Love Bank: Jobs From Hell #1

by Ray, Marika

  Gone was the covered-up, mousy, middle-aged pain-in-the-ass woman from before. This woman, the one with her entire arms showing and bare legs that teased and then disappeared behind a short skirt, was Lucille at twenty years of age had her personality taken a sharp turn into sassy and interesting. My eyes nearly bugged out of my head as I took in the curve of her ass and hips, showcased perfectly in the tight fabric of her skirt. And her breasts? Holy shit.

  She’d been carrying concealed weapons.

  I didn’t get a chance to formulate a sentence or even ask what she was doing here. She strode in like she owned the place, and right then, she totally owned me. She came right up to my desk, a cloud of flowery perfume hitting my nose and delighting my senses. My gaze traveled up her form, struggling mightily to focus on her face. And when I did, I realized more than just her outfit was different.

  She looked younger, more vibrant, more tantalizing than any woman I’d met before. Her eyelashes fluttered open like I was watching a Disney princess in slow motion. All feminine. Seductive. Enticing. My brain was dumbfounded at the change, but my body was not. It was responding to the presence of a fertile female like nature intended.

  I wanted her.

  The slap of a stack of papers hitting my desk pulled me out of my trance. My gaze darted to the papers, where her fist kept them glued to my desk and obstructed my view of the print.

  “What’s going on?” The hair on the back of my neck stood at attention.

  The new Lucille leaned in, her eyes lit to that shade of blue that spelled trouble. I breathed her in, feeling her body heat from just inches away. I didn’t dare move. Half of me hoped she’d lean all the way in and climb over the desk to have her way with me. The other half wanted the old Lucille back, the one who didn’t make me lose control of my body, just my temper.

  “Everyone told me I didn’t need to put that camera doorbell thing on my clinic. ’Round here, we just knock, you know? But some inner sense told me it was prudent. Want to guess who I found on my doorstop Sunday morning, banging away on my door like maybe the twentieth time would be the one where I opened it had I even been there?”

  I swallowed hard, scrambling to keep up. In my vast experience, women with that tone of voice frequently used rhetorical questions and it was better to shut up and let them get all that anger out before piping in with some asinine answer that would send them up in flames again.

  Besides, she was kind of stunning at the moment, what with her bosom heaving like that so close to my face, and who was I to interrupt something so majestic?

  She lifted an eyebrow. “That’s right. One of your goddamn inmates. Again.”

  She cocked her head and I braced myself for the killer blow.

  “Still think we don’t have a problem, Warden?”

  Well, hell. If another inmate showed up at her clinic, that put us at three if my tally could be trusted. That was definitely not looking good. She could take that number to the mayor or any other citizen here in Auburn Hill and start petitioning support. As the new guy in town, I didn’t need that kind of heat on me. She may have looked like a new Lucille, but she was definitely still the old Lucille.

  I needed to placate. ASAP.

  “Now, that—”

  She pulled back abruptly and whisked the stack of paper off my desk. She slapped one of the flyers on my chest and walked back toward the door like that was the end of things.

  I was getting real sick and tired of her discombobulating me like that. As a jail guard and now warden, I was used to people listening to me. I should be ending the conversation. Other people should jump to do my bidding. This role reversal was like one of those plastic tags on brand-new clothing that you accidentally leave in the fabric, causing it to scrape against your skin and lead to all kinds of irritation.

  I hopped out of my chair and followed her, intent on putting my foot down like a man, while also placating her so she didn’t run to our fellow citizens and complain about me. I was dancing a fine line, but I was willing to two-step if for no other reason than to make sure Lucille didn’t get away with blackmail. Not on my watch.

  As I stalked after her, I glanced down at the flyer, doing a double take when I saw the picture right smack dab in the center of the piece of paper.

  “Come donate to the Coastal Fertility Bank” in all capital letters, centered over a picture of a specimen cup. But upon closer scrutiny, it wasn’t just any specimen cup. It was my specimen cup. With my goddamn name on it for all the world to see.

  My feet halted their movement. Every single cell in my body flared to life with a stress signal. A state of emergency was declared inside my body, flooding my vision with a bright haze of red. My fingers tingled.

  I was going to kill her.

  The paper started to shake. Right before I crumpled it into my fist and tossed it to the ground. I looked up at her over by the door, seeing an entire ream of papers in her hand, all printed with my specimen cup front and center.

  She cocked a hip, and even with a level of anger I hadn’t felt in a very long time pulsing through my body, I noticed. I noted every little thing about her from her stiletto heels to the hair on her head that was finally down and so luscious I wanted to grab hold of it and tug.

  Hard.

  “Oops. It’s pretty fuzzy. I’m sure people won’t be able to make out your name. Besides, I only put them up on a few poles on Brinestone Way so far.”

  She wrinkled her pretty little nose and I took a step toward her. Then another. She’d already put them up?

  Her eyes widened a fraction, seeing me advance on her. She waved the flyers around confidently, like she still had the upper hand. And fuck it all to hell, she did.

  I didn’t like that. Not one bit.

  Another step closer and some of that confidence faded.

  “What are you doing?” Her voice hitched in the middle.

  Another step and she backed up quickly.

  One final step to put me toe to toe with her and she reared her head back, eyes wary, cheeks flushed. Her back pressed against my closed door and she couldn’t run. The devil in me, the one she’d backed into a corner with her blackmailing schemes, stood up and announced himself the winner of this situation. All I had to do was show her I wouldn’t be messed with.

  “This.”

  I did what every hot-blooded male does when they’re so mad at a woman they can’t see straight.

  I indulged in revenge.

  My hand lifted, my fist releasing only long enough to drag my fingers through her hair and clench again, forcing her head to tip back with my forceful tug. My arm slid around her waist, and in the back of my mind, I memorized the feel of her body pressed between me and the door. She gasped upon contact and I took full advantage.

  My lips crashed down onto hers, their only mission to subdue and humiliate. My tongue swiped a taste of her lips and all hell broke loose. The red alert inside my body changed in an instant. Instead of wanting to eliminate her, I wanted to consume her right then and there so she’d always be a part of me. I wanted to breathe the same air and coexist in the same space as her body, just so I never had to let go of her silky skin. She fit perfectly against me, her curves smashed against my chest, her lips perfectly pliant as I explored.

  A groan rent the air and I feared it was mine.

  The devil was suspiciously silent and in his absence I realized what I was doing was wrong. A better man would have stepped away from her the instant he knew he’d erred. But I wasn’t that man. I stayed for another second or two, finding her tongue and coaxing it into being as far gone as I was. If a kiss could speak, mine was begging her to give me a sign, any sign, that she was a willing partner.

  When no response came, I did the right thing—a few seconds too late to be considered right—and wrenched my lips from hers and stepped back. I breathed heavy, my lungs unable to consume enough air to keep up with the situation I threw myself into without a single thought or consideration.

  Her eyes were
wide open, the color more sterling than blue. I should have rejoiced at seeing the spunk kissed out of her, but the sight did nothing besides pull at some heavy weight that had taken up in my chest the moment I let her go. Her magnificent breasts, the ones I’d had against me just a second ago, were heaving like she’d run a race. The pink in her cheeks flared to red and I knew it was only a matter of time before I paid a hefty price for that one kiss.

  The room came back to me moment by moment. The gray walls devoid of any decoration to soften surroundings. The sounds of the prison outside my door. The breath heaving out of both my mouth and Lucille’s. The flyers that must have fallen out of her hands at some point and lay scattered on the floor around her feet. The poles.

  Shit.

  I had to find those flyers and take them down before anyone saw them or I’d be done in this town before I finished unpacking.

  I raised my hand to say something to her, unable to meet her gaze. Discovering there was nothing that could be said at that point—or more likely so much that needed to be said I couldn’t get into it all now—I rushed forward and grabbed the doorknob next to her hip, hoping she’d get the hint. She didn’t flinch, which I took as a good sign she didn’t fear me even after I’d stolen a kiss. She simply shifted out of the way silently and I wrenched the door open. I fled down the hallway, down the stairs, and out the booking room on shaky legs and an even shakier set or morals.

  Bobby shouted something at me, but I ignored him, needing to get those flyers down more than I needed to know about something else he’d probably botched. My brain spun on repeat.

  I kissed Lucille. I freaking kissed Lucille.

  The bright morning sun jarred my senses as I shoved the door open and stepped outside, but I couldn’t jar my brain out of this loop. I knew I needed to figure out how to approach her and apologize. We needed to end this ridiculous feud or blackmail thing before someone got hurt. I needed to be the adult here and get things back on track. How ironic that I’d have to be the adult in the situation when Lucille—prior to today—had seemed by far the more mature one of the two of us. Those who wore grandma sweaters should have been more mature, right?

  Just as I was mentally embarking on a new path of maturity, I saw the first white flyer stapled to the telephone pole on the other side of the street with a mostly brown field behind it. I marched across the road and ripped the flyer down, both livid and a little impressed she’d gone through with her threat in such a public way. Not that a lot of people drove down to this end of Brinestone Way unless they were coming to spend a few days in my prison, but still, this mile stretch did get some traffic on occasion. I crumpled the offending flyer in my hand and looked up.

  As far as my eye could see, telephone poles lined the new street, the dark brown wood poles in pristine condition. And there, on every single one, was a white flyer with a dark blob in the middle that had to have been a picture of my specimen cup.

  “Son of a bitch!”

  I threw the balled-up flyer as far as it would go into the field, wincing at publicly littering. I firmly believed some rules were made to be broken, though. Clearly Lucille didn’t mind breaking a few when she decided to blackmail me. I spat on the ground and got to walking.

  The flyer collection took me half an hour, but it gave me lots of time to think.

  And to plan.

  13

  Lucille

  I tossed aside my latest needlepoint project. It was a small circle with the words Clean Up Your Shit with some pretty flowers along the edge. I figured Amelia could put it to good use in one of the rooms at Hell Hotel. They’d brought me into their circle of friendship and even added me to a group text message labeled “Hell Raisers.” I didn’t take that lightly. I was going to learn how to be the best friend ever, starting with some inappropriate needlepoint gift giving.

  But even this new fun project couldn’t hold my attention. Or more like I couldn’t keep my fingers from shaking long enough to get the needle through the damn material and not my fingertip.

  One minute I was escalating my blackmailing attempt—which seemed justified considering the visitors my clinic received yesterday—and the next I was pressed against a door and kissed like I’d never been kissed before. I was shaken. I’d already relived that moment at least a hundred times today, each one sending my heart galloping and my skin flushing.

  I mean, I’d been kissed before. Several times actually and each one had felt like I’d locked lips with a goat. They’d been nothing like the soul-searing kiss Bain delivered today. Not even remotely close. Not even the same ballpark. It was like an alien landing where they’d sucked out the old Lucille and in her place they’d supplied a stand-in woman with hot lava flowing through her veins. The top of my head had blown off, giving my wits an easy exit route. I was left with no thoughts and only feelings. Lots and lots of feelings.

  Which was why, when he abruptly pulled back, I had nothing to say. I could only stare in complete confusion and hope to suck in enough oxygen to eventually jumpstart my brain. I was a smart woman. Jeopardy was my bitch. But throw a man at me like that and I was lost in a sea of confusion and full-body hot flashes.

  Freud would have a field day with my situation, which was why I didn’t want to seek out a listening ear. I’d grown up without a father. Hell, I didn’t even know who my biological donor was, let alone know what it was like to grow up with a man in the house. My mom, bless her well-meaning heart, established the first Northern California fan club for man-haters. This was all before the Internet, so you can imagine the type of yearly gatherings she’d take me to. Pin the tail on the donkey was actually just a picture of a man you jabbed pins into. Friendly game of darts where you brought a picture of your ex to put in the bull’s-eye. Bowling nights where the pins had the names of men who’d done these ladies wrong.

  It left quite the impression on young Lucille.

  I’d spend my entire childhood running away from boys, thinking they were the devil. In my twenties I’d seen a few who caught my eye and made me curious—hence the few kisses I’d been privy to—but none who lit my skin on fire and melted my brain.

  Until the warden I was in the middle of blackmailing.

  Until Bain.

  I looked around my quiet living room and then up at the wood ceiling that had always made the room warm and inviting. It invoked images of sitting by the fire with a hot cup of cocoa while the Christmas tree lights blinked in the corner. Except these visions never included anyone in the room with me. And until today, that hadn’t really bothered me. Because being alone was preferable to being with some ass of a man who’d knock you up and leave you with a broken heart.

  Until today I had no idea a man could set your very soul on fire.

  And who needed a roaring fireplace when you were warm from the inside out?

  * * *

  My eyelids were so heavy, Keva could make a case that I was actually snoozing while sitting up in my desk chair. I couldn’t get to sleep last night due to the Warden of Wanktown. All those sleepless hours had convinced me the kiss meant nothing, he was still a complete jerkhole, and I must have mistaken the connection I felt when his lips devoured me whole.

  The thing I just couldn’t get out of my head this morning was the verifiable evidence that had pressed against my stomach during the kiss. Why had he come in here to give a sample that first day I saw him? We hadn’t paid him any money for his sample, so he wasn’t making a deposit for cash. Naturally, I assumed he was getting testing done for an erectile dysfunction, but based on my two experiences with his impressive erections, he didn’t have any kind of problem that I could tell.

  “You doing okay there, Lucille?” Keva poked her head in my office door.

  I jerked my head up. I must have started to doze off for real. The fog of sleep lifted enough for me to realize she’d finally called me by my first name. A warm glow expanding in my chest perked me up and had me standing up and walking around my antique wood desk.

  “J
ust a little tired today. How about we make some coffee and chat in the courtyard a bit?” I hadn’t stopped at Coffee this morning like I normally did during the week in fear I’d run into Bain ordering his stupid onion bagel. Who ordered onion bagels anyway? Gross.

  Keva smiled and nodded, rushing off to make our coffees with the Keurig machine in our tiny break room/back office. I grabbed my phone and the box of cookies we normally had out for clients and headed to the courtyard to scope out the bird situation. I cracked open the back door and looked left, then right. No seagull in sight.

  I let out a relieved sigh and crossed to the two chairs and tiny table. After thorough inspection, neither one had bird droppings, thank God. Keva used her backside to push her way through the door and delivered our coffee to the table and had a seat with me. I opened the box of snickerdoodle cookies and offered it to her.

  “So, what’s got you so tired?” Keva blew on her coffee and snagged a snickerdoodle.

  I took a sip from my cup to give myself some time to come up with an answer. Unfortunately, the brew was piping hot and burned its way down my throat while I sputtered. I grabbed a cookie instead and nibbled on it, brain swirling.

  “Oh, you know, just a long to-do list running through my head. That and I agreed to sponsor the Testicular Cancer 5k, which means I need to get working on my stamina. Are you a runner?”

  Phew, there. That sounded plausible and I successfully shifted the attention to Keva.

  She snorted. “Um, yeah, no. The most I’ve ever run is a mile when our PE teacher made us do it for fitness testing. And even then it was mostly a walk.”

  My phone pinged loudly on the table, but I ignored it. Keva was talking and it would be rude to look at my phone.

  She glanced at the phone and then up at me. “It’s okay to grab that. I don’t mind.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t want to be rude. I hate how attached we’ve become to our phones.”

  Keva looked at me like a disobedient little pet charming her with its antics. “Honestly, it’s fine.”