Chapter 1
A sensual scent filled the air that surrounded us as our breath intertwined salaciously.
The feel of his lips, softly dancing across my skin set it ablaze with passion.
Neither one of us cared that we were in a garden, surrounded by nothing but nature, inhibited by nothing but our own imagination.
I ran my fingers through his hair as he rocked me back and forth; his strong embrace releasing me from all my fears.
I groaned as his lips graced my throat and his tongue teased my sensitive skin, which grew warm with raging passion. The rumble of his salacious chuckle erupted against my throat, echoing down to awaken my womanly desires.
Tilting myself back, I slid my fingers down his chest. Even atop the dress shirt he was wearing, I could feel his rippling muscles dance under my fingertips.
Feeling him pulse against me, I pulled away, instantly in need of him.
I wanted him inside of me, before we were caught and before I lost my nerve.
After all, this level of rebellion was not something I was accustomed too.
Yet, everything about Anthony Shields made me feel something I was not accustomed to, so it made sense that I wanted to revel in his essence as intimately as possible...
Growing up, I had always looked forward to turning eighteen. It was supposed to be a rite of passage; a turning point in your life where a person was finally able to make their own choices.
After all, it was the designated age for adulthood and so things were supposed to change.
Was I upset that the drinking age wouldn't come around for another three years? Hell no!
One of the benefits to living in the south is the openness and bountiful places to get lost, or stuck and have a legitimate excuse in the slower-paced lifestyle. With what there was to do in the sticks, there was plenty of room to do it where only the foolish, or the particularly rowdy would be caught.
No, I was looking forward to a more literal sense of freedom. I was counting the days until I could bust out of the confines of this town and strike out on my own.
However, I quickly learned, after reaching eighteen that having a car and the power of adulthood behind me wasn't the key to the world I was hoping it would be.
In fact, it didn’t take long for me to realize that what adulthood meant for me was forced socialization and a stricter view of who I spent my time with.
Up until my eighteenth birthday, if I were to bring home a cowboy or rebel in any other forbidden manner, I was going through a phase.
Now, whenever I did anything my parents, or the church deemed inappropriate, I was acting like a child and I should know better.
The problem with that was, I did know better, I just wasn't ready to do better.
Maybe I never would be and unlike my parents and the rural community in which we lived, I was okay with that.
I've never been the traditional southern bell that everyone expects from a family of my prestige but what has the status quo have to offer me?
Apparently, it has to offer nothing more than added responsibility in the same town I looked so forward to escaping and far more frequent mandatory dinners.
Tonight, was one of those nights. My parents thought that me now being an adult, I should sit through their boring dinners, smiling and acting interested until the old bastard finally had the decency to leave.
This was for my parent’s wellbeing and continued wealth. While I understood the basics of their ideas, that didn’t mean I had any interest in it.
The day I received my inheritance, I was going to use it to follow my dream, whatever that was. I knew that before I could commit to wanting anything, I had to get out of this town and figure out what there was to be excited about.
Small town politics and spending my whole life looking forward to a roll in the hay was far from what I wanted in my life.
I wanted adventure, excitement, and something more than this southern wasteland. However, since I had never had the ability to venture into the outside world, beyond the town limits, I had no idea what to expect. I could be a world traveling prodigy, or I could be a vagrant. I might not know much about the real world, but I knew enough from watching the blue-collar workers struggle to make ends meet and drown their sorrows every Saturday night that I didn't want to be like them.
So, if I was going to run, it was going to be towards something. I needed a purpose, or a plan, which I hadn't been able to devise quite yet. Therefore, I wasn't about to forsake my family’s wishes and my fairly stress-free lifestyle simply out of curiosity.
I realized that until I could figure out a solid plan, I still needed my parents. It was something I was slightly ashamed to admit and the cynical part of me had concluded that they wanted it that way. Yet, since I knew my boundaries and was certain that leaving home with nothing would ensure certain disaster, I had incentive to play nice.
So, when they requested I join them for another boring dinner with a man who could be my grandfather, simply to show face, I begrudgingly agreed.
Dinner was served at exactly 6pm and the table was set for a traditionally country, home-cooked meal.
Of course, there was no alcohol, since we were a good Christian family and knew to keep our liquor where no one would find it but otherwise, it was a magnificently charming display.
My mother had made home-cooked fried chicken and mashed potatoes with green bean casserole and chocolate pie for dessert.
One thing I had to say about my mother, was her ability to cook was a true gift. She could make anything taste good.
Which, when she tried to teach me how to cook and I almost burnt the house down, I'm sure it was quite a disappointment.
My mother had only asked me to help her prepare a meal once and I had screwed it up. Instead of trying to teach me, she had told me I was unteachable and never tried to show me anything culinary ever again.
When my father found out what had happened, he mumbled something about pitying my husband and hoping he had enough money to hire a chief.
That particular lack of encouragement stuck with me, making me hope that there was something I was good at, that would make me a presentable wife.
And they wonder why I rebel? I thought before shaking my head out of the memory, realizing now that I had spent far too much time looking at a plate of fried chicken.
"Lord, girl, are you that hungry? You keep that up, Mr. Shields is going to think we don't feed you," my mother insisted, and I turned with a forced grin.
"Sorry, momma...I was thinking about...nothing. Just lost in thought," I admitted, though wouldn't dare explain what thoughts I was having.
"Well, you had better snap out of it because tonight is extremely important to your father."
"Yes, ma'am," I replied as she handed me a heavy casserole dish.
"Go put this on the table, will you?"
"What is this?" My father demanded as he walked through the kitchen door.
My mother and I stopped to stare at him, equally confused by his comment.
"Mr. Shields is a northerner, Kat," my father explained, "He ain't gonna wanna eat this..."
"Oh yeah?" My mother huffed, jabbing her hands into her hips and narrowing her eyes at him, "Well, why don't you tell me? What do Northerners eat? They don't have chicken up north? They don't have potatoes? What? Did you want to take him out for a pizza?"
"No," my father replied, somewhat contritely, "It's just the way its fixed..."
"It's fixed deliciously, just the way you like it and he will like it too," she retorted, "He'll like it, or he'll starve."
My father groaned and rolled his eyes, realizing that he had upset my mother, "Look, I'm sorry. I'm just nervous."
"I know you're nervous," my mother replied, slightly relenting in her anger. "But you need to let us help you. Let me help you."
I tried to ignore my mother's obvious implication that my help was useless and continued to the table, again wishing I had some kind of escape.
When I placed the dish on the table, my eyes wandered over to the place-setting reserved for our latest dinner guest.
There were only four place-settings, indicating that the man was expected to come alone.
He's probably been widowed since before I was born. I thought, keeping in mind all the disgustingly old men my parents had recently brought to the house recently.
Even though they wouldn’t come right out and say it, I knew they wanted me to marry one of their business associates and the thought made me feel physically ill.
I tried to comfort myself by thinking that since he was from the north, maybe his wife was at home, but it didn't do much good.
The bottom line was that my parents wanted me to help them smooth over their business endeavors and I didn't want any part of it.
Although, as rebellious as I was, a voice inside my head continued to tell me that I needed to mind my parents; insisting that they were doing what they thought was best for me.
It was that voice that kept me from doing anything particularly rash and I resented it wholeheartedly.
The doorbell rang, pulling me out of my thoughts and I waited for instructions.
My father was in a mood and if I didn't do what he wanted, I was going to pay for it, in one way or another for the remainder of the evening and so, it was better simply to appease him.
"What are you waiting for, girl? Go answer the damn door!" My father insisted as he walked up behind me.
After a quick shake of the head, I walked over to the door with my father at my heels.
When I opened the door, I was surprised to see a man who was well-dressed but not overly showy. The first thing I noticed about him was that his dark eyes matched his hair and his smile was mesmerizing.
“Hello, Mr. Shields,” I grinned, hoping to God no one else would notice that my heart had immediately started to pound unmercifully in my chest.
“Hi,” he replied in a confident manner, “Is this the Daniels residence?”
“Yes,” my father answered for me, practically shoving me out of the way and extending his hand in the process. “I am Raymond Daniels and that was my daughter, Sahara.”
“Ray, nice to meet you,” he insisted, shaking my father’s hand briskly before walking inside with a confident stride and turning toward me, “And a pleasure to meet you as well.”
I tried to stifle a giggle but I’m not entirely sure I succeeded as I offered my hand. Watching my father stammer around as Mr. Shields grasped my hand and slowly drew it up to his lips. I felt my stomach drop and my breath cease with excitement when his kiss landed softly and lingeringly on my skin.
I was certain that when he pulled away and looked into my eyes, I was red as an overripe plum tomato, but my mind was swirling so fast, I couldn’t begin to care about anything other than his touch.
“Please,” he replied with a thick northern accent, “Call me Anthony. Mr. Shields was my father.”
Again, I giggled but knew that it was apparent this time.
“I’m Sahara,” I replied, “it’s a pleasure to meet you too.”
“And this,” my father interjected, nearly pushing himself between us, “Is my lovely wife, Kat.”
“It is very nice to meet you, as well,” Anthony replied, kissing my mother’s hand as well but without nearly as much enthusiasm as he had chosen to shower over me.
Still, my mother beamed and although she pulled her hand back rather quickly, I was sure my father was displeased with the way Anthony handled himself.
My father ushered us to the dinner table and as we were sitting down, my father spoke up, “So, Anthony…I remember your father talking about you when you were just a boy. You’ll have to forgive me, it's strange to see you in your Daddy’s seat.”
“I assure you, it’s kind of strange to be here,” Anthony admitted, “But life goes on, I suppose.” He insisted, which I knew didn’t sit right with my parents.
“Your father was a great businessman,” my father insisted.
“Indeed, he was and I’m trying my best to take up the mantel.”
“That’s good to hear,” my father replied, almost in a challenging, authoritative manner.
I watched Anthony’s expression shift slightly as though he understood my father’s implication.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know exactly how my father did business but I’m not one for beating around the bush, so to speak, so is there something you would like to discuss with me before we get started?”
My father seemed genuinely insulted by Anthony’s remark and his condescending expression made my stomach churn.
While my father wasn’t physically abusive, his anger made him belligerent, which usually escalated quickly into loud shouting matches.
He knew that he wasn’t going to be able to yell at this man, but he was sure as hell going to let it all out as soon as he left.
“Listen, Anthony, I know that,” he answered with a strained calmness, “So, I’m going to let you in on a little secret. Your father and I had something of an understanding and I hope that the two of us can continue that understanding.”
I turned quickly toward Anthony, to see what he would say.
“Well, Ray, I’m not my father and with going over your file, we have a lot to discuss.”
“Don’t you understand the concept of loyalty? They have that up in the north, don’t ya? If you don’t want to think of it that way, you can say I’m grandfathered in. That works too.”
“In all fairness,” Anthony retorted with an intriguing, genuine calmness about him, “I came down here to make a deal with you and renew your contract with my father’s company. I didn’t make a ten-hour trip to be threatened.”
“And I didn’t let you in my house to boss me around,” my father hissed.
“That’s not what I’m doing. I’m being honest, and you know it. There are some stipulations in your current contract that I want to talk about. If I was just going to rubber stamp it, I wouldn’t have come down here.”
“This ain’t your father’s company anymore, boy. It’s yours and you’re fixin’ to run it into the ground if you don’t wise up!”
“Sure, I’m bound to make some mistakes,” Anthony answered with a sly grin, “But thankfully, I have the capital to smooth over a few rough patches.”
My heart was racing. I didn’t know this man, but I certainly admired him. He was saying things I only wished I could say to my father.
My father was a man who seemed to think he knew everything, when his view was actually abundantly single minded, and Anthony Shields was successfully putting him in his place.
This man was unlike anyone I had ever met. While most men try to lay the southern gentleman stick on thick, hoping for something to happen, Anthony seemed to simply be himself.
“I think you need to leave,” my father finally stammered, getting to his feet in another attempt to loom authoritatively over Anthony.
However, without so much as a moment’s hesitation, Anthony stood up, matching my father’s glower.
“If you would like me to leave your home, I will be happy to do so. I have allotted a week for this negotiation, but I can’t spare a second more. So, my advice would be to figure out whether or not you are willing to talk and get back to me,” with that, Anthony tossed a business card on the table, nodded to both my mother and I before turning to leave.
“Get the hell out of my house!” My father exclaimed, calling after him as though he was still listening.
Anthony carefully closed the door behind him without turning around.
“Son of a bitch,” my father grumbled angrily before flopping down at the table to eat his dinner, “Can you believe him?” He motioned to my mother, who was stunned to silence.
“May I be excused?” I asked, wanting to catch up with Anthony far more than I wanted to hear my father grumble about something he had no real control over.
“You haven’t even touched your food.”
“I’m sorry,” I answered honestly, “I’m just not hungry.”
Before waiting for anyone to comment, I stood up from the table and walked in the direction of my room. However, when I heard my father start ranting and raving to my mother about their dinner guest, I knew they were too distracted to worry about what I was doing. So, this enabled me to slip outside without being detected.