BLAKE'S HOME by Cheryl Dragon

BLAKE'S HOME by Cheryl Dragon

Love Shack 1

Plenty of men have tried to get ranch hand Blake Louis to The Love Shack but none succeed. At the White family ranch, Blake has found friends and a home. He desperately wants to stay. Yet he must keep his shifter secret and avoid his feelings for Jared White. This job has to work out. No one ever wanted him forever—none of his family did—so why would a rich successful rancher want more than a roll in the hay with a dirt poor ranch hand?

Screwing the staff is a bad idea but Jared White needs more than sex from Blake. The men are friends but he’ll risk it for a chance at more. Love has never worked for Jared and a childhood rival delights in sabotaging him. Jared can’t give up hope. He believes that Blake is the one.

The only smart place to start is The Love Shack, a neutral place where Jared isn’t the boss and Blake isn’t the hand. Determined to win Blake’s heart, Jared delves into Blake’s past. As amazing as the sex is, Blake resists sweet promises. Love, trust, and happiness are as crazy to Blake as the bobcat he can shift into.

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~Excerpt~

Streamers and balloons dotted the wide yard behind the massive house so no one missed the party, as if anyone could. The massive outdoor barbecue was an acre of people solid. Nonessential work at the White Ranch was suspended for the sixty-fifth birthday of the patriarch and owner. The families from the three bordering ranches and their staff were also invited.

Blake Louis hadn’t seen that many people outside a big city, and he rarely went to the city. His muscles ached for any excuse to hop on a horse and ride out into the open fields. As a ranch hand here for all of four months, he knew the White family, but everyone else was just by reputation and gossip.

After working his hour at the barbeque, Blake hung back and helped where needed. He didn’t have shiny new boots, crisp collared shirts, or even new jeans. The event was far from black tie, but even the White boys brought out their best hats and boots for the occasion. So Blake just watched, content in the fact that he liked his new job and had eaten his fill of excellent barbeque.

A well-built man with curly brown hair nodded to Blake from several feet away. Blake smiled and almost looked behind him. His attempt to be invisible had failed. The man was from the Chester ranch and had been strictly hanging with that group most of the day. It took time, but Blake was starting to catch on about some of the rivalries and egos. Even on a huge Montana ranch, politics and games still happened. That didn’t mean Blake couldn’t enjoy the view of hot men.

Blake stoked the fire and pretended not to notice the attractive man coming closer. The four ranches were neighborly and competitive at the same time. Blake was still new and didn’t want to step on the wrong toes. The flutter of arousal was hard to ignore.

“Are you the master chef?” the man asked.

Blake lifted his worn hat and wiped his forehead. “No, not me. Just a ranch hand helping out. I’m not the best at being social. Blake Louis.”

The other man extended his hand. “Randy. Nice to meet you, Blake. You should circulate and meet some new people.”

Shaking Randy’s hand, Blake felt a playful squeeze. The sexual undercurrent tormented him. “I’m fairly new to White’s Ranch. It’s a big place with plenty of work.”

“Gotta have some fun, though. It’s a party.” Randy took two steps closer and slowly pulled Blake in a bit before releasing his hand. “I haven’t seen you at the Love Shack. You should come by the Chester ranch some time. No work, just a ride or something. It’s nice to have fresh blood around here.”

Fresh blood? The term left Blake uneasy. “A good ride is a nice way to spend a day off.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Randy said.

Blake nodded as Randy was called away by one of his earlier companions. Avoiding major personal entanglements was a goal of Blake’s, and he’d managed to succeed since getting this job. He wanted to find a place to settle, and this place had potential. Moving on all the time had grown old.

None of his previous employers had treated employees as well as the Whites did. The family members worked every bit as hard as the staff and weren’t snobs. The pay was better than fair, and the food was great. Blake wanted a future here.

The only problem was the crush Blake had on the sexy youngest son, Jared White. Over the months the attraction had grown to friendship and a longing for something more. Blake did his best to hide his affection, but Jared was friendly.

The target of Blake’s interest crossed his path, and he stopped short. “You did your time, you’re supposed to be enjoying yourself.”

Blake grinned at his biggest temptation. The man was just shy of thirty and haunted Blake’s dreams. “I was just people watching.”

The fact that Jared was the main guy he’d been watching until Randy had interrupted him hopefully remained a secret. Jared had short black hair, blue eyes, and plenty of muscles to make women and men stare. A sturdy six feet two, Jared made it hard for Blake not to lean on that sexy shoulder. But Blake had years of practice at self-control on many levels.

Jared made this job complicated for Blake. Every place he’d worked, he ran into an issue. White’s was a nice place. Crushing on the boss’s baby boy wasn’t smart--even if Blake was two years younger than Jared. Blake had bigger reasons to stay away and his shifter secret was harder to explain than his turbulent childhood.

“I’ve been trying to drag him to the keg, but he’s trying to impress you.” Frankie Saunders wandered up next to Jared.

Blake shot the other ranch hand a look that said shut up! Frankie was a lean, mean, blond, spiky-haired, gay flirting machine in his mid-thirties who loved to stir any pot nearby. He’d become Blake’s friend and the only one who knew about his crush. However, thanks to the picnic, Blake had learned that gay wasn’t something that needed to be a secret here.

“You’re a hard worker, Blake. Enjoy your time off. We don’t do huge parties like this all the time. Come to the Shack tonight and have some fun.” Jared smiled and patted Blake’s shoulder.

Hank, the oldest of the White boys, called Jared over, and the sexy cowboy was gone. Blake stopped flexing and relaxed.

Frankie’s grin got even bigger. “We need to go to the Shack tonight. He invited you. Take the hint and hit on him already. Or is Randy more your type? Playing hard to get was smart. Jared noticed.”

“I don’t know Randy at all, and he came up to me. But he mentioned the Shack too. Jared is basically my boss. I don’t want to screw this up. He’s just being nice.” Blake looked out at the crowd and felt like he was being watched. “All these people are making me nervous.”

Frankie shrugged. “There is some checking out the competition at these events. Enjoy the eye candy while it’s here. You have more options than Jared, if doing the boss is so scary.”

“The Love Shack is asking for trouble.” Blake shoved Frankie playfully. Having a job where it was safe to be gay motivated Blake even more not to slack. The Shack was where men went to drink, hang out, and hook up in the back room. The amenities of the Shack were free to anyone who lived at or worked for the four ranches that supported it; the old pole barn sat on the spot where the four properties met. Rumor was it used to be an emergency shelter when weather turned or vehicles gave out--now it had two functions.

“No, the Love Shack is about having fun. You don’t have to go to the back room. The front has a bar, pool table, TV, and all that. Plus it’s free and not far. Saves hands from blowing their paychecks in bars or on hookers. Keeps them from driving when they’ve had too many--you can always get a ride. Everyone wins. You don’t have to suck anyone’s dick.” Frankie grinned like he knew Blake couldn’t resist.

Blake liked having friends and people who had his back. The Love Shack sounded appealing, but Blake didn’t drink too much. Giving in to temptations wasn’t a habit for him. To say his mother had addiction issues was an understatement. He wasn’t about to repeat her mistakes.

What he really wanted was to move up and have a career, if he could stay here. Love was a fantasy sold by society. “Getting drunk and screwing random guys won’t earn me a promotion.”

“Screwing Jared might. Show him your take-charge side,” Frankie teased.

“I don’t want a job that way.” Blake noticed the big guy from earlier eyeing him. “Who is that Randy guy?”

“Randy. That Randy? He’s a Chester. The middle son of the Chesters’ ranch. There are a zillion Chesters. They employ cousins and all live there. Hell, they reproduce like bunnies,” Frankie said.

“So why’s he looking at us?” Blake didn’t let the flattery or surprise show. Randy was a family member. Here it didn’t matter what color you were or where you came from. You were part of the owners’ level or staff level. They interacted and respected one another, but staff was replaceable. Blood was not.

He’d been invited riding by a Chester? The guy was well dressed, but he could’ve been staff. Crap! Jared was a good guy, but Blake didn’t want to upset any of the owners. He could go and be social at the Shack. Blake shifted his weight and sucked in the fresh air of fall. It was still nice out, but winter was coming. He’d need better clothes to trudge through snow. Being from the south, he didn’t really want to experience a real winter up here.

But he didn’t want to leave White’s Ranch. The thought of leaving knotted up his gut.

“Don’t play dumb. I saw Randy drooling all over you before. He’s the gay one that I know of. Plus he and Jared always had a little competition between them. That little ranch hand hottie next to him is Carter. I’ve seen them screwing at the Shack. But they get into group stuff. Way too wild for you. Come on, you need to know more of these people.” Frankie led Blake by the arm.

“Sure. Thanks.” Blake checked out Randy and the ranch hand. If he wasn’t going to go after Jared, he’d need to have a little fun eventually. Then again, a casual group thing, maybe no one would notice or care?

“Those are the Greens. The oldest son is a closet case, sort of like Hank, but their patriarch isn’t as open-minded as Mr. White. At least that’s the word around the barns. They are known for showing horses and breeding them for racing.”

“Hank’s in the closet?” Blake hadn’t paid much attention to the elder White brother except for work. Tall, broad, and intimidating by any standards, Hank was mid-forties and all business.

“Yes and no. He’s a workaholic. He and Jared never go to the Shack on the same nights. Hank is extremely discreet. He has a glory hole addiction, so nothing personal.” Frankie rolled his eyes.

“You like Hank?” Blake had noticed the glint in Frankie’s eye when he talked about him.

“I like all hot gay men. I don’t discriminate. He might need a little help out of the closet someday, and I’ll probably still be here. But you have a good shot with Jared so stop dragging your cowboy boots.” Frankie glanced down. “You really need to get a new pair too. Not to be a fashion diva, but everything you own is pretty worn. Winter here is rough.”

Blake always wore his stuff totally out before splurging on new things or used things. “I’ve moved around a lot. Money is tight. Not every ranch is cool with gay hands or pays decent. Plus, I don’t like waste. When something wears out, I replace it. But it’s still warm out--no reason to pull out the new winter stuff.”

“You’re good here. Everyone likes you, even Hank is impressed. Clothes I get, but those boots look older than you are. Okay, fine, I’m dropping it, but you’re on your feet a lot. Solid quality is what I mean. It’s not allabout show.”

“I’ll look into it.” Blake had resoled his uncle’s old pair a few times. Maybe someday...

Frankie turned and pointed at the small circle. “Last of the four families are the Austens. They are more proper, very religious and conservative. Heavy into traditional cattle, they don’t diversify and don’t socialize except when it would be rude not to. See, they’re all clustered together. None of their staff is here.”

“Weird. They don’t let their staff come? Glad I didn’t get hired over there. I’ll try to keep it all straight. It’s a lot of people to learn. Their staff comes to the Shack?” Blake asked.

“Austen staff? Sure, but they don’t want to get caught with their pants down. The Austens only support the Shack as an emergency shelter but understand the social outlet keeps the barn well maintained. It’s not all about the sex. Plenty of the straights come for a free drink and premium sports on a big TV. When they’re horny, they venture into town, but the rest of us enjoy the perk of the back room. You’re missing a huge benefit of working here. Lots of stress-relieving, hard, sexy cowboys. They’d love to have you there.” Frankie bit his lower lip.

“Subtle.” Blake laughed, but the temptation grew bigger. “Jared asked me so I guess I should go.”

Frankie nodded. “It’s not a date so don’t get weird. Get him in the back room and enjoy. That’s a step in the right direction.”

The idea sounded great, but Blake didn’t want to be just sex. That’s all he’d really had from men all his life. He didn’t want to get his heart mangled when he was finally feeling safe here.

Maybe it was a mistake, but he’d begun to hope for more in life than hard work, poor wages, and random gay bar hookups. Love was a mysterious thing that happened to others. Security was real. He had the ranch skills and somewhere he’d be more than just a hand.

“We’ll see.” Blake shrugged.

“Hedging your bets. Blake, you’re good. You’re the best hand here. Everyone knows that you have a diverse background, and you’re an asset. Hank wants you on his dairy addition project,” Frankie said.

“I know nothing about dairy cows. I’ve worked goats, pigs, cattle, and horses, but dairy is not my area.” Blake had already told that to Hank.

“Right, but you learn fast and you’ve done a bunch of different stuff. Pigs and goats--Hank has talked about both. Moving around and working ranches all over is good experience Hank and Jared don’t have. Most of us grew up locally without opportunities. We ranch what we know. Cattle and horses. That’s Montana.” Frankie nodded to the big blue sky.

The view made Blake never want to leave. Acres of rolling grass and countless heads of cattle grazing in the distance. The Whites’ main house was a huge two-story aptly painted white with maroon trim. The employee housing was the nicest Blake had ever seen. “Winters will be rough.”

“Brutal, but it’s every bit as pretty with the snow. We find ways to stay warm.” Frankie headed toward the dessert tables.

“Did you boys get enough to eat? You both look a little lean to me,” Mrs. White fussed.

“I’m stuffed, thank you, ma’am,” Blake said.

“It was delicious,” Frankie added.

“I hope you saved room for the main cake. You have to try it.” She wagged a finger at them.

“We will. Can’t wait.” Frankie nodded.

Blake wanted to contribute, but he found himself tongue-tied. Women always found fault with him. His mother. His aunt. Nothing he ever did was good enough or right. Mother figures especially made him uneasy.

Men he could handle. Men he understood. He took off his hat and smiled politely at Jared’s mother.

Jared walked up next to his mother. “Where’s Hank? It takes two to carry that monster cake out. Why can’t you just make a few shorter cakes?”

“It’s not as impressive.” She put her hands on her hips.

“This isn’t a wedding.” Jared rolled his eyes at Blake.

“If one of my two single boys would give me a wedding to throw, maybe I wouldn’t need to go all out for your father’s birthday? Get these two to help you. Hank is dealing with the Greens. They’re always trying to buy all our best horses.” She pointed out her eldest son.

“I’ll help,” Blake said a little too enthusiastically. Then it was too late to take it back.

He followed Jared into the big house, enjoying the view of Jared’s ass in tight denim.

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STERLING SUNSHINE by Cheryl Dragon

STERLING SUNSHINE by Cheryl Dragon

Men of Alaska Book 2

Gretchen isn’t in Sterling to find men. At least she keeps telling herself that. She has a new job to do promoting local businesses. Still, she can’t resist hoping she’ll find the right group of hot men to really make her dreams come true. She already has her eye on a certain sexy trio, and when they fail to make the first move, she uses work to make a meeting happen. Alaska is definitely bringing out her bolder side.

Tony and Ross are eager to date and seduce the voluptuous beauty but their third lover is a roaming pilot with notoriously bad timing. Do they count him in or out? Should they wait for him to show up or move on her? The attraction proves too hard to resist, but Matt turns up just in time to make it a foursome. It complicates the relationship but adds to the passion. Besides, love and lust aren’t practical.

The deeper Gretchen gets into the lives of her three men, the more she knows they need to be shaken up and she’s just the woman to do it!

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Excerpt:

Early on a Monday morning, the sun was already high and shining. Summer in Alaska meant lots of craziness with only a few hours of darkness. After the long dark winters, people soaked up the sun, and it meant not enough sleep, too much energy, and stupid stuff. Tony Wooden was ready for another day of tourists and locals who needed help. He saw all of it firsthand working as a paramedic with the Sterling Fire Department.

As he sat at the breakfast table across from his steady guy, Ross Isaac, Tony tapped on the side of his coffee mug. The excessive sun affected him too.

“Too much coffee?” Ross teased.

“Too much routine.” Tony glanced over. As usual, Ross was studying his tablet for the latest news. The new mayor of Sterling wanted to boost tourism and make his mark. At only thirty-three, he was young for that sort of job, but everyone liked him. A long-time resident, Ross was one quarter Native and it showed in his dark black hair and brown eyes. He wanted progress but respected tradition, which pleased almost everyone.

“Can I help?” Ross asked.

“I’m just a jealous jerk. My little brother Jason and his guys have the perfect woman for them and I feel like I’ve been off and on with guys all my life. I knew I liked men and women growing up. I found the right men, but Matt always makes it complicated with his job priorities. We’re finally set but we could be missing a chance,” Tony said.

“Gretchen.” Ross sighed. “I agree, she’s the best thing that’s happened to this town in a long time. And us. I’m just as interested as you are. You’re so cute when you’re smitten.”

“You have to like her and...” Tony stopped before he brought up the guy who’d hopped in and out of their lives regularly.

“She’s very attractive. I can’t say I’m in love right now. I more than like her but we haven’t had a lot of time to do any traditional sort of dating. She’s been busy moving up here. Back and forth to Michigan then setting up her advertising work with your brother and his group. It’s hard to seriously date someone who is still moving and settling in. Will she stay in Alaska? Plus I’m still figuring out this mayor job.” Ross grinned. “It’ll happen.”

“With just two of us? Or will Matt show up and ruin it? Throw a wrench in it?” Tony asked. He was used to putting out fires and handling emergencies, so when Matt landed in town, it wasn’t too bad. Ross and Tony dealt with it and enjoyed it. Maybe Tony had been putting off moving seriously on Gretchen because of the Matt question. He and Ross had spent time with her, but it was more friendly time at gatherings.

“He could jumble things if we’re trying to win Gretchen.” Ross nodded.

“No shit! He showed up right after the wedding she was in, but she was busy going back and handling things at her old place. By the time she came back, he was off again. They’ve crossed paths at most. Now she’s staying with her friend Melody and my brother and Ryan and Dale, but Matt’s gone again. I don’t want to screw it up. It’s already complicated,” Tony said.

“Small towns are always complicated. New women don’t move here every day. We shouldn’t keep things on hold. I think she’s settled in now and, with summer here, we have lots of events and options to socialize. But are we ready to shut the door on Matt? Maybe he’d settle in if we had the right woman?” Ross asked.

Tony had been wrestling with that for weeks. Matt had met Gretchen once or twice while he was here, but, like most times, he’d gotten some job and hopped in his plane.

He didn’t want to lose Gretchen over it, but Matt was a complicated guy. His dad was an ice-road trucker who was gone for long stretches. It seemed to be genetic. Matt was a pilot who loved to take high-paying jobs transporting things needed by people living on islands and in remote areas. Not every place had a ferry, and once it warmed up, the ice roads shut down. He made good money, and Tony understood, but it was hard to build a relationship without all the players.

“What do you think?” Tony turned the question back around on Ross.

“We love him. We always will. We know what he is and accept it. He’s not going to change tomorrow because of an ultimatum. We just need to live our lives. If we want Gretchen, we go after her. Date her. Two stable men isn’t bad. Gretchen came up here for Isa’s wedding. Isa only has two men and she’s very happy,” Ross said.

“And if Matt drops in while we’re dating? You know his timing,” Tony replied.

“Then we tell the truth. We tell Gretchen all about him and our history. The ménage tradition in this town is odd enough. She doesn’t seem to mind it for her friends. Guys with jobs that take them away for chunks of time is part of why the ménage structure worked in Sterling. Being on the Kenai Peninsula, some of the men went out in boats to fish while others went north and up the mountains to mine. And everyone hunts. All of it is dangerous. Sharing a woman gives the family protection. Matt says he wants the old-fashioned relationship because he loves the real Alaska.” Ross shrugged.

Tony nodded. “Matt loves the adventure. He could make a living around here giving tours. We just have to be honest with her. Two men are plenty when you have such a safe job. We’re both in town.”

“Isa married two men in the coast guard. There are no guarantees in life. You have to roll the dice and hope for the best,” Ross said.

“I know. I want to make her part of our life and keep her safe. I deal with chaos at work. I don’t like chaos in my personal life.” Tony left the table and put his dishes in the dishwasher.

“Then you should’ve cut Matt out a long time ago. A new player means uncertainty. She might not like it. She might want four men. Who knows? The longer we wait, the better the chance other men will go after her. Right?” Ross asked.

Tony leaned down and kissed Ross slowly. “I know. When you explain it, it makes sense. I want to offer her the world not a hard to explain trio.”

“If we’re that hung up on her, we need to stop stalling and move on this fast.” Ross looked at Tony. “You’re worried I won’t fall for her?”

“Of course I am.” Tony sighed.

“I’m crazy about you, and we both can’t get Matt out of our system. I think the odds are good. Let’s see what we can do to get her attention.” Ross cleared his place.

“I hope I haven’t waited too long.” Tony leaned on the counter. “She was moving and working but I danced with her at the wedding and stuff.”

“Stuff?” Ross asked.

“Nothing like that. Flirted. You’re right. We need to move on it before she thinks we’re not interested. I just don’t want Matt to screw it up.” Tony knew he was overanalyzing and looked at the time. “Work is always a distraction. Have a good one.”

“You too, and stop worrying,” Ross said.

That was easier said than done. Tony wanted a stable family of his own. Tourism did better over in Homer. Sterling was a bit more traditional, but they had their share. New women moving in didn’t happen much. Any woman wouldn’t do. Gretchen caught his attention, and Tony trusted his instincts.

Growing up in Alaska, he was ready for the bear in the backyard or the moose on the road. He trusted his gut on a camping trip or when driving in a blizzard. At work he made split-second decisions about life, death, and the conditions around him. When it came to personal things, he agonized because he had time to think. He couldn’t trust that Gretchen and Matt would work out. He wasn’t that lucky, but he couldn’t pick between the two. He had to trust Ross and explore the options.

* * * *

Gretchen stayed out of the way as the flurry of activity swept through Melody’s home. Technically it was the guys’ home, but she’d relocated and made it hers. Three kisses and the men headed off to their boat repair shop while the women lingered over coffee.

“Well the boat repair business is picking up,” Melody said.

“I wish we could get your dress-making business humming.” Gretchen had been working on advertising but it wasn’t working as well. Alaskans were a fairly practical lot. Fancy dresses were for very special occasions only.

“I’m still getting some work, but the self-sufficient nature of Alaskans means sewing isn’t the most in-demand skill. Weddings are my best business, but people might not have the funds to buy custom gowns.” Mel shrugged.

“But you’re happy?” Gretchen asked. She knew the answer and was doing her best not to be jealous of Mel’s blissful state. Alaska was an adjustment, but Mel had easily transitioned to a complicated relationship.

Mel grinned. “Very.”

“Good. I think if we focus on weddings, we can build a business for you. We’ve got some samples and you’re working on a few more. I’m trying to get a meeting with the mayor. Maybe link up with the tourism push I heard he’s looking to do.” Gretchen’s mind whirled as she nibbled a piece of bacon leftover from her breakfast.

She’d been working hard to prove her new job; helping with the advertising and promotion of the boat repair and dress design business was worth it. After a long stretch of unemployment, she had purpose. There was plenty to do but progress was only showing on the boat side. Gretchen feared that was just the good weather, but she’d gotten the word out farther than the guys.

“You don’t need to push so hard, Gretchen. No one expects magic overnight. We’re doing the bridal show in Anchorage. That’ll help,” Mel said.

“It will and it’ll be even better if we can build up Sterling as a spot for destination weddings. Alaska is a great vacation place, we can make Sterling a great location to get married in and enjoy the scenery, the nature, and all that good stuff. If we can tie our promotion budget in with the town, we’ll more than double the reach.”

“Destination weddings? Here?” Mel asked.

“Sterling has it all. Small, cute feel. Water and gorgeous nature settings. The men can fish, hunt, hike, and all that. Women too. Or the women can do the wine tasting in Homer like we did. We need to build up the draws for women because they really are the ones who make the wedding decisions.” Gretchen nodded.

“That’s true. There’s a beauty salon in town. Not a ton of shopping beyond basics. Photographer.” Mel frowned.

“You’re sure you’re not going to have a wedding? We could make a blitz of promotion about that.” Gretchen grinned.

“No. Marriage is great for some people, but I won’t play favorites.” Mel shook her head.

Mel had overcome a lot of marriage doubts and independence issues to move here. Committing to such a complex relationship was great progress, and Mel didn’t want to be legally married to one man and not the others. Gretchen admired her friend’s perspective, but she couldn’t imagine still not wanting a big wedding. Legal or not...it was a celebration!

“I hope gay marriage is made legal here soon. That’d add to the business. Two brides, double the dresses. Or two custom-designed tuxes works too. Group marriage will take forever, but we don’t need it to be legal to throw the party,” Gretchen said.

“I know you were out of work for a while and it was really depressing, but you don’t have to push so hard. Big things take time. I won’t be a billion-dollar dress designer in a day. Especially not after moving here.” Mel patted her friend’s hand.

Gretchen took a deep breath and sipped her coffee. “I get it. Too much too fast. Too much pressure on myself. It’s just so nice to have something to do. I’m living in your house and eating your food. You know I just want to make myself useful.”

“You are. There’s no rush to move out. Trust me, the guys don’t mind. The deal was room and board while we get things going. Once business picks up, we can start paying you more. You can find a place, if you want to stay,” Mel said.

“I’m not sure I want to live alone here. Definitely not yet. It’s different, but nice. Small town. Things feel a bit simpler, yet other things are a lot more complicated.” Gretchen had been eating more in-season fresh fish and local meats instead of the processed food that were cheaper and easier to come by in the lower forty-eight. That alone helped her take off the weight she’d added while jobless.

“You fit in better than I did at first.” Mel checked her phone.

“It’s summer too. That helps. The darker winter was a rough way to explore a new town with wedding stress on top of it. You were a great maid of honor and made fabulous dresses in the dark. At least now we know what we’re in for. We can soak up the sun and prep for the winter.” Gretchen looked down at her smartphone.

Technology was a big part of what helped Alaska run better these days. Even if they were snowed in, information still came through. “What if we do an app?”

“An app? For dresses?” Mel asked.

“Yeah! What if we had an app designed where women take a selfie and pick a design of yours, and it adjusts to their form? They could virtually try on your whole line. There would be a place to put in for a custom dress, of course. But the idea is they can see what you’ve done and how it’d look on them from anywhere. We could advertise in Canada and all over Alaska. Offer the app for free.” Gretchen started making notes in her phone.

“You’re really good at this. See. I knew I hired the right woman for the job. Maybe Ryan can help?” Mel suggested.

Gretchen nodded. Ryan was the tech expert of Mel’s men. “Make sure we load those prom designs you did too.”

A text popped up on her phone.

From the office of the Mayor: He has an opening at 11 a.m. today. Please reply if you’d like this spot or not.

She replied yes quickly. “I’m seeing Ross today at eleven. Hopefully he’ll be on board.”

“He will and he’s hot.” Mel grinned.

Gretchen’s jaw dropped. “You have three hot guys.”

“I meant for you. Tony was flirting with you at Isa’s reception. He and Ross are an item. They’d been running into you every chance they get. You don’t see it? I don’t know why they haven’t been here trying to get you out on a date all spring,” Mel said.

Copyright © Cheryl Dragon

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STERLING NEW YEAR by Cheryl Dragon

STERLING NEW YEAR by Cheryl Dragon

Melody's stuck in Sterling, Alaska over the holidays, sewing custom dresses for her friend’s wedding. She'll do anything for her friends and is determined to be the best maid of honor she can be. There are just a few very sexy distractions.

Dale, Jason, and Ryan are lovers with an eye out for the right woman to complete their family. They're happy to let Melody use space to make the dresses, but Dale especially doesn’t expect the perfect woman for them to show up in their small town. How are they going to explain Sterling's unusual relationships. Even so, the trio is definitely interested in more than simply helping out with the wedding but can they win Melody over?

Melody has never been anywhere like Sterling—where group relationships are a tradition. She can’t pass up the experience of three hot men in bed but rearranging her life for them, or any man, is a ridiculous idea. Normal marriages don’t last and she’s had repeat wedding dress clients to prove it. What the quad has is more than sex but they have a lot of baggage to sort through for her to make it a Sterling New Year.

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~Excerpt~

As best man for his big brother’s New Year’s Eve wedding, Dale Harrison knew this year would be different. Winter in Alaska could be downright depressing. Business was slower in the winter, with more repair work than new boat orders. Sterling Boats was Dale’s pride and joy. He surveyed the partially built boat in his workroom. With the upcoming wedding and associated festivities, the winter might not be as depressing, but he wouldn’t have as much time to work on his beloved boats.

Ben Harrison nudged Dale from behind. “I hope you’ve got the room. The dressmaker will be in tomorrow around eleven o’clock. She’s the maid of honor too. Single.”

Dale smiled at his brother and led him to the cleared-out section. One of two grooms for the wedding, Ben had gone into the coast guard instead of the family boat-building business. Ben and his best friend were marrying a pretty woman they’d saved when a tourist boat capsized.

“Your future wife already did a hard sell on her friend. Getting some new women into town is great. We’ll keep an eye on your dressmaker. Where is she from?” The tradition of ménage relationships dated back to the founding of Sterling. Mining had created the town, which was located near Homer on the Kenai Peninsula in south-central Alaska. The fishing and wildlife tourism that kept the town alive attracted men, but the harsh lifestyle kept women from flocking there.

“Melody lives in Michigan. So at least the snow and cold won’t be a total shock. Don’t worry so much, Dale. She’s just going to sew here. Isabelle will be thrilled to have her friend around. The other two bridesmaids won’t be in until about a week before the wedding. Mel needs the time to do all the dresses. Isabelle had no luck finding anything that flattered her figure, and sleeveless dresses were out. I wasn’t allowed to see any of them, but I heard about it. I don’t care what she wears, but she wants to look perfect.” Ben hooked his thumbs through the belt loops of his jeans. “The space is good. Put up some plywood for privacy. Mel will freak if things get dirty where she’s working, and she’ll want to do fittings.”

The name finally caught Dale’s attention. “What’s her name again?”

“Melody Cameron. Why?” Ben asked.

“Nothing. Pretty. I’m trying not to get my hopes up, no matter how many women your wedding brings in.”

Expecting the perfect woman to fall into their laps was asking a lot. Dale counted himself lucky finding one great guy in high school. Then when they went to college in Anchorage, they’d found one more. Not that they all didn’t want a group relationship with the perfect woman. Although they’d had plenty of fun sharing a girlfriend now and then in college, it’d never worked out.

Having a woman around all the time would change things. “Jason and Ryan are bringing in some boards to tack up. It’ll be fine.”

“Isa is thrilled Ryan is doing the virtual wedding online. Not all her family can come. Hell, half of them think she’s crazy moving up here.” Ben chuckled.

“Moving up here or marrying two men?” Dale checked the space Melody would work in. An office chair and a large table were the only furniture in the area.

“Legally, she can marry one. So people who don’t get it don’t have to come.” Ben shrugged. Dale envied how his brother didn’t care what others thought.

Ryan and Jason carried a big section of plywood into the room. “There’s the lucky groom!” Jason said.

“Think the dress lady will mind if I put a camera in here?” Ryan asked.

Dale admired his men for a minute. Jason was the hunky engineer with mysterious hazel eyes, short brown hair, and big muscles. Ryan, on the other hand, was leaner with soft brown eyes and dark brown hair. They both wanted kids and the right woman. Deep down, Dale did too.

Still, he’d been lucky enough to find two men who loved the life and work he did. He should be content with that. Sometimes asking for too much was asking for trouble.

“Dale!” Ryan shouted.

Shaken from his reflection, he looked at the guy with the camera. “What?”

“You didn’t tell us all three of the bridesmaids were single.” Jason tapped nails gently into the edges of the plywood while Ben placed the sawhorses to keep the board in place. Ryan set his camera down and left the room.

He returned a moment later, a floor lamp in each hand. “We only need one.”

Dale didn’t like the direction the conversation was heading in. “Don’t get your hopes up! Two of them are just coming in for a week. They may not be our type. They might think Alaska is too rough a life or Sterling is crazy. Ménage isn’t for everyone. Besides, they have lives, jobs, and homes. Ben got lucky, but this is his wedding, not a bride-importation service.”

Ben patted Dale on the shoulder. “Relax, little brother. I hope one of them is right for you guys. You’re smart not to have any expectations. Just do me a favor and keep an eye on Melody for car trouble or rookie mistakes, since she’ll be here longer.”

“Don’t worry. We’ve got it covered.” Jason kept tapping the nails in.

Dale nodded as Ryan worked on his tablet. The guy was a tech genius and always connected.

“Melody Cameron, a fashion designer from Michigan. They have a lot of fashion in Michigan?” Dale asked, looking for possible flaws in the woman. Why would a fashion designer choose to live in Michigan?

Ryan turned the tablet around. “Her Web site looks good. She specializes in custom gowns for the hard-to-fit bride. Just our type.”

Dale studied the pretty, plus-size woman smiling in her Web site photo. With pale skin and long, reddish-brown hair, she was surrounded by samples of her work. Seriously attractive. Damn, this best-man gig would be harder than he thought. “She might hate it up here. Even southern Alaska isn’t easy for everyone.”

Jason stepped away from the board, then plugged in the floor lamps for overhead lighting. “Natural lightbulbs should help, Dale. You’re getting a touch of SAD, and we don’t need you scaring off a friend of Isa’s. These lamps should help Melody deal with the darkness.”

Dale walked around the space where the dresses would be made. “We might need to add a space heater over here, with the boards blocking the airflow.”

“I’ll grab one from the office.” Jason headed out.

Dale glanced around the room and tried to think of anything else Melody would need. “Maybe we should get a box cutter and unload?”

“I don’t think we should touch anything until she’s here.” Ben looked at the wall, then went to the corner and picked up a hammer. “Maybe if we put a sheet up over this, it’ll look better?”

Dale liked that. “You’re right. The plywood will snag material, I’m sure. Keeping fancy dresses clean and safe won’t be easy.”

“According to Isa, Melody isn’t really shy. She’ll tell you what she needs.” Ben set the hammer down. “Don’t give up on the right woman. You’re thirty-two, not seventy-two. Just because you’re in a relationship with two guys doesn’t mean there isn’t a woman out there who would love all the attention the three of you can give. Maybe she’s not coming to this wedding, but every summer brings a new crop of tourists.”

Dale stood near the floor lamp outfitted with bulbs that simulated natural light, and soaked in the rays as well as his brother’s positive attitude. “I hope you’re right. No one needs to get hurt. The right woman is one thing, but I need to appreciate what I have.”

Ben turned and looked his brother in the eye. Dale felt the unspoken understanding of a sibling. Kids didn’t always value what they had until it was taken away. There was no way Dale would make that mistake.

* * * *

Cold and snow didn’t impress Melody Cameron. Michigan had plenty of nasty winters with lake-effect snow. Still, Alaska was different. The darkness flat-out sucked. Anchorage had all the amenities of a real city. But since getting off the plane in Sterling, she felt like she’d gone back in time. There were lots of log cabins and plenty of businesses, but not a restaurant chain or coffee-shop franchise to be seen.

“You had five boxes shipped in. They’re at the boathouse. Ben’s brother’s got space for you.” Isa drove the truck through calm streets.

“Thanks for picking me up. I couldn’t ship all the fabric, just in case.” Melody had to admit Isa’s future hubby was hot and Isa looked happier than ever, but Mel kept glancing at the boxes in the back. The trouble to get the stuff here made her paranoid.

“Don’t worry about it. Ben’s following in your rental, so you won’t be stranded anywhere. We’ll get you settled at the Sterling Inn, and you can start work tomorrow.”

For the first time, she hoped the work space had no windows. She didn’t want to be reminded of the lack of sunlight. She frowned at the dim sun hanging in the sky; a little light was better than none. “There’s plenty of day left, right? I’d rather put the stuff inside so there’s less risk of damaging anything. I have extra fabric, but I want to know it’s safe.”

“Sure. We’ll go right to the boathouse. Dale, Jason, and Ryan are good guys. If you need anything, let them know.” Isa made a right turn onto a road that led to a large lake visible in the distance.

Melody admired the view. There was an eerie glow on the distant ice, and the dark water looked ominous. No doubt if she wandered off in the wrong direction, she’d be in danger. Nature was awe inspiring, and here, there was a lot of it. With the dresses to make and the mostly dark days, she wouldn’t have much time for sightseeing. “Thanks.”

They parked outside a huge building. She exited the truck, then opened the back door. Before she turned around, she saw the reflection of three handsome, solidly built men in the window. No distractions! She slid the box containing the material for Isa’s dress out of the backseat.

Ben pulled up in the rental. As he exited the car, he said, “Melody Cameron, this is my brother Dale, and his boyfriends, Jason and Ryan.”

She turned, clutching the box. Three good-looking men smiled at her. Dale gave a polite nod. The other two looked eager to help. Isa had talked about the trio a lot, but Melody hadn’t expected them to actually be attractive.

“Let us give you a hand.” Jason tried to take the box.

She wasn’t used to help. However, she couldn’t move the boxes by herself in this cold. Reluctantly, she let him take it. “Please be careful.”

“I’ll be careful; I promise. We can fly to Anchorage anytime we need to, as long as the weather holds. If the worst happens, you can get more.” Jason grazed her hand with his gloved one.

She let go of the box, then dug into her pockets for the good leather gloves she’d brought. “Thank you. I have a lot of work to do, and I can’t afford to lose time.”

Dale looked her over with ice blue eyes, then went around to the other side of the vehicle. “Well, we better get inside before it starts to snow.” He opened the door and pulled out another box.

“The boxes you shipped here are inside. I’m doing a virtual wedding; I hope you don’t mind,” Ryan said. He pulled out a camera from his pocket.

“I told her about that.” Isa handed Mel the keys to her rental and warned, “Drive carefully here. Let’s get inside and let the men bring in the luggage. We’ll warm up faster if you stop guarding the material.”

Mel’s face flushed as she followed Isa inside. The heat felt good. Unfortunately, the warehouse space wasn’t much. Wiping her feet on the mat, she inspected the room. Boxes were lined neatly along the back wall. The table and chair would help, but the old wooden floor with its dirt-filled cracks was a potential problem.

As the men brought in the rest of her stuff, she opened the boxes. While she dressed mannequins in one corner, she could avoid looking at the men. She’d been so busy with sketches and logistics she never imagined the men would enter her thoughts. Isa had gone on and on so much Mel figured they had to be too good to be true. Isa hadn’t exaggerated.

“You don’t need to get to work right now,” Isa said as she helped her with a mannequin. “I appreciate you coming up early and helping. Few of the dresses in the boutiques had sleeves, and the ones that did were hideous. No one designs them like you. I hate dragging you up here a month before the wedding, but arm flab isn’t good in pictures.”

“If you had found a dress you loved, I could’ve made you a jacket or wrap. But with your bridesmaids being plus-size, it’ll be better this way.” Melody was thrilled to help her friend. The four women had been close since college, especially Mel and Isa. Besides, the custom dressmaking business had fallen off since the recession hit.

She’d tried to convince Isa she could sew the dresses at home and then ship them up. However, Isa, ever the micromanager, wanted to see them in progress and didn’t want to risk the Alaskan winter weather delaying the dresses. She’d insisted Melody work locally. Isa had offered to pay Mel well, but Mel couldn’t accept. Now Melody thought she might have been set up to meet these men. It didn’t matter, though. The work would keep her too busy for distractions.

“I wanted a Cameron original. Winter has been mild so far. Doesn’t mean we won’t get an awful blizzard.” Isa smiled and twirled.

Melody laughed at her free-spirited friend. “I’m glad you’re so happy. Taking a trip to Alaska is exactly something you’d do. However, falling for two men and moving here?”

“It’s sort of normal around Sterling. Jimmy is working right now. You’ll meet him later.” Isa opened a box. “The material is so pretty!”

“Let me help,” Dale offered.

Mel rushed over. “Don’t touch. No oily or dirty fingers near the dresses.”

“Sorry, I’ll be careful.” He backed away.

“I won’t get in your way. I’ll be locked up in here for at least a couple weeks while I’m turning them into fabulous gowns. Then we’ll have fittings and the bridal shower. There’s plenty of work for me to do. I’ll try not to be any trouble.” Independence was her motto. Still, she was in unfamiliar territory.

Ryan took video of the room, panning slowly over the mannequins. “You couldn’t be trouble. I’d love to capture the progress of the dresses.”

She ran her leather boot over the old wood flooring. “That’s up to Isa. But could we get a clean tarp or something for the floor? I just want a little traction and something I can control the cleanliness of before I put any fabric out.”

Dale pushed his hood down, treating her to a better view of his jet-black hair and disapproving glance. He clearly wasn’t thrilled she was there. Maybe Isa had specifically and pointedly mentioned that Melody was single? A girl finds her man, or men, and suddenly wants everyone married. Mel had no intention of flirting…just working.

Jason took off his jacket and gave Mel a smile. “I’ll get something.”

“Thank you.” With Jason out of the bulky coat, Melody could admire his well-muscled form. Short brown hair, broad shoulders, a handsome face, and kind eyes—Jason was a hottie. She did her best to ignore the growing attraction as she watched him in action.

Ryan set down his camera to shrug out of his coat. He was leaner than Jason and Dale, with big brown eyes that matched his brown hair. He was the boy-next-door type and seemed very into his video work. Maybe all Alaskan men weren’t hunters or fishermen. Ryan grabbed his camera again. He pointed it at her, rather than at the stuff in the room. She could feel his gaze on her through the lens.

“We’ll see you at the Captain’s Catch for dinner. No arguing.” Isa hugged her. “Unpack. Just don’t get lost in work.”

“Okay, deal.” Mel turned to Ben and smiled. “Thanks, Ben.” She tugged off her gloves, then shimmied out of her Alaska-weather-approved coat. She finally felt like she could move, but would the men look at her as much when they realized the coat wasn’t the only padding on her?

“This tarp should do the trick,” Jason said as he came through the door. He set the bundled cloth down in the middle of the room. Dale stepped forward to help unroll it.

“Thank you. It’s perfect.” She walked around the edge of the tarp and reached for a mannequin. Jason rushed to help her. “We can store things along the walls, and I can work in this area.”

“The mannequins are all different sizes,” Dale observed as he set one carefully onto the canvas.

“Yes, because the bridesmaids are different sizes. I can add or remove layers of cloth and foam to get the dress size as close as possible.” She spotted the crate that housed her sewing machine. “Can you help me with this one?”

“Sure.” Jason jumped on the task, grabbing a crowbar from the table. He popped the lid free with a couple of quick yanks.

Dale glanced inside the box and chuckled. “We have sewing machines here. You could’ve borrowed one. Plenty of women in town sew.”

Melody laughed. “If they sew like I do, they won’t give up their machines for three weeks straight. I’m settling for nothing less than perfection for my best friend’s wedding.” Mel folded her arms over her chest and smiled proudly.

“We want it to be great too,” Ryan said. “Do what you have to do. We’re working on repairs and a new boat in the next room, so let us know if you need anything,”

“Do you have a radio I can borrow to drown out the noise you’ll be making? I’ll focus better.” She smiled at him.

Jason lifted the sewing machine out of the box and set it on the table. “I’m sure we can find one for you by tomorrow. Not much for stations, but it’ll be white noise.”

“That’s all I need.” Mel relaxed when Ryan turned the camera to the sewing machine, then to Jason.

Ryan pointed the camera at Dale. “So, best man, what do you think?”

Dale’s smile couldn’t quite hide a ripple of annoyance. “I think my sister-in-law will have the best wedding dress Sterling has ever seen.”

Ryan hit a button on the camera before kissing Dale on the lips. “Good answer.”

The affection between the attractive men triggered an unexpected arousal in Melody. Isa had told her they were in a bisexual ménage relationship. Hearing it over the phone or asking questions via text was one thing. Seeing it was different. Men together were hot. Their bisexuality opened up options Melody never imagined happened in real life. Maybe women like Isa were that lucky, but not Melody. It would take a little time for Sterling’s ménage-friendly reputation to sink in.

“Melody?” Jason came to stand beside her.

His body heat sparked a sudden craving for affection. “Yes?”

“You’re staring.” Jason grinned at her.

“Sorry. I’m still getting used to the ménage idea for Isa and that it’s normal here.” She turned to check on how her sewing machine had survived the journey. “I have a lot of gay friends back in Michigan, but they’re all couples.”

“We’re not gay. We’re bisexual. We just haven’t found the right woman yet.” Jason grabbed the empty box from the floor. “I’ll move these out of your way. We’ve got a closet in the back. Nothing will get tossed.”

“Great. I really appreciate the help.” Bisexual. I have to remember to use that term. These men seemed to be stressing their willingness to share a woman. Isa had mentioned women were the minority in Sterling. Maybe I can have a little fun. A girl does need some playtime.

“Don’t worry,” Ryan said. “And you’ll get the hang of Alaska. There’s a lot to adjust to. The darkness will be weird, but I’m sure you’ll find a way to keep warm at night.” He winked at her, then headed after Jason.

She got that flirtatious hint loud and clear. Instead of forcing Dale, the quietest of the three, into conversation, she unpacked her sewing kit. The men might be glad to have new meat around, but they stared at her like she was prime rib.

Dale took the empty box from her. “Don’t mind them. They’re thrilled to have more women in town for the wedding. A lot of people are excited.”

“I checked the census. Two thousand people don’t make a tiny town. There have to be women here.” She shook her head.

“Sure. I grew up with them in school and everything. Most marry young and move away after college. If one of the few remaining hasn’t clicked with us by now, she probably isn’t the right woman. Anyway, don’t take the flirtation you’ll get here too seriously. You’re the new blood. Jason and Ryan don’t mean any harm. If you feel uncomfortable, put them in their place.” Dale lifted a full box onto the table, then opened it for her.

For a second, she was annoyed. Did he think she didn’t get hit on and would misread flirtation because she was a size twenty? Then she realized she had been a little overwhelmed by the group approach. If she was outnumbered in the town as well, Dale’s advice might be sound. Maybe he was just being nice in his weird, quirky Alaskan way. “I can handle forward men. A coordinated trio would be a new experience.”

“A lot of women like the attention. Mining and fishing bring people here, so naturally, there are more men than women. Men have to be more competitive to win a woman. But they certainly value their woman once they win her. Isa is lucky; you’ll see.” Dale cracked a real smile.

She unloaded sketches she’d done of the dresses, followed by shoes that matched the bridesmaids’ gowns’ fabric. “I’m sure you’re right. Ben seems nice. Hopefully, we can agree that your brother is very lucky to have Isa.”

“Damn right!” Dale nodded at the shoes. “You thought of everything.”

“I hope so.” She smiled and surveyed the room. “Things cost a lot more here. I’d rather take my time and be careful with what I have. Flying back to Anchorage, or even having something brought in, would be a pain.”

“Welcome to Alaska. We always make the most of what we have. Don’t be afraid to ask for help or advice. We’ll find a way to get you what you need. The wedding is a big deal for the town. People will help.” Dale picked up some empty boxes and headed out as Jason and Ryan entered.

She felt the change in the room as the two flirts returned. “Is the wedding really that big a deal?” she asked them.

“Yeah, lots of friends and family coming in.” Ryan held up an expensive-looking video camera. “Mind if I put this in here to capture the whole thing? I can do a time-lapse effect to let everyone see the dresses and your hard work.”

Melody hated being on camera. For the wedding, how could she say no? Isa’s grandmother was too frail to make the trip up. The Web site would stream the wedding live and also show the activities leading up to the big day. People could replay it wherever they were. It wasn’t only ingenious. It meant the world to that ninety-year-old woman on dialysis.

“Sure, a camera is fine. We’ll need to rig something for privacy when I do fittings, though.”

Ryan gave a dismissive wave. “Jason will figure it out. He’s a genius at throwing things together.”

Jason hugged Ryan playfully. “I’ll have it for you before the fittings.”

Eventually, she would forget a camera was there. “Sounds good. So the bridesmaids won’t be the only single girls in town. Isa had me worried,” Mel said, trying to make small talk.

Chuckling, Jason shook his head. “Most of the guests will be family. Don’t worry. Even Alaska doesn’t have an official bride-hunting season.”

She laughed but sensed he was only half-kidding. Deep down, she had a feeling that eighteen hours of darkness wasn’t the biggest challenge she would have in Alaska. The way the two men were looking at her, staying on deadline might be tricky.

Copyright © Cheryl Dragon

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CARNAL IN CANNES by Jianne Carlo

CARNAL IN CANNES by Jianne Carlo

Mediterranean Mambo Series

Money, power, and women all come easy to Harrison Indiana Ford. Yet he wants more -- to ensure his daddy’s oil fortune goes to him -- not Delora, the stepmother who seduced him as a teenager. If Harry doesn’t marry a virgin and produce an heir before he turns 32, Delora inherits it all. D-day and unpredictable circumstances force Harry to hire a matchmaker and marry a stranger.

Martine’s survived the streets of Haiti’s capital with her virginity intact, but she’s no innocent. Fleeing persecution, she stows away on a cargo ship, and enters France illegally. Desperate for the million Euro Harry offers for her virginity and their child so she can bring her ailing grandmother to France, she signs the pre-nuptial contract using forged documents.

Delora’s not about to let a billion dollars slip through her hands. There are too many ways to sabotage a relationship, prevent a pregnancy. And it’s so easy to foster suspicion and hatred where there’s no trust. What Delora doesn’t count on is the explosive sexual relationship that develops between Harry and Martine.

As lust morphs into caring, Delora’s detectives search for Martine’s hidden secrets. How did Martine get from Haiti to France?

BUY THE eBOOK *** READ THE EXCERPT

Excerpt:

 

“How did you word the ad?”

After two months sailing with Suresh, Harry had grown accustomed to the young genius’s tangential conversation and topic shifts.

“Geoff insisted on doing the wording -- the lawyer in him, I guess. Proof of virginity required, younger than thirty but over eighteen, in good health, free of diseases, yada yada. Significant financial reward. He handled the screening once the letters started arriving.”

“And how long did the ad run for?”

“Two weeks,” Harry said and sat straighter in the seat as another thought occurred to him. “You ever had a virgin, Suresh?”

“No. Avoided them like the plague. In my circles taking a virgin means marriage.” Suresh geared down as they crested a hilltop. “I gather from the question you’re in the same boat.”

“Yeah. I don’t draw many lines in the sand, but that’s been one.”

“I can’t say I envy you. It’s bad enough you have to sleep with a stranger, but a virgin?” His shoulder blades squeezed together. “Not my idea of a good time.”

“Mine either,” Harry muttered.

“Does it matter that she’s black?”

Catching the billionaire’s tentative cut to him, Harry shook his head. “The virgin thing matters more. I like my women experienced. Very experienced and then some.”

Suresh hit the left turn indicator. Ticktock, ticktock. They waited for the light. On the right, the famous Cannes beachfront curved in a graceful arc. Striped tents of every shape, color, and size dotted white sand. One long wooden pier interrupted a seascape of aquamarine Mediterranean.

“I presume that your father chose to locate his holding company here in Monaco because of the tax benefits?” Suresh asked.

“Yep,” Harry replied. “And those benefits have been significant. I reckon we avoided paying millions. Isn’t your principal company based here too?”

“Yes. Though some of the newer ventures are based in the British Virgin islands.” Suresh tapped a finger on the steering wheel. “My advisors wanted me to switch to Bermuda a while back, but I held off. The island’s too heavily regulated for my liking.”

Harry punched the window button. Fruity suntan lotion and coconut oil teased his nostrils. Belligerent pigeons fought each other and pedestrians for sidewalk space, squawking their territory. The hum of cars idling, broken by the occasional revving by an impatient foot on the accelerator, provided a background murmur.

“Shall I valet park?”

“Yeah. Hopefully bitch stepmother hasn’t arrived as yet.”

Murphy’s Law ruled the rest of the day.

Suresh and Harry found an anxious Austen pacing the penthouse honeymoon suite’s entertainment area. The room reeked of luxury and aristocratic heritage. Club-sized chocolate leather chairs and ottomans as soft as down were enclosed by walls of hardcover books stained with centuries of cigar smoke. Crystal decanters filled with liquids of varying hues and levels decorated a dark cherry sideboard, and the dim lighting reflected a space that oozed generations of secrets and conspiracies. The French version of an exclusive gentleman’s club, London’s White’s to the extreme.

A man who bore a striking resemblance to a caricature of a Louisiana pot-bellied politician sat on a bar stool nursing a tumbler of amber liquid. His round face contorted into a grimace when they stepped out of the elevator. Watery blue eyes flickered brief disinterest, and he focused instead on the liquor swirling in the glass he held in one hand.

“Where is she?” Harry addressed his question to Austen, who stood in the center of the room idly tossing an orange from one hand to the other.

Jerking his head to the left, Austen answered, “In the bedroom unpacking.”

“My stepmother?” Harry’s eyebrows lifted.

“Due any minute with a new doctor.”

“That bitch never told me I’d have to put my finger up a darkie’s twat.” Dr. Halliday took a swig of his liquor.

The revolting words raked memories Harry had worked hard to erase -- Silas’s broken body, the skin on his face sloughed off by miles of gravel. His temper blazed.

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Harry barked, a red haze distorting his vision, rage flooding his thoughts. “Get the fuck out of here!”

His voice escalated to a roar, the pulsing veins in his forehead emphasizing the loss of any semblance of logic. When the doctor curled one corner of his mouth in a sneer, Harry lost it.

Harry grasped the fat bastard’s jacket lapels and pulled him off the stool. Bourbon splattered over the bar counter and dripped onto the carpet. The tumbler tottered at the edge of the bar, and then thudded and bounded three feet to the left, coming to rest at the foot of a coffee table.

Suresh pedaled backward and hit the down button on the elevator.

As soon as the doors opened, Harry shoved the man into the empty lift and punched Lobby. Bitterness pulled down the corners of Harry’s mouth. He stared at the elevator’s gold-mirrored finish, not seeing anything but the ugly past.

A slight movement in the blurred reflection alerted him to the present. He turned around, each movement lethargic, deliberate. The silhouette of a slender female, one hand braced on her right hip, came into his line of vision. She walked with the lithe grace of a gazelle, and his lungs faltered with each slow step she took.

Shadows dipped and danced, hiding her features from his sight. When she turned her head to greet Austen with a husky murmur, he absorbed her profile. High cheekbones, an arrogant nose so perfect it belonged in a plastic surgeon’s after catalog, and a sloped Cleopatra brow. She kept her head averted for five more strides, and his gaze slid over bare feet encased in four-inch stilettos.

Her legs went on and on, long, toned, and shaped so fine no Vegas showgirl he’d ever dated could match such perfection. Lost in appreciation of her nymphlike curves, he hadn’t yet made it to her eyes when she halted. Not in any particular hurry, he lingered on a three-inch-wide leather belt hugging her narrow waist. A twinge of disappointment caused his forehead to pucker -- B-cup breasts he guessed, but barely so.

All in all, he decided, raising his eyes, not bad.

She lifted her chin, and their eyes met.

Oxygen left the room. A water-in-the-ears sensation hushed all sound. Her lips moved, but he didn’t hear a word, just had an impression of a musical throaty voice. Images bounced back and forth in his brain as the woman from Grasse blazed across his brain, her long legs encased in smoky nylons, the sexy black garter belt she struggled with, the glimpse of pouty pussy lips, and the curls of dark pubic hair.

For a second, for a hairbreadth instant, he thought he’d found the woman from Grasse, the one with odd-colored eyes. She’d worn a mask like the other catering staff, but there was no mistaking the deep blue of her left iris or the rich brown of the right. Passion and fierce determination blazed in the way she tilted her chin, and her lips curled in a sneer, as if he hadn’t caught her half-naked in an empty room, and as if she wasn’t in the wrong.

A rose hue darkened twin spots at the apex of this woman’s cheekbones, and her eyes -- Harry did a double take -- her unremarkable coal eyes flickered down his form. Her blush deepened into a delectable cherry shade.

Mouth watering, Harry followed the direction of her gaze to his groin and knew his complexion matched this beauty’s. He wore faded jeans, a brown belt with a silver buckle, and tented couldn’t begin to describe how his erection strained against the tight denim.

Austen cleared his throat.

Harry jerked, and his stare collided with hers again for a hint of a second. In a rush to avoid another strained, uncomfortable ogling, he strode in the direction of the bar but halted as soon as his boot hit the floor, and swallowed an expletive.

Two zipper teeth pinched the underside of his cock’s crown.

Mortification and pain stamped his skin with a fiery heat, but even though his freaking organ throbbed, he couldn’t will it into flaccidity.

Harry twisted the cork out of a bottle of scotch, poured a stiff shot into a crystal tumbler, and downed the liquor using his right hand. The left he utilized to surreptitiously separate flesh from brass zipper teeth, and he closed his eyes for a brief moment as the sting subsided. Harry did a two-step spin.

“Introductions, Austen.”

“Miss Martine Bellamy, Harrison Indiana Ford.”

“Miss Bellamy.” Harry ambled her way, hand outstretched.

Chin cocked, eyes half-hooded, she returned the gesture, and her slender fingers gripped his hand in a firm shake.

“Mr. Ford,” she murmured, and she had that sexy French accent down to a purr.

“Under the circumstances I believe it best if we forgo the formalities, Martine. My name is Harry.” He didn’t release her palm or her gaze.

She tried to tug away from him, but his hold tightened, and he exerted enough pressure to show who commanded this scene. Martine’s bottom lip jutted out, and rebellion flared ever so briefly in her half-hidden eyes before a rigid self-control battened down her emotions.

The elevator pinged.

Every follicle covering his flesh stood at attention as the ventilation system swirled Chanel No. 5 through the room. Harry fought his automatic gag reflex.

Delora.

“Miss Bellamy, would you wait in the bedroom until we’re ready?” Harry shuffled about as quickly as he could within the confines of the tight pants and bruised skin.

The last time he’d seen the onyx-eyed beauty standing at the entrance to the penthouse, she’d flashed a ten-carat engagement ring with matching eternity band under his nose.

“Why, Indy in the flesh.”

The years had been kind to Delora Consuela Perez Ford. Her creamy olive complexion still glowed, and those saucer-sized black eyes blazed her Gemini nature, one minute oozing passion and love, the next flashing contemptuous, taunting hatred.

“Como estás, mi madre?” Harry drawled, imitating an illiterate peasant’s pronunciation, knowing she hated when he reminded her of her origins.

Austen cleared his throat.

Suresh choked back the beginnings of a guffaw.

Harry glared at both of them.

Twisting his lips to one side, Suresh shrugged, and Harry turned his attention to Delora.

At least his damned prick had calmed down. Harry exhaled, stalked to the bar, and poured a stiff shot of bourbon.

“I see you haven’t changed.”

She’d perfected her English. Not a hint of her Mexican accent remained. He downed the liquor, measured another ounce, swallowed that too, and slapped the glass on the wood.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” he said, exaggerating his native old-boy drawl. Harry shifted and braced both elbows on the bar. Out of the corner of his right eye, he caught a slight motion and realized the beauty, Martine, hadn’t moved an inch.

He squinted his displeasure at Austen.

Suresh’s mouth twitched a couple of times, his onyx eyes twinkling their amusement. Harry zinged him with narrowed eyes.

A quick sweep of the room and he’d memorized each person’s position, assessed potential reactions, and formulated a change in direction.

“What’s Halliday doing back here?” He pointed his chin at the stout medicine man standing next to Delora.

“He’ll do what he’s supposed to.” Delora hadn’t taken her eyes off him. “He says you managed to find a woman, a black woman.”

Her voice radiated contempt. Delora liked finding those on a ladder rung lower than her to torture. And her prejudices ran deep; she’d been the one to sic her brothers on Silas, his father’s sole black employee. The grizzled foreman of the ranch had been more of a father to Harry than his actual daddy. Forgive and forget didn’t get close to working as far as Delora’s role in Silas’s ultimately fatal injuries went.

His stepmother’s nostrils flared, and Harry realized she’d thinned them -- eye wrinkles smoothed too, he surmised -- and wondered how many original body parts remained.

“You’re going to screw her,” she jeered and pointed a red-painted fake nail at him. “Your daddy’ll roll over in his grave. He’d have disowned you in a second.” She snapped her fingers.

“Ground rules, Delora. If I hear one more prejudicial remark from you, I’ll have Austen gag you and tie you to a chair. According to Daddy’s will you have to be present, not vocal. I’m marrying Miss Bellamy as soon as the exam’s complete and witnessed. You leave immediately, and I get to never see you again after today.”

“Where’s the executor’s lawyer?” Suresh asked. He held a cell phone to his ear. “Geoff says three lawyers present, three doctors present, according to the will.”

A choked gasp caught his attention, and Harry’s fisted his hands when he saw Martine’s face. She schooled her features quickly, but that delicious complexion had paled, and though she stared unblinking at some spot on the far wall, he read the bleak acceptance in her rigid posture.

“Suresh, handle things out here. I need to speak with my fiancée.”

Harry stomped past Austen, who shook his head and said, his voice low, “I didn’t have time to go through everything with her.”

Freaking disastrous.

His compulsive procrastination had just bit him in the ass. If he’d placed the ad sooner, had started the search earlier, hadn’t waited till he’d almost turned thirty-two… Harry dragged both hands through his hair and halted in front of Martine. He’d been so certain he could prove the will a fake.

“We have a few things to discuss, Miss Bellamy.” He waved a hand at the bedroom door. “If you’ll step inside…”

The muscles in her slender neck worked, but she showed no other sign of nervousness, poignant features impassive, fathomless eyes unreadable. She swallowed again, and he had the urge to stroke her throat, soothe away the events that had to follow their conversation.

Until that moment he hadn’t realized how humiliating the procedure would be for this woman who seemed poised for flight. He tried to imagine having three people penetrate him with fingers in front of six witnesses, including one hostile woman and one redneck twit. A wave of nausea curled through his gut.

Martine’s sweetheart chin tilted, her bottom lip plumped, and she gave him an almost imperceptible nod before preceding him out of the room. Gaze glued to her hips swaying against the thin cotton of her long white dress, he traced the outline of her waist-cut thong and bit his tongue as his prick found zipper teeth with unerring accuracy.

Halting just inside the bedroom, Harry kept his focus fixed on her back, adjusted his cock, and then slammed the door shut.

“Exactly what did Austen go over with you?”

She stood about three feet in front of him, hands in tight little fists, and looked at something above his right shoulder. Spiky onyx lashes, so long he could almost count them, fluttered like a wounded dove’s wings, their shaky motion blaring a painful vulnerability.

“You need to marry a virgin and consummate the marriage. It is to be a business transaction. I give you my innocence, and you pay me a hundred thousand euros when we divorce.”

Captivated by her lyrical, soft voice, Harry didn’t register the number t first. He frowned and blurted, “A hundred thousand? The deal’s for a million euros.”

“I do not need a million. Monsieur Stanford has agreed to the change.”

Those remarkable eyes held hints of amber, and her mouth took on a mutinous slant. Harry said the first thing that came to mind. “Why would you refuse more money?”

“If I am to whore myself out, I would set the price, Monsieur. I take what I need, no more.” Her nostrils flared, and she lifted her chin as if daring him to take issue with her statement. He frowned.

English wasn’t her first language, he guessed from her careful enunciation of each word. Again the image of the woman by the couch in Grasse flashed into his brain. For three weeks, every woman he’d screwed -- and there’d been several different females -- had had her odd-colored eyes. Every gaze he’d met, he searched for what he’d read in those astounding eyes that night -- a desperation bordering on suicidal, a determination worthy of a special-ops warrior.

“What do you need the money for?”

© Jianne Carlo, September 2010
All Rights Reserved

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WHITE WOLF by Jianne Carlo

WHITE WOLF by Jianne Carlo

“I’m counting to ten and then I’ll start shooting,” Sheriff Gray White balanced a rifle on one shoulder and held a spotlight at eye level effectively blinding the perp.

“My name’s Sorcha McFadden, officer, and as you can see I’ve been skinny dipping,” his very naked, very sexy perp announced.

Stunned, White Wolf Gray can’t reconcile the nude, auburn-haired nymph, Sorcha, with his little sister’s childhood best friend. Especially when fate and his own body decree her his mate.

At thirteen, Sorcha watched Gray screwing Tonya Hazzard, the captain of the cheerleading team, from her perch in the hayloft. The image of his pumping hips invaded Sorcha's every fantasy, propelled her every climax from that day forward.

They're destined for each other, except... Sorcha doesn't believe in the supernatural, but her life—as well as the answers to the mystery surrounding her parents' murder-suicide fifteen years—earlier depend on it. Gray's the only thing standing between her and certain death, but her grandmother's last message was "Trust no one." Does that include Gray?

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Excerpt:

 

“I'm counting to ten, and if you're not out of that lake with your hands above your head by the time I reach ten, I'll start shooting.” Sheriff Gray White balanced a rifle on one shoulder and held a flashlight at eye level, effectively blinding the perp.

What the…? His eyes locked onto the most perfect pair of breasts he'd ever seen—rounded, uptilted, nipples pouting.

Gray's head whipped up. His jaw dropped; then he clamped it shut and swallowed.

Fuck.

Since when did a siren inhabit Lake Wickia? Wet hair plastered to skin the sun had never warmed, caressing each mound. His hold on the weapon slackened as drops of water, little love kisses, meandered down flesh so succulent and tempting, his fingers tingled.

The disciplined cop in him retreated as she advanced, slender legs spraying water with each step.

His eyes traced one translucent pearl as it dipped into a navel and wound around a silver belly ring dangling a delicate chain with a little heart on the end. It raced over a taut belly to its final destination, an Irish setter red triangle of curls. Oxygen didn't make it to his brain; blood crashed to his balls and his prick.

“My name's Sorcha McFadden, Officer, and as you can see, I've been skinny-dipping.” She stood tall and proud, chin jutting, a fiery defiance blazing from eyes the word “blue” couldn't begin to describe. “I'm going inside to find a towel.”

She turned around then and started up the stairs.

Gray's lungs had long stopped functioning; his reactions went on overdrive. Her scent intoxicated him. His mouth watered; he couldn't wait to taste her.

The white wolf in him roared and bellowed and seized control.

He sniffed and a whiff of her perfume, an intriguing blend of musk and cut lawn, went straight to his cock. Without a blink's hesitation he stalked after her, ogling her heart-shaped ass, his eyes darting from one cheek to the other as she mounted the three steps to the porch. High, pert, mesmerizing glutes with a hint of softness, the dimple in one winking as the other cheek tautened, hypnotized him.

Closing the distance between them, he stifled a growl when she twisted her hair to one side, exposing supple flesh pleading for his teeth, his tongue. The temptation to suck the honeyed spot and mark her with his scent dizzied him. He tucked the flashlight under the curve of his rifle arm and grabbed the banister with his left hand.

Steady, steady.

No way he'd get control over his raging hard-on during the interview made compulsory because he'd called in the trespasser. Gray planted his feet before the open sliding glass doors, gulping huge breaths of the chill April air, knowing the pine aroma should replace hers, but it didn't. Her fragrance sank into his pores; he inhaled her spicy aroma.

He had found his mate.

He was insane.

This wasn't possible.

This wasn't the way to find a mate.

Was it possible to erase a thought?

Willing his body under control, he stared as she pulled a throw off the edge of a sofa, her movements lithe, graceful. She stood no more than five feet three and yet had Vegas chorus-girl legs. His eyes found the source of her womanhood, locked onto one lone bead hanging over the cliff to the hood veiling paradise.

Hands shaking, he set the rifle and the spotlight down on a mahogany dining table. He couldn't choke back a groan as she hid all that delicious ivory flesh from his greedy gaze with a blue blanket, which she twisted in place above her breasts.

She spun around.

Her complexion paled. Her pupils dilated. She took a step back. “You.”

What had he missed?

She knew him?

“You don't remember me,” she said, her full lips pursed. “Figures.” She snorted. “What do you want, Gray?”

The effort to pull himself together didn't affect his raging arousal. Focus, focus. Gray studied her profile as she picked up a towel lying on the granite counter and attacked wavy locks that trickled rivulets onto the wooden floor.

His brain finally wrapped around her earlier statement. Sorcha McFadden, his sister's best friend. An image of her and Susie playing with their Barbie dolls stained his pupils.

“Sorcha?”

She swung back to him. “Bingo.”

A watershed of memories cascaded—a skinny ragamuffin of a girl, no breasts, not much of a backside, a mop of Shirley Temple ringlets, and the face to match. Sorcha had been a sweet kid, all quiet and shy, and she'd had the biggest crush on him for forever. She'd followed him around like an adoring puppy, never saying much, just staring at him with unblinking blue eyes as if she memorized his every action, gesture, word.

When had her hair gone from carrot to alluring auburn?

Why hadn't he noticed her eyes mimicked a Washington sky on the coldest, clearest winter's day?

“My condolences on your grandmother's death,” he said in an attempt to take the sexual tension and her anger down a notch. Her flushed cheeks and her white-knuckled grip on the towel didn't bode well for his intentions. “Aileen was a good woman.”

“She was.” A shudder racked her body, and she hugged her arms. “I inherited the cottage.”



She wouldn't meet his stare, her gaze landing here and there like a butterfly skipping from flower to flower. Through an enveloping sexual haze, Gray realized he'd set her nerves on edge.

The cloth slipped its tentative knot, giving him a ten-second glimpse of nipples as pink as the cherry blossoms that littered Twisp's Main Street every spring. She snatched the towel's ends together.

He had to adjust himself so baaad.

Ready to snap, ready to surrender to his wolf mating instincts, Gray knew he had to get her out of his presence—now.

“Why don't you go change, Sorcha? You look colder than a witch's—” Crap. He ground his teeth together. “Sorry—bad word choice.”

“I am cold, and I'm not fifteen anymore, Gray. I've heard the word 'tit' before.”

And have you heard the word “fuck” before?

He raked the outline of her hourglass figure. She had to be thirty, had to have fucked other men. But she wouldn't be fucking anyone else, not until he finished with her. Her aroma changed, the musk of her dawning excitement winding on a lake breeze curling around the log cabin. He gulped in her taste. His balls contracted.

“I repeat, why are you here?” Sorcha bent over and did that thing women did with a towel, wrapping her long hair into the cotton and securing it with a twist.

Gray's eyes locked on her neck. Not good to tempt a white wolf, honey, not when he can smell your pussy creaming.

“I spotted the lights from across the lake. This property's supposed to be unoccupied.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “You're going to have to fill out some forms. I called it in.”

“In that case, I'm going to have a hot shower and change.” She threw him a look that could only be described as petulant and pissed, and marched in the direction of the bedroom.

As she reached the doorway, she glanced over one bare shoulder and said, “There's beer and soda in the fridge. Help yourself.”

“Thanks.” As soon as the solid pine panel clicked shut, he cupped his raging cock and shifted to the right. Relief made him slump on the table for a second.

How to get from here to fucking?

How fast?

Once wouldn't be enough, not with her scent ruling his actions, his prick.

When had she come back into town?

Aileen, her grandmother, had died two weeks ago. Tonight was his first night back on duty after two months of recuperating from a gunshot wound to his shoulder, and none of his officers had mentioned her arrival in town. He guessed she'd arrived either late last night or early today.

Gray checked his watch. After five—officially off duty. He wandered over to the fridge, plucked out an old-fashioned Coke bottle, and hunted for the opener. A fat candle on the two-seater breakfast table nestled in a floor-to-ceiling bay window drew his attention. Frowning, he edged over to stand beside the table. Miniature white roses in a squat glass, a single place setting of china, sterling silver cutlery, crystal glasses, and an antique lace napkin—all items he recognized from Aileen's collection.

A six-inch chocolate cake with fudge icing caught his attention, and his mouth watered. White letters spelled out Happy Birthday, Love, Miss L. Next to the torte stood a white box banded by a white bow and a white envelope with the words Happy Birthday to ME! A bottle of merlot from a local winery waited for decanting to the right of the card.

He knew the birthday present she'd get from him tonight.

Four or five times.

She'd tried to hide her reactions to him, but nothing, nothing, could mask the clear scent of her arousal, not from a white wolf.

Where was the food?

Spotting a bag on the counter, he set the soda down and pulled open the squished-together, familiar white bag.

“Did you get a…? Oh, I see you did.” Sorcha's creamy complexion held shades he'd only ever seen in Arizona sunsets. The way the tawny golds feathered to pink on her cheeks fascinated him.

“It's your birthday,” he said. “McDonald's?”

“Grams did the cooking.” One shoulder lifted and she smiled.

Fuck, what a perfect smile, rosy lips lifting at the corners, sculpting twin dimples in her cheeks.

“I never learned. And I didn't figure on driving for two hours to get decent takeout.”

“But McDonald's?” Gray knew he wore a pained grimace. Snatching the Coke bottle off the granite, he took a good slug of the icy liquid and waited for her reaction, hoping she wouldn't be offended.

“It's the closest,” she said as she marched over to the table and grabbed the merlot.

“Sorry, didn't mean to upset you.” Cock and brain connected. “Hey, I haven't had dinner yet. And I can cook. I'll throw something together, and we can have a nice meal and catch up.”

How old were the condoms in the glove box? Crap, think, think.

Her jaw dropped open, and if he thought she blushed before, she put on a kaleidoscope show now. Did she blush like that all over? Oh gods above, if there is a heaven, let her pussy blush like that when he got up close.

And only then did he notice what she almost wore. Gray gulped. He blurted, “Honey, I hope that dress is an invitation.”

“I was going to invite you to stay.” She wouldn't make eye contact for more than a blink at a time.

He almost dropped the Coke, her words the conflagration that destroyed his self-control, the fulcrum of the life he'd built to deny his bestiality. His cock, already impossibly hard, thickened to the point of pain.

“But there is a problem.”

Fuck no. Please, please, no.

Gray daren't get any closer, and he wished he had something in his other hand.

“Problem?” he croaked, his vocal cords strangling on the word, his prick weeping its loss.

“I arrived today, and I haven't had time to stock up.” She chewed on a cherry-ripe bottom lip.

“That's the problem?” Hope pushed oxygen into previously choking lungs.

She nodded.

“There's no other problem?” The cop in him had to get all obstacles out of the way; the beast in him battered his rib cage, wrestling civilized veneer into a stranglehold.

She shook her head.

“Say it aloud, Sorcha. 'There is no other problem, Gray.'”

“There is no other problem, Gray,” she whispered, the words directed at the wooden floor. One juicy big toe chased the line of the diagonal pine slat.

A thirty-second debate waged in his head as he stepped forward: try to get to home base, or be civilized and have dinner first.

He'd resigned himself to dinner when she said, “I'm not really hungry, though. I had a big lunch.”

The Coke bottle clunked around in the sink when he dropped it. Two strides, and he had her in his arms, his mouth on hers, open, thrusting into sweet heat. The merlot hit his kneecap when he inserted his thigh between her legs. The pain brought him back from the brink. He took the bottle from her hand and set it on the counter.

“Condom… Car… I'll be back.” He sat her on the granite kitchen counter, the image of his cock plundering her pussy his sole goal. “Stay.” Tongue thick and heavy in his mouth, Gray could barely manage speech at all. An image of her rising from the lake stained his pupils, and at the door he turned and pointed at her halter straps. “Untie.”

Mine.


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OLIVER by Caitlyn Willows

OLIVER by Caitlyn Willows

Maneater Series

The last persons Oliver ever wanted to see were Merideth and Lucas. How fitting they've come crawling to him for help. It's the perfect opportunity to extract a little payback and toss their scattered hearts back in their faces as they did him. Yet, one look at his broken Merideth elicits more sympathy than he can bear.

Lucas had forgotten how much he enjoyed being in Oliver's orbit. Yes, he'd come to him to help Merideth heal emotional scars, but now he's determined to re-establish ties with Oliver. This is where he intends to stay…if Oliver doesn't throw him out first.

Merideth needs them more than life itself. Only they can help her recover from an attack that left her physically and emotionally scarred. It'd be so easy to lean on them and let them take full control…and never find her true self again. Only she can unleash her inner Domme and punish those who prey on others. Then will she finally be a woman to match the men she loves.

They burn hot together just as they had before. Each older and wiser than before, strong wills tempered by maturity. Old habits though…and there can only be one true Master.

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~Excerpt~

Oliver Holbrook sank into the heated brown marble bench custom-made to cradle his ass. A twist of his wrist turned on the shower. With the touch of a button, he could adjust the showerhead’s direction, the spray pattern it emitted, and the water temperature. Wealth had its privileges. This was one of them.

His cock lifted higher when the gentle warm water cascaded over him. It knew the ritual. Everyone should have a well-trained penis.

Oliver snickered at the thought. As if that could ever happen. The beasts had minds of their own. His was no exception; he’d just managed to learn to control it over the years. The people under him, those who held him in such high regard within the community, would be stunned to learn the extent to which he’d gone to master that control. He didn’t care to enlighten them. It was no one’s business but his.

He filled his palm with soap from the array of dispensers on the wall, lathered it to billowing suds, then wrapped one hand around his cock and shoved the other between his legs to knead his balls. This was how he started each morning and ended each night…unless, of course, he’d found a stunning woman to share his bed. And that was becoming more of a hassle than it was worth. Few saw beyond the trappings of his life or cared about the man inside. That was fine. It helped protect his heart. A higher priority didn’t exist. Guarding his heart underscored most of what he did. Oh, he had those he loved, but it was love Oliver avoided like the plague. Once burned…

He spread his legs and let the soft spray kiss his thighs. Eyes closed, he imagined a lover’s tongue flicking up his legs and tugged at his balls while he flashed his fist over his cock. It wouldn’t take long—it never did—but it relaxed him for the night better than all the booze in the world. Conversely, morning jerk offs energized him.

Fantasies danced through his head, urging him to stroke faster, harder. Images not of the bondage and discipline that were so much a part of his life, but of lace gloves and high-neck gowns that begged to be peeled away to expose the smooth skin beneath. Of corsets straining to be unlaced, and breasts longing to be freed into a lover’s waiting hands and lips. Of long, thick hair that felt like watered satin threaded through his fingers when he unleashed it from its pins. Hair color was irrelevant.

Oliver imagined the woman’s gasp, the blush that rushed her cheeks, that shy tilt of her head when she offered her neck, then her throat, and finally a taste of the rise of her breast. Maybe he’d paddle her at some point, tell her what a naughty girl she was. Because he did love watching a woman’s ass turn rosy red under a good spanking, loved peeling panties down and smelling her arousal, loved adding to the smacks until she writhed and begged to come.

Oliver plunged into his grip and growled as he came. He sprawled there in the aftermath, pretending again that the shower spray was a lady’s fingers feathering over him, bringing him back down to earth. He closed his eyes, too relaxed to move at the moment. But as the wonder of masturbation faded, the sense of something not right rushed in.

No security alarm. No sound over the water. But he never second-guessed his instinct. On alert, Oliver shut off the shower, slid open the glass door, and grabbed one of the Egyptian cotton towels off the crystal bar a hand grasp away. Underwear would have made him feel less vulnerable. A weapon would have been even better. He blotted the water from his body and extended his senses outward.

There it was—a hint of fragrance from the blooming sage that hugged the rear perimeter of his home. Desert monsoons had brought the bushes and other dormant plants to life. The scent never permeated his house unless someone opened a door or window. During August in Palm Springs, that happened as little as possible. And it never happened at night with the house secure and the alarm set. Someone was in his house. Someone who’d somehow managed to override or disable the security system.

Oliver’s adrenaline spiked. His heart raced. Just as quickly he ordered himself to calm. He could count on one hand the people who’d have the code. Any of whom might decide to take advantage of his open hospitality—if they hadn’t left mere hours before.

He missed them. Julia, Lori, and Rachel had been a big part of his life for so long. Not that he begrudged them their happiness. Hell, he’d been instrumental in seeing them get hooked up with the men they loved. But it wasn’t the same without them or their alternate Domme personas—Maneater, Soleil, and Raven—around. Maybe one of them missed him too. Missed him so much she’d come back.

He mentally shook his head. His visitor wasn’t one of the ladies or anyone else he might welcome. This was an intruder.

Oliver tied the towel around his waist. His cell phone was on a dresser that felt miles away rather than a mere twenty feet. There was also a dedicated landline with extensions throughout the house, one right by his bed. Again too far. If an intruder disabled security, he might have cut the house phone as well.

Oliver debated his options. Grab the cell, duck into his walk-in closet, and retrieve a handgun from the safe? Or lock himself inside the closet and call 9-1-1? He opted for the latter…with his gun in hand just in case.

Years ago, he would have cringed at the thought of hiding from danger. He’d definitely gotten smarter over the years. One picked one’s battles with care.

Slow steps took him to the door leading to his bedroom. Soft yellow light from the bedside lamps glowed in invitation. He’d set the stage for sleep: turned down covers, fluffed pillows, placed a book on the nightstand. Another nightly ritual. The book was gone.

At that realization, Oliver heard a page turn. To his right. The corner where he’d placed two chairs and a table—another cozy niche in his little cave. He edged forward and saw the glow from the lamp in that area.

“Don’t worry. I’m not a murderer.”

It took a few seconds for Oliver to process the familiar voice, one he hadn’t heard in years. Lucas Ashmore.

“I noticed you didn’t say you weren’t a thief.” Oliver stepped into the room. Sure as shit, Lucas shot him a smile from the corner chair. He’d made himself quite comfortable with the book and a glass of whiskey from the living room bar. Scotch, if Oliver remembered correctly. Oliver remembered too much.

“Cat burglar, please. One sin of a misspent youth. Show a little respect, Oliver.”

He snapped the book closed and stood in one fluid motion. Evidence of the feline grace that always landed Lucas on his feet. He was more dressed for the rumba than breaking and entering, with tan pants and shirt that skimmed his skin but let him move with ease for all those tight places he might find himself. The clothes also helped him blend in with the Palm Springs crowd. It was the perfect disguise…as always.

The years had been kind to Lucas. Oliver would give him that. His blue eyes were just as bright, and the small laugh lines bracketing his eyes and mouth added maturity and character, not age.

Oliver itched to double-check his face in the mirror for signs of aging. To measure himself against Lucas.

“Vanity, thy name is Oliver.” He heard Merideth’s taunt, the one she’d always say when the three of them were together.

“You’re one to talk,” was always his retort.

“A rose is a rose,” Oliver replied. “And so are its thorns.” He took an imposing stance, his best Dom scowl in place.

A haunting sense of déjà vu struck him. This was how they’d first met. That long-ago night, when Lucas had broken into Oliver’s home and interrupted killer sex with Merideth. They’d toyed with him that night, intending to scare him straight. Who knew it would bond them so tightly in love and lust? Or that they would wind up tearing each other apart years later?

Uncertainty replaced Lucas’s smile. He took another sip of Scotch, his gaze locked on Oliver’s. Was he remembering it all too?

“I have nothing that might belong to another, even remotely,” Oliver told him. “I have no jewelry to speak of, no prohibitively expensive artwork or sculptures. Most of those are from friends and associates I support. You’d get little from their sale. The loss to me would be sentimental. The loss to—”

“I’m not here to take anything.”

Lucas sounded wounded that Oliver would think such a thing. Even Oliver had to admit it was a low blow, referring to that single incident too many years ago when Lucas had first walked into his life. Lucas’s actions had been borne of desperation and necessity. Still, Oliver couldn’t let this one go.

“What the hell else would you expect me to think? Sneaking into my home in the middle of the night, breaching my security system.”

“Ten thirty is hardly the middle of the night. Besides, would you have seen me otherwise?”

“No.” Oliver turned away and walked to the closet so he could dress. Lucas was one of the last persons Oliver ever wanted to see. He heard Lucas rattle the ice cubes in his drink.

“Would it help if I told you I knocked?”

In a house this size? “Unquestionably polite.”

“It serves me well.”

Paid well too. Lucas was dominant enough to pursue, submissive enough to concede, crafty enough to find the middle ground where everyone thought they’d won. The go-to man when museums wanted to acquire items or return antiquities to the countries where they belonged.

“Yes, you’re quite the hero. But we both know you didn’t start out that way.” Oliver hauled on a pair of gray silk boxers, then followed them with a pair of white shorts and a salmon-colored brushed-silk shirt.

“Ancient history,” Lucas called out.

Let it go. “So you’re here. I’m sure this isn’t a social call. What do you want?”

“Merideth needs you.”

The unexpected words jolted Oliver. Thank goodness the privacy of the closet hid him from view. He recovered quickly and buttoned his shirt as he strode from the closet. “We’ve been down that road before. I couldn’t give Merideth what she demanded.” They’d torn each other’s emotions asunder reaching that conclusion. Even Lucas’s peacemaking couldn’t save them.

“In the end, neither could I.” Lucas drained his glass.

Oliver wanted to interrogate, dissect what Lucas meant. He wondered why he cared.

Lucas scrunched up his face in puzzlement. “You didn’t keep tabs on us?”

“I didn’t care enough to keep tabs on you.” A semi-lie. Word filtered to Oliver on occasion. Business was business, after all. It was the personal aspects of these two people he didn’t want to give a damn about.

“Fair enough.” Lucas conceded the point with a slight nod. “More ancient history as far as I’m concerned. But that was then, and this is now.” He set the glass down hard and stared at the cubes as if willing them to melt or generate more Scotch. “Merideth needs you.”

“She made it clear—”

“She was hurt, Oliver. Caught in the wrong end of a bad scene.”

The news sliced through him. Razor sharp, knife deep.

“Hurt?”

“I don’t know the specifics. A mutual friend told me. She took care of Merideth afterward. I’ve been out of the country. We haven’t been together for a long time.” Shaking his head, Lucas wandered over to the dresser and fiddled with the wooden bowl of coins Oliver dumped from his pockets each night. “It happened about six months ago. Whispers and rumors came my way. Though I’ve yet to find out who’s responsible. She’s not the same person. She’s…broken inside. Fearful, reclusive.” He swallowed hard. “To hear of a woman of Merideth’s strength and caliber reduced to…”

Oliver had a hard time reconciling that description with the woman he knew, the woman he’d heard about over the years. But something that traumatic would screw with anyone’s head. “She needs help.”

Lucas snapped his gaze up to Oliver’s. Tears filled his eyes. “Why the hell do you think I’m here?” he said through clenched teeth. “Do you think I’d come crawling to you otherwise? She’s breaking my heart!” He slammed his fist into his chest. “Again.”

Oliver bit back the words Now you know how I felt.

Lucas pulled in a breath. The tension eased from his jaw. “I went to her the minute I heard. She told me she needed you, to get you. I still love her enough to do it. I’m hoping you still love her enough to help her heal.”

A storm of emotions roiled through Oliver. He didn’t think any of them were love. Too much hurt was in the way.

“Where is she?”

“Where do you think?”

Irritation crawled up Oliver’s spine. Lucas had brought her with him. For a couple who needed his help, they were really pushing it.

Lucas stepped into Oliver’s space and touched Oliver’s arm. Oliver glanced at Lucas’s fingers, then at the man. A smoldering look to warn Lucas he’d gone too far.

“I’ll beg if I have to.” Determination edged Lucas’s voice. “Get on my knees before you. Submit. Hell…” He knelt before Oliver, glaring up at him. “I’ll even suck your fucking dick.”

Oliver smirked. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Lucas could squirm a bit on that one. Frankly, there was only one mouth Oliver wanted wrapped around his cock right now. And the owner was apparently downstairs waiting.

Copyright © Caitlyn Willows

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