Outlaws: A Romance Anthology

by Yolanda Olson

  I wondered then why he had never moved. With as much money as he had, he could buy any house he wanted. I couldn’t imagine living in a house that held so many memories. Had he and his wife been in love? Had it been a real marriage?

  It wasn’t something I thought much about, Trenton Love the man, the widow. Married young, four adult children, two twin grandchildren. I couldn’t place his age or even what his middle name was. Other than the basics, I knew nothing about him. I couldn’t see past the force he was, a symbol of power and drive, dictating everything in his world with surgical precision.

  “Good. Are you hungry?”

  “What?” I asked, lost in thought.

  “Hungry. I’m sure you haven’t eaten yet.”

  “Oh, yes. No, I mean… I haven’t eaten.” I swallowed, nervous again. I hated being like this. “Thank you, Mr. Love.”

  A small laugh escaped him. “Oh, Priscilla, you make me feel ancient. Please, just Trenton.”

  “Thank you, Trenton.”

  He smiled. “My pleasure, dear.”

  It was going to be a long night.

  It turned out my ankle was sprained. After fussing over me in the garage when we arrived at the Love home, Trenton carried me inside, his jaw tight with irritation at my not having taken off my shoes, which the left one was pretty much glued to my swollen foot. I hadn’t even noticed it throughout the whole ride here until he had mentioned it to Dylan over the phone.

  The housekeeper, Phyllis, had hovered over me after getting orders from Mr. Love, who left to make a phone call, he said. She helped me into some dry clothes—a long-sleeve cotton shirt, elastic pajama bottoms that most likely had belonged to the youngest Love, Ella, and a terry cloth robe. We were in the guest bedroom and she had me lie down on the settee, covering me with a cashmere throw. Not too much later, Angelo Parsitto came in, followed by Trenton. I only recognized the family doctor from get-togethers.

  Kind and professional, the doctor examined my swollen ankle, delegating it indeed sprained. He wrapped it up, handed Phyllis some pills from his bag, and prescribed ice and lots of rest. No driving, no walking, but baths were fine, and to call him if the pain got too bad. Crutches weren’t necessary, he answered when Trenton had asked.

  After a wonderful meal alone in the guest room, and a hot bath—my foot propped on the edge of the tub—that righted me instantly, Phyllis put me to bed, handing me a remote.

  “Now, you rest, sweetheart,” she told me in her grandmotherly way. She was in her late sixties, I assumed. Tiny, thin as a rail, bright golden eyes, with olive skin and ebony hair that hadn’t a single strand of gray, just like her employer. She wore it in a braid that wrapped around her head. I remember Dylan saying that she had always been with his family since Mr. Love was a child. She lived on the grounds, in the guest house.

  “Knock, knock,” Trenton called softly in the doorway.

  Phyllis patted my shoulder and left us alone, telling us both goodnight.

  The bath and food, not to mention all the excitement of the night, had left me in a daze, and I smiled with languor at my father-in-law. The pills, I thought, must have kicked in.

  “I’m right down the hall if you need anything, Priscilla. Please don’t suffer alone on my account.” He smirked, narrowing his eyes. He knew me well, I thought.

  I laughed. “Alright, Mr. Lo—”

  “Ah, ah, ah. Trenton, remember?”

  “Yes. Goodnight, Trenton. And…. Thank you.”

  “Get some sleep.“ He shut the door, leaving me alone to the sound of the continuous rain.

  Right before I fell into a deep sleep, Dylan’s face swam hazily in my mind. It occurred to me then that he hadn’t called to check on me.

  Chapter Four

  Priscilla

  I kept dreaming of that night, the night of the storm. Me in my office at the Pavilion, the soft buzzing of the Butterfly Bliss, my thighs open and quivering. But in the dream, it wasn’t me holding the little toy, it was my father-in-law.

  As the days passed, each night the dream varied. Sometimes it was him watching me from the door to my office. Sometimes it was him fisting himself above me. Once, he had pinned my legs with a silk rope as I sat in my office chair, my wet pussy displayed to his view, my knees pressed tight against my naked chest as I moaned in pleasure.

  Every morning I woke up in my bed flushed, alone, my heart beating like a loud drum. I’d close my eyes tight and take deep breaths, the messed-up emotions rolling over and over me. Never was it revulsion, though. Instead, it was a burning lust.

  Then the shame would overtake me. I was a married woman. He was my father-in-law, for God’s sake. He was more than half my age. He would never think of me like that. I shouldn’t be thinking about him like that.

  Aside from the dreams, my life went on as usual. My ankle healed, my car fixed and returned, my husband still absent, my days still the same. But I felt something stirring in me, a certain feeling like I was missing something or had gotten a glimpse of something very important, something that eluded me, and no matter what I did to distract myself from the feeling, it was still there. It changed the way I saw everything and made me consider, perhaps for the first time, why I chose the things I did. Even the little things we all choose on a daily basis, every mundane choice. The clothes I laid out each night for the next day. The food I ordered for lunch. The route I took home from work.

  I didn’t like the feeling much. It made me feel lost and… restless. Yes, that was what it was. A curious restlessness, something I had never felt before. For the first time, I realized that my life was my own, that I did in fact make my own choices, regardless of whether I chose the ones others had dictated for me. It had been up to me all along. Such a stupidly simple concept but one that was incredibly mind-blowing to me.

  What it all boiled down to was this: I was missing out and I was going to do something about it.

  Jessica, of course, was the first to notice the change in me. She was thrilled with what she called “the new me,” and took full advantage of my acquiescence in letting her help in what she called my “transformation from moth to butterfly”—I had giggled at the irony in those words.

  The second person to notice, naturally, should have been Dylan. But surprisingly, it was Trenton.

  We were at the Love house in Bellevue Heights for a Sunday dinner about two weeks or so after my over-night visit, celebrating Ella’s visit from France. She only had one more year before she was graduating, and everyone was glad to have her home for a few days. Plus, we all were looking forward to meeting her boyfriend, Pascal.

  Ella looked amazing, as always. Happy and sophisticated. She and her boyfriend made a beautiful couple.

  The other Love children were there, too, along with their spouses; Gabe and Shelby, and Tom and his wife Marissa.

  Dylan and I, the last to enter, were greeted at the door with happy smiles and cheek kisses, the exception being Trenton. Instead, he patted his youngest son on the back as Dylan walked straight away to the bar for a drink, following the rest of his family inside, leaving me to stand in the foyer by myself as Trenton closed the door.

  My father-in-law looked me up and down, ending his perusal at my left ankle. I was wearing ballet flats, still hesitant about wearing my usual heels even though my ankle was fully healed.

  “Priscilla. I trust you’re recovered now?” he asked me, his dark eyes looking up now, penetrating mine and hiding his thoughts.

  “Yes, thank you. All better.” I set my purse down beside the others there on the foyer table and waited for Trenton to move so that I could escape into the living room.

  “You look different. Your hair maybe?” He tilted his head a bit, then shook it. “No, that’s not it. Not sure what it is. You seemed changed somewhat.” He put his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, assessing me as I blushed.

  A nervous laugh escaped me. “Nothing different, no. Just glad it’s Friday. Been a busy week.” I looked behind him, longing
to get away, because all I could see when I looked at him was the dream version of Mr. Love. Fisting himself, coming on my bare thighs.

  My breath caught when he stepped closer and softly kissed my cheek.

  “Same here, my dear.” He pulled away but not before I could inhale that cologne of his, the one that had me yearning to roll around on the carpet, saturated with his scent. Drunk on it, writhing on the floor, preferably naked, like a cat in heat.

  Finally, before my face melted off into a puddle on the floor, he gestured to the living room and I followed him in, in dire need of a drink myself.

  After mingling and having a few drinks, we all went into the dining room.

  Trenton, as usual, sat at the head of the table, and Tom, being the eldest, sat at the end. For some reason, I was seated on Trenton’s right, with Dylan beside me and Ella across from me, on her father’s left. I had missed the reasoning for this, but the brothers had been lost in conversation when we entered the room and I hadn’t paid much attention.

  All through dinner, the talk was, of course, about Love Enterprises. Each of the Love children, Ella being the exception, and their wives were part of the family business, so there were plenty of topics and news to be discussed.

  I was focused on my filet mignon, thinking about the flowers I needed to order for an upcoming fundraiser I was organizing, when I accidentally dropped my napkin. I leaned over to my left and pushed the hem of the tablecloth away to find it. In the process, I lost my balance by overreaching, and put out a hand, right against my father-in-law’s thigh. Still bent at waist-level, I looked up, my eyes wide, and I saw the frozen expression on Trenton’s face. His thigh was hard, hot, burning my hand, or was it my skin that was on fire?

  He didn’t move, his arms still in the act of cutting into his steak, but his eyes smoldered like a midnight sky, dark and alive.

  “I’m sorry, I… dropped my napkin,” I whispered, wishing with all my might that I never dropped the damn thing in the first place. Awkwardly, I removed my hand from him, righting myself back into my seat, abandoning the blue linen napkin entirely.

  Trenton grit his teeth, his jaw tight. “Dylan.”

  Beside me, my husband stopped talking and answered his father. “Dad?”

  Resuming his focus on his meal as the others kept up their vibrant conversation, Trenton finished cutting his steak. “Your wife needs a new napkin. They are behind you in the sideboard.”

  I swallowed my embarrassment and reached for my wine, hoping to drown myself in its liquid magic. But as soon as my fingers brushed the glass, it tiled over, spilling jewel-colored red wine. The ribbon of liquid trekked down the edge of the table and onto my pink skirt.

  “Oh, my goodness,” I said, the words rushing out. I stood abruptly after righting the fallen glass. “Excuse, me.”

  The others at the table were still lost in some debate, totally unaware of what was going on, thankfully. Only Trenton and Ella had witnessed my clumsy accident.

  “Here, I’ll help—” Ella said sweetly across from me, about to get out of her chair, but I shook my head right as Dylan returned. He handed me a new napkin, looking at me in confusion as he sat back down. Seeing the stain on my skirt, he made a face, understanding at once what the matter was, then picked up the tail end of whatever his brother Gabe was saying.

  So much for his help.

  My face warming, I waved a hand at Ella. “Please, stay. I’m fine. I’ll just go find Phyllis.” I gave her a reassuring smile and headed to the kitchen.

  However, Phyllis was nowhere to be found, so I grabbed some seltzer from the pantry and went straight to the bathroom near the laundry room. I knew I’d be left alone here since no one used this bathroom but Phyllis and a few weekday staff, who thankfully were off work at this time of night.

  As soon as I shut the door, I took off my skirt, frowning at the stupid stain. It was one of my favorite skirts, a lovely shade of powder pink. The whole evening caught up with me then, and I felt a rush of tears threaten to fall, already blurring the work I was doing to get out the stain.

  Standing in front of the mirror in only my blouse and panties, I looked at myself and wondered what the hell I was doing here. I didn’t belong in this family, with these beautiful people, these privileged people. I didn’t even belong to Dylan, nor him me. It all felt stupidly fake, like a gorgeous bouquet of flowers you’d spy through a shop window, only to go inside and find out they were artificial all along.

  Just then the door opened a crack, scaring the crap out of me. It was Mr. Love.

  “Priscilla. Let me help.” His tone was concerned, quiet, but still maintained that arrogant confidence.

  “Um…I’m not—” I began, holding the skirt against my waist like a shield.

  “I don’t care.” He opened the door wider, stepped inside. He looked me over briefly, then eyed the seltzer. “I’m experienced in wine stains, trust me.”

  My mouth was open, shocked at this turn of events. The man never ceased to surprise me. I was half-dressed, and he seemed to think it was just an everyday occurrence, no big deal whatsoever.

  Studying him, my thoughts and emotions all over the place, I blurted out, “I’m sorry about.. you know, the napkin and... practically mauling you.” The words just popped out. Boom.

  Like I really needed to remind him about touching him. Here, in the bathroom. Alone. Practically nude.

  Clearing his throat, his eyes didn’t meet mine. He gently took my skirt from my clenched hands and laid it flat onto the granite counter. Then, with meticulous precision, began working on the wine stain, using a clean washcloth I hadn’t seen him get, and pouring the seltzer onto the stain until it hissed.

  “No, Priscilla, I’m sorry for my reaction. I wasn’t mad at you, my dear.”

  “You weren’t?”

  He smiled faintly. “Not at all. I know I come across as…”

  “Rigid?” I blurted out, covering my mouth with my hand.

  What has gotten into me?

  He barked out a surprised laugh. “Rigid, truly?” Stopping his ministrations on the stain, he set aside the washcloth and leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms.

  Stammering, I tried to fix it. “Not rigid, really. Just… so hard all the time.” Good God, it was like a virus. I met his gaze and saw him blink. Yeah, he got the innuendo there too. “Like… stoic. Yes, stoic. Unlike me.” I shrugged, recovering rational thought once more.

  I looked at my skirt and sighed, feeling deflated. A warm hand reached forward and cupped my chin, raising my head. Trenton’s eyes were soft, tender, but held no trace of pity.

  “You and I are as much alike as we are different, Priscilla.”

  “How so?”

  Softly, almost a whisper, he said, “Where you bend, I stay rooted, yes. But both withstand the storm.” His eyes traced my face, his lips slightly parted as his gaze strayed to my mouth and stayed there until I couldn’t breathe.

  Images of my dream flashed in my mind again; writhing, sucking, pounding, moaning. Skin against skin and feverish wanting. His nostrils flared and his eyes smoldered with…. something. The grip on my chin tightened but just a small amount to notice.

  It had been so long since I’d been kissed, and I craved it. Craved it more than anything in the world. The urge was too strong.

  I took a chance, consequences be damned. I knew when a man wanted me. And right now, Trenton Love did. So I kissed him.

  As soon as my mouth made contact, I moaned softly. His lips didn’t move, and I knew I had made the biggest mistake of my life, but I didn’t care. I had to have at least this.

  When he pulled away, his eyes wide, mouth open in a way that was almost comical, I owned the feeling of regret. The rejection and the possible disgust he probably felt were worth it, because right then I realized that I didn’t love Dylan. That I didn’t have a real marriage or a career. That I had been doing things by the book, a book that was written by someone I had never met and never would.

&nbs
p; I was done with being a doll. I was ready to write my own story, even if I had to walk through the ruins of what I had just set in motion. I owed it to the woman in me, someone I barely knew but wanted to know so desperately.

  I looked for the disgust in Trenton’s eyes, ready to face it, but he only moved, breaking the silence by shutting the bathroom door and locking us both inside.

  Chapter Five

  Trenton

  All thought went out the window with that kiss, that sweet, innocent meeting of lips. As soon as I locked us in, I was on her like a panther with its prey. My hands first went to her hair, undoing whatever mechanism was keeping it up, preventing me from running my fingers through that glorious mane of ebony silk. Her blue eyes, like cornflowers, widened at first, then grew heavy with lust, a look I’ve never seen on her face except that one night, the night I saw my daughter-in-law differently, never again to unsee what I wished I could.

  Hair now down and in my hand, I maneuvered her to the counter, tapping it. “Up,” I commanded. Once she was seated, I crushed her mouth with mine, tasting her sweetness, exploring her hot, wet mouth. God, she was going to drive me to an early death.

  When she wrapped those long legs around me and pressed against my cock, my knees almost buckled. I had to be inside her. Now. Logic was gone. Trenton Love, the controlled head of his business, his family, his world, was gone. In his place was a needy animal who wanted to devour this sexy as hell beguiling woman, a woman who was both strong and so soft.

  I think she was just as lost, too. She both pulled and pushed at me, wiggling and making little sounds that were driving me insane. Without a thought, I found her panty-clad pussy and pulled the satin aside, burying my finger into the tight, wet heat. She was gushing, the poor thing. She wanted me more than I realized.