I add a few more logs to the fire, even though I just added some, then head into the bathroom to start a lukewarm bath. Right now, I’m grateful that when I inherited the cabin that I upgraded everything because there’s no way my guest can be in the tub by herself. Once I have the copper tub filling, I grab some towels and head back into the main room and lay them in front of the fire to warm up. “C’mon, pretty girl, let’s see if I can get you warmed up,” I murmur as I pick her up and carry her into the bathroom. I try not to notice her lush curves as I strip us both down, but I’m not blind, and I see that while she’s petite, she’s been blessed with some serious curves.
Stepping into the tub with her, I get her situated in front of me and start rubbing her arms while my legs do the same against hers. I don’t know how long she was out in the storm, but based on the fact that her clothes were virtually frozen, it was too long. Her teeth begin to chatter, strongly enough that I worry about damage to her jaw. Furiously I begin rubbing her body with one hand while cupping water with the other to pour onto her. “So, c-c-cold,” she manages to grit out through shivering teeth and with her eyes closed; she’s still incoherent, which scares the fuck out of me. The same words my childhood best friend uttered to me once upon a time.
Memories of that one girl I couldn’t manage to save begins to surface to the forefront of my mind and I wince. I miss Winnie and often wonder if we would have become an actual couple if she had lived. We got along so well; she was the yin to my yang in so many ways and not a day goes by that I don’t think of something I want to tell her, only to come up short when I recall that the only way she’s going to hear me is if I send a message through prayer. And that’s not gonna happen; I haven’t prayed again since the night she died in my arms. Call me an asshole, but the fact that her fucking stepfather is still alive, albeit in prison for the rest of his life, while that vibrant, generous, caring girl I grew up with is dead and buried pisses me the fuck off. I’ll never understand a God that would allow someone evil to live while letting an innocent die. That’s okay though, I have contacts inside that are more than willing to execute the sonofabitch for me. Wish I could be there to watch him cry and piss his pants, but at this point, I’m willing to take what I can get. As long as justice is served my way; I won’t complain… too much.
After thirty minutes or so, I get us out of the tub, carrying this woman because she’s still unconscious, and head back into the living room. The towels are nice and toasty, so I quickly dry her off and lay her on the couch before covering her with a flannel blanket that’s across the back of the couch, then go in search of some clothes for us both. I find some warm lounge pants and a T-shirt for myself and unearth a smaller pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt that I didn’t realize was still here. Still, it’ll swim on her, but at least it’s dry and will help toast her up. I hurriedly dress, then set about dressing my unconscious guest, smiling when I see how far up her legs my socks go. Even in her current state, she calls to the man in me. Get a grip, Poseidon, I mentally chastise myself.
“Okay, let’s get you into bed and cover you up. Don’t want you to catch a chill.” I’m still talking to myself because it helps keep me focused right now. I place her on the opposite side of where I sleep then grab another blanket and put it on the bed. I wish she would wake up so I can find out why she was out in this weather. I’ve got so many questions, ones that only she can provide an answer for. Things such as, where is her car? Is she in some sort of trouble? Possibly running from the law or another person? Most importantly, who the hell is she?
Lillianna
I slowly begin to wake up, unaware of where I am nearly consuming me, but at the last minute, I remember enough to know that I was not in a bed on the last conscious memory I have! I’m warm and toasty, there’s an arm, a huge muscular one at that, flung over my waist.
What the fuck?
Did I die or something?
Is this what heaven is like?
If so, please let me stay here. The last memory I can recall is swinging my backpack against the door of a remote cabin somewhere in the middle of bumfuck Egypt. Jesus, Lillianna, you’ve really gone and done it now, huh? You’re in bed with a stranger and you don’t remember a fucking thing about how you got here! Well, there’s a first time for everything I suppose.
Opening up my senses, I listen carefully to my surroundings, but only hear the soft breathing of whomever it is behind me. Moving slowly and apprehensively, I attempt to slip out of the bed unnoticed, only to feel the arm tighten like a steel band around me. “Going somewhere?” a gravelly, sleep-riddled voice asks. His sound alone gives me the shivers and I refuse to examine the reason behind that right now.
“I need to use the bathroom,” I say, recovering from my body’s involuntary reaction to him.
“Won’t be hard to find, it’s the only other room in this place with a door,” he advises while emphasizing the word room. My eyes widen slightly at his words; what exactly have I gotten myself into?
Did I go from the frying pan and jump straight into the fire?
“Thanks,” I murmur softly, leaving the warmth of the bed to find this mysterious other door. The cabin itself is dark, the only illumination the room has is the glow from a huge fireplace. I spot the other door the unknown man mentioned and head in that direction. Tapping my fingers on my head, I start praying for a memory to surface, one that’ll hopefully help me figure out what in the hell happened. Once I fully make it inside, I glance at myself in the mirror and grimace at my outward appearance. The weather and sleep didn’t do my hair any favors whatsoever. I do what I can with the comb I find sitting on the bathroom counter, then take care of my overfilled, protesting bladder. Once that’s taken care of, I methodically begin washing my hands. Taking in a deep breath I head back into the main living space, where I know there’ll be questions I’ll need to answer.
When I walk in, the sight before me causes a little drool to escape. I see him bent over, adding wood to the fire. Shaking myself from the visual of this fine specimen of a man, I make my way to the couch on leaded feet. They’re dragging, my body wanting me to stay in one place and admire his physique just a little longer. Now that I’m awake, I don’t want to crawl back into the bed and give him any ideas, or myself either where that matter is concerned. My libido is already turned into overdrive and my mind has come up with many delectable things to do with his tempting form. “Would you like something to drink?” Mister muscles all over asks.
“That would be nice. Thank you,” I reply, looking away in an attempt to keep my thoughts to myself. I have a bad habit of wearing what I’m thinking clearly on my face.
I have no poker face whatsoever.
“Got coffee, tea, hot chocolate, or if you want something cold, beer, soda, and water.” A shiver races up and down my spine, but it has nothing to do with the temperature inside or outdoors. Mother nature doesn’t have shit to do with my rapidly beating heart, the cold sweat I feel breaking loose, nor the chattering of my teeth.
Seeing as I still feel a residual chill in the air I respond with, “Hot chocolate if it’s not too much trouble.”
“It’s not. Give me a few and we’ll have you all warmed up.” He’s a man of minimal words. Interesting. Anson talks all the time; sometimes, I think it’s so he can hear himself and worship his own voice… amongst his other highly regarded attributes. To himself possibly, I never held him high up on that pedestal he has himself topping. Mean? More than likely. Probably, but he will never be top dog on my favorites list… ever again, so who the fuck cares?
I’m lost in my thoughts, staring at the crackling, wooded flames in the fireplace when I hear, “Here you go.” Looking up, I see a steaming mug being held out to me so I take it and gently blow at the frothy drink. “It’s hot,” he warns, taking a seat in the recliner across from me.
The better to interrogate you with, Lillianna.
Jesus, it’s as if he’s the big bad wolf and I’m little red riding hood.
/>
The better to eat you with my dear… yeah, and now I’m talking to myself. Yay. Although a different sort of image begins to play out in my head when the word ‘eat’ enters my mind.
“So, I’m guessing you want to know what I was doing out in a blinding snowstorm,” I say, eager to get this conversation started, out of the way and dusted off. I still don’t know if he’s friend or foe, but right now, I’m out of options. He saved me last night, hopefully he’ll allow me to stay here until the weather passes through.
“We’ll get to that. Let’s begin with you sharing your name?” he asks, sipping on a mug of what smells like coffee.
“Lillianna. Lillianna Rose,” I counter with a reply.
“Poseidon Malone,” he states. He doesn’t take his eyes off me and I feel a bit unnerved. It’s as if he can see down to the bottom of my soul and right now, that’s a bit battered and bruised. But his name… wowza, I could scream that out loud and proud. Poseidon. Poseidon. Poseidon. More, harder, please, Poseidon, fuck my brains out.
Fuck, what’s wrong with me?
Just a few short hours ago I was ready to pledge my life to another man, and now, I’m ready to get on my bended knee and suck this man’s balls dry.
“That’s an unusual name,” I say, still distracted by the movie reel I’m conducting in my mind. I’d like to think of anything and redirect his questions in another direction to keep from answering his possible inquiries. Ones that I don’t want to examine too closely. Maybe later, like one hundred years from today, but right now, nope. I fundamentally want to ignore what I heard come from my best friend and fiancé.
“It was my code name in the Navy and now it’s my road name. Real name is Jesse Malone, but I haven’t used that one in years, although it’s how the government knows me,” Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome answers. Road name? What the hell? Wait… does that mean what I think it does?
“Are you part of a motorcycle club or something?” I tilt my head to the side as I ask this question.
He smirks at me before replying, “And what do you know about motorcycle clubs?”
“Not a whole lot, to be honest. I know you ride, wear leather jackets, and usually have a ton of tattoos,” I confess. What I don’t profess, is that I’ve watched a few television shows with MCs and the men are hot as hell.
“Well, the cuts we wear are usually under the jackets when it’s cold outside. I’ve got mine with me, but since I’m out of our territory, I won’t wear it out of respect for the local club. As for tattoos, some have more than others. What else do you know?” What is this, the Spanish Inquisition?
My head drops because I’m nearly at the limit of my knowledge. “Some clubs are better than others. I mean, some do things that are not exactly legal.”
This time, he throws his head back and laughs. “You phrased that so… delicately, for lack of a better word. You’re correct; there are some clubs who dabble in things that are on the other side of the law. My club, however, isn’t like that.”
“Good to know.” Not that I have much of a choice but to believe him and what he tells me. I mean, I’m out in the middle of nowhere with this yummy stranger. There’s at least two feet of snow on the ground, with more steadily coming down outside I notice as I glance out the slightly opened, curtained window, and, well—he’s bigger than I am. Waaay bigger. As a matter of fact, I think one of his thighs equal both of mine put together.
“Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, what in the hell were you doing out in this storm? Walking in a blizzard at that?” he skeptically questions. I see the laughter dancing in his eyes, but he never portrays that in his voice. If anything, he sounds more angry than amused.
Ah, he’s ready to pull out the big guns. I see his play plain as day; get me all relaxed and cozy with some hot chocolate then hit me up when I’ve mellowed out. “You want the short version or the long-winded answer?” I calmly inquire, raising a single eyebrow and aiming it in his direction.
He glances through the window, and even though there are curtains, there’s a slight gap and I can see the wind blowing and snow swirling. “Long answer works for me, Lillianna.” Well, of course he’d want to hear that version.
I take a deep breath, let it out, then intake another, before I nod. “Okay, well, um, I’ve been seeing someone for about six months now. His name is Anson Matthews. Wait, maybe I should backtrack.” I shake my head ferociously because now that I think about it, everything actually started about nine months or so ago. Knowing that I was nothing but a means to an end pisses me the hell off. “So, my parents owned their own business. Because of a website that Anson developed for them, their online store took off and they became relatively successful, all things considered. They took the business over from my grandparents, so when my grandparents passed, I was informed that I had a trust fund that I’ll get two weeks from today, when I turn twenty-five. Anyhow, my father liked Anson, so I met him several times at functions and six months ago, he asked me out and I accepted. Thought it was the right thing to do ya know, seeing as he was an important piece in our lives. I thought, hey, I may not like him so much right now, but feelings can change in time. I gave him… us a shot. About two months ago, he asked me to marry him. I didn’t understand why he wanted to get married so soon and was pushing to move the date back further. I didn’t see any reason we couldn’t have an appropriate engagement. Then,” I clear my clogged throat, “then …,” I can’t continue, the memories of the last month pour down like a booming thunderstorm, washing over me.
“We’re sorry to inform you but Jack and Serena Rose were killed tonight in a head-on collision,” the uniformed officer standing in my doorway says. My mind goes blank as I step back, only to feel Anson’s arms wrap around me.
“I’ve got you, Lilli, it’s going to be okay,” he whispers. “Thank you, officer. Ah, what does she need to do to handle things?”
The officer hands me a card and says, “Call them in the morning with the funeral home information and they’ll get it all handled for you. Miss Rose, I was there. Please, don’t feel that you need to identify your parents.” The look he gives me lets me know that my parents were likely injured so badly that they wouldn’t look like I remember them anyhow.
“Thank you for coming.” My voice sounds different. Tiny and far away. Like an echo in the back of my mind.
“Are you staying with her?” the officer asks Anson.
“Yes, sir. I’ll help her get things sorted out.”
The blur that has been my life for the past month washes over me and I feel the tears steadily stream in rivers down my face. When I feel a warm hand gently stroking my face, I glance up to see Poseidon’s face twisted in grief. I feel as if we’re kindred spirits. I don’t know how I know this, but he’s experienced the loss of a loved one at some point. “I’m sorry for breaking down,” I whisper.
“Honey, it sounds like you needed to,” he responds, handing me a tissue from a box that’s on the end table next to me. “You okay to continue, or do you need a break?” he asks. In order for him to be willing to help me, I know I need to share it all with him. No good man will throw a woman out into this weather after learning everything she’s been through. And despite not knowing him from Adam, I sense that he’s good down to his very core.
Surprisingly, even though I’m still grieving my parents, telling him even a small part of the whole thing has me feeling lighter than I have since this whole nightmare began. “I’m good. Okay, so my folks were planners and they had all the stuff for their funeral already taken care of, down to what they wanted their obituaries to say. The only thing I did was rework it since they passed together. I got through the memorial service and the funeral with both Anson and my best friend, Kassidy, by my side.”
“Why do I feel like there’s more to this story?” he raspingly inquires when I stop for a moment to gather my thoughts. His voice is so full of anguish, that it sounds as if he’s gargled some rocks instead of antiseptic mouthwash.
/> “Oh, hell yeah, there’s more.” I feel a spark of anger at the events of the past few days. “I picked up their remains two weeks ago when I went to the lawyer’s office. Since they both passed, everything, including the business, was left to me. Thankfully, there’s a great board of directors in place so I don’t have to handle that because I am not business-minded in the least.” He chuckles and my breath catches at the sound. I glance at him and notice he’s got laugh lines around his eyes and I decide that I like that about him. Get a grip, Lillianna! I clear my throat then say, “Well, after Mom and Dad died, Anson started pushing for us to go ahead and get married. Then, Kassidy started agreeing with him. I was dealing with the flu or something and didn’t want to mess with getting married.”
“What do you mean, you were dealing with the flu or something?” he questions, his voice deceptively soft. Somehow, I think he’s figured out where this story is going based on that one question.
“I wasn’t really eating after everything, so Kassidy started making me her homemade soup and Anson would bring me mugs full of it and stand there until I drank it all. I guess my taste buds were off from stress, even though I’ve never heard of such a thing happening, because the soup tasted weird to me. Anyhow, I started getting sick every time I ate, so I stopped eating it. Well, they thought I was still eating it, anyhow. I’d fix myself a bowl, toss it down the disposal, then leave the empty bowl in the sink so they’d think I was eating. I-I think they were poisoning me. No, I know they were.”
“How do you know for sure?” His tone is sharp and I realize that he definitely knew where this was heading. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to put two and two together.
Poseidon's Lady (Poseidon's Warriors MC) Page 2
