coat. He placed it gently over me, from my neck all the way to fan out past my knees.

  “Thank you,” I said softly.

  Clearing his throat, he placed his hands on the steering wheel and turned on the headlights, which shone its foggy amber light through the sheets of rain. I watched the wipers swish back and forth, then I faced the window at my side and willed my teeth to stop chattering.

  I had no idea how to fill the silence. Mr. Trenton Love was a nice man, always polite, but he filled every space he was in, whether a room, a house, or, it turned out, a car. His focus was sharp, his intellect biting. He possessed a presence that, no matter who you were, you always noticed, like the temperature of the air.

  He and Dylan couldn’t be more night and day, even in coloring. My father-in-law was taller than Dylan’s five-feet-ten lean frame by a good five inches. His hair darker than night, no hint of gray. It was thick and wavy to Dylan’s bland chestnut, straight hair. Their eye color even differed, with Mr. Love’s obsidian eyes that had an inner shine to them, with thick lashes that gave the illusion of a hint of coal eyeliner. Dylan, however, had inherited his mother’s muted blue eyes, like the sea after a storm. They were lazy bedroom eyes, unlike his father’s penetrating ones.

  The only child of the Loves that shared their father’s coloring completely was Ella, the youngest and only daughter of Trenton and the late Rebecca Love, someone I had only met twice, since she lived abroad, studying fashion.

  Trenton was a safe driver, and the ride was smooth despite the visibility being marginal. He asked me how things were at the Pavilion and about my mother, who now lived an hour away, having moved when I was away at college, visiting when she could.

  I answered politely, slowly getting warm again from the coat and the car’s heater.

  “Warmer?” he asked.

  “Yes, much. Thank you for picking me up. Dylan had a meeting and my car’s in the shop.”

  I looked over at him as I spoke, his face washed in various shades of color from the streetlights, making the outline of water that streamed from the windshield play upon his face in fanciful patterns. He was such a handsome man, with a five-o’clock shadow, strong chiseled jaw, and perfectly shaped mouth and nose. But at my words, that perfect jaw clenched, and I wondered which part of what I’d said had made him mad.

  Before I could ponder further, the dulcet notes of Clair de Lune chimed and I caught a grin from him, which made me feel silly, like a child, young and predictable, lacking in originality. I quickly found my phone and answered Dylan’s call, the blue light from the screen filling the car.

  “Hi,” I answered, relieved that I now had something else to focus on rather than this awkward car ride with Dylan’s father.

  “Sorry about springing my dad on you,” he said with a laugh. He sounded tired and possibly a bit inebriated. “I assume you’re with him now? Or are you home yet?”

  “We’re in
the car, actually. The rain… it’s unbelievable!”

  “Priscilla,” Trenton said beside me, startling me. “Let me have the phone. I want to talk to my son.”

  I frowned but told Dylan his dad wanted to talk to him. Dylan sighed heavily, and I passed over the phone.

  “Priscilla is wet, tired, and she fell in the parking lot,” my father-in-law began, not even bothering with a hello, “and possibly sprained an ankle.”

  I had no idea where he was going with this line of conversation, but I was curious, taken off guard that his concern for me was in the forefront of his mind. Even I had forgotten about that fall back in the parking lot.

  “—so I’m taking her to my house, where she can rest and we can examine her ankle to see if I need to call Angelo over to look at it.”

  My stomach dropped. All I wanted to do was go home, and I cursed Dylan then, which was something I rarely did. But the tone in Mr. Love’s voice seemed to be chastising, like he was channeling my own anger at his son, so there was that, at least.

  Dylan mumbled something back that I couldn’t make out.

  “Besides,” Mr. Love continued, seeming to ignore what his son had said, “she shouldn’t be home alone without a car. And about that, I’ll call the shop in the morning.” He paused, listening to Dylan’s response that was again mumbled, then turned his blinker on and changed lanes. “Nevertheless, she’ll be staying at the house tonight. I don’t wish to talk while driving, as you know. Goodbye, Dylan.” Without taking his eyes off the road, he handed the phone back to me, but when I said hello to my husband, the line was dead.

  “Mr. Love,” I started, putting my phone away, “Really, I’m fine. You don’t need to go to so much—”

  “Priscilla, you are family and the deal is done.” He quickly turned to look at me, and I knew not to argue. His dark, intense eyes seemed to look right through me, cutting off the conversation completely.

  When I nodded, he smiled and looked back at the road, where we passed the first stoplight off the highway, headed toward Bellevue Heights, an upper-class neighborhood where Trenton and his late wife had raised their kids.