Epilogue
Isaac had asked Grace not to meet them at Sydney Airport. He’d wanted to see her, but hype over his first Australian concert had begun the minute his PR company announced the date on social media, and he didn’t want to come face-to-face with Grace with cameras flashing in their eyes and microphones thrust at him. Instead Nick and his team got them through the chaos like the pros they were, escorting Isaac and Kennedy to a car out front with a minimum fuss.
“They are a bit hungry to talk to you, yeah, boss?” Nick grinned into the rearview mirror at him.
“Of course they are,” Kennedy said, keeping a grip on his arm even as she stared avidly out the window. She’d never been to Australia. Her excitement mixed with rock-steady support had helped to get him here despite some moments when he’d stumbled. Moments when the music would elude him and he’d fall back into wondering if his gift was as lost as Oliver.
Kennedy hadn’t let him linger there. Her belief in him kept him striving forward until the spark lit again, usually after he’d spent some time with her beneath him—or above him, in his lap, against a wall…
Inventive and daring, that was his woman. The woman he intended to offer his collar when the time was right.
“And ‘Lost at Sea’ is ready?” Nick asked as their driver finished with their luggage and returned to his seat behind the wheel.
The song he’d written as much for Oliver as he had for himself. “It is.” The words had poured out of him before he even met with Tad Dugan, but the music had taken longer. After a lot of long nights, the band finally had a finished product they were proud of. And Isaac knew when he stood onstage tomorrow and sang it, he could finally say everything he’d needed to for five long years.
“First stop, Grace.” Nick was rubbing his hands together as he turned to their driver, eager to give the man Grace’s address. If his best friend didn’t cool the excitement over meeting Isaac’s “little sister,” Isaac might have to pull his chain.
But for now, they had other business. “Nick…” Isaac’s throat felt tight, choking off the words he needed to get out. “I have a stop to make first.”
His friend glanced in the rearview mirror again, concern in his gaze. Isaac appreciated it, but he’d been living with that look on far too many faces since he’d decided to come home. He couldn’t handle the burden anymore. Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved a slip of paper and passed it to the driver. “Take us here, please. Nick, would you let the band know we’ll meet them at Grace’s?”
Grace and Oliver’s parents had died two years ago in a boating accident. Grace had inherited their estate and had offered rooms for Isaac and his mates to stay.
Disappointment lit in Nick’s eyes, but so did understanding. “Of course.”
While Nick made his phone call, Isaac turned to wrap Kennedy in his arms.
“Where we going?” she asked quietly, just between the two of them.
“To the beach.”
She lifted her face to his. He braced himself for more concern, more worry, more responsibility on his shoulders that he couldn’t think he could carry right now. What he got was the featherlight brush of her lips across his. She was his spitfire, one hundred percent full-bore, driven energy unless she was in his ropes—and even then she surrendered as fully as she pursued life. Her tenderness at a time when he was afraid he might break shook him hard.
“Whatever you need,” she whispered.
The rest of the ride was quiet. When the driver reached their destination, Isaac directed him to pull up to a sidewalk lining the street. The cove where he and Oliver had spent so much time together as boys was private, attached to a stretch of public beach on the outskirts of town. Only the families that lived above the cove were allowed to use it, and one of those families was his.
Once the car was parked, Isaac grasped the door handle. “Any chance I can get you to take Kennedy to Grace’s?” he asked Nick.
“No!”
Kennedy and Nick answered at the same time. Isaac smirked. “Right. I’ll be back.”
“Isaac.”
One foot out of the car, he turned back. Nick handed him the ball cap his friend had worn on the plane to block light while he slept. “Keep it on.”
“Will do, mate.”
He gave Kennedy a quick, hard kiss and was out the door before he could stop himself.
The breeze was cool, a shocking contrast to the heat they’d left behind in Vegas. Isaac focused on the chill taking over his skin as he traversed the length of the beach. Anything to keep his thoughts off the memories banging at the door of his brain, demanding to be let in. He watched the sand shift beneath his shoes when the sidewalk ended, refusing to look up, to unleash the emotion inside him. Only when the cliffs surrounding the cove began to block out the light did he finally stop.
Raising his head, he traced the path from his feet to the shore to the waves breaking just past the entrance to the cove. Echoes of the laughter of two young boys rang in his ears. The smell of smoke from the campfires they’d lit as teens. The chill of seawater that wasn’t quite warm enough for swimming but was too much temptation for the kids they’d been. So many memories. So much time lost because of a decision Oliver had made without him. Why? Because some dick hadn’t seen what a great guy he was? Because Isaac hadn’t been available enough to help his friend through the breakup?
Why? For Christ’s sake, why?
He hadn’t realized he was yelling the words until they caught in his throat, a victim of the tears choking him. He’d expected his anger to surface the moment he returned to their childhood haunt, maybe guilt at not being there, maybe a mix of things, but all he felt was…incredible, unbearable sadness. Oliver was gone. Truly gone. He had made his choice, only it was those of them left behind that had to live with it.
Before he realized what he was doing, Isaac bent to untie his shoes. He set them safely aside, then his socks. Slipped out of his jeans and T-shirt, leaving him in dark boxer briefs. Already shivering, he removed the cap, dropped it on the pile at his feet, and walked toward the water. Had Oliver felt the chill? Had the sand torn at his feet? Had that first shock of water made him wonder if he was making the right decision?
Isaac sucked in a breath as the cold water went from ankles to knees to thighs. He shook uncontrollably when it reached his shoulders, not because of the temperature, but because of the emotion inside him. The agony raging in his chest, threatening to tear him apart. The sorrow weighing like cement blocks on his soul. As he took that last step and allowed the water to cover his head, enveloping him, he thought of Oliver, of what it had taken for his friend to go this far—and swore he heard his mate laughing once more, carefree. Happy. Whole.
I love you, brother. I forgive you.
∞
“What in the world happened to you?”
Isaac gathered the petite blonde against his chest, careful to avoid pressing her against too many wet spots. “How you doing, Grace?”
Intense blue eyes glared up at him. “You didn’t answer my question.”
He knew that, but he couldn’t talk about it, not yet. “Later, okay?” He turned, gesturing Kennedy forward. It was the first time he’d ever presented a woman to someone he considered family, but he wasn’t nervous. “This is Kennedy O’Connell.”
Grace turned that same serious gaze on Kennedy, eyeing the way Isaac reached for her, the way Kennedy went straight into his arms despite the state of his clothes. An approving smile finally lit her face. “Kennedy, a pleasure.”
Kennedy offered her hand; Grace hmphed and drew her into a warm hug.
“I’d like to change real quick,” he said. “Am I in my old bedroom?”
“Of course; where else would I dare put you?” Grace waved a hand toward the staircase that filled the center of the enormous entryway. “Just don’t linger.”
“If Kennedy’s going with him, lingering is guaranteed,” Nick said from behind them.
Grace’s eyes went wide. She peered around Isaac. When her gaze landed on Nick, she blushed. “Nick.”
“In the flesh. Finally.” His grin hinted at something Isaac was definitely going to have to put a stop to. Later. Right now his friend was the perfect distraction, so perfect that Grace and Nick didn’t even seem to notice as Isaac sneaked Kennedy up the stairs and out of sight.
“That was easy.” Kennedy chuckled as she followed him toward the back wing of the house, the one that had held the nursery and then, as Oliver and Grace had grown, become the teen hangout.
“Too easy. Nick better keep his hands off my sister.”
The chuckle became a full-blown laugh. “I’m sure Vinny was thinking the same thing about you when I called to talk to him. Look how that turned out.”
He jerked to a stop, feeling the blood drain from his face. No way in hell. “What?”
Kennedy kept walking. “Come on, Daddy. Grace is a big girl. And so am I,” she said, throwing a look over her shoulder.
She was right on both counts; he knew that, even if he didn’t want to admit it. Still, it might take a while to get used to the idea of Grace and Nick together. Maybe years.
In the meantime… A grin took over his face as he hurried after Kennedy.
His room wasn’t the same. Sometime in the past five years the child-size furniture had been replaced with a masculine, adult bedroom set, one that fit him to a T. Grace knew his tastes well. Kennedy set her carry-on on the bed. Isaac used a nearby chair, opening his suitcase to grab fresh clothes. When he turned, Kennedy had gone serious.
Not what happened? She was giving him the option. But it was simply too soon, too much to share, even with the person he considered himself closest to. “I can’t.”
“Okay.” She reached for his hand. “Shower, then?”
Even with all that had happened earlier, a kick of desire hit his gut. He guessed it always would with her. “Definitely.”
Kennedy gave him a wink as she rounded the bed. “Are we taking cuffs or something?” she asked lightly, purposefully drawing his smile as she led him this time, toward the bathroom. “Is this a kinky shower or no?”
With everyone waiting downstairs? He groaned. “No kink, Sassy. You know we don’t have time for that.” But the image was already in his head: Kennedy with her hands secured over her head, nothing but the two of them and the water and the shock wave of hunger that always hit them when they were together. Concerns about time did a slow slide into the background.
“Oh really?” Moving farther into the spacious bathroom, she grabbed the hem of her shirt and raised it, way too slowly for his liking, over her head. Her spine arched as she reached to open her bra, and then her back was bare. And her front, though he couldn’t see that yet.
“Tease,” he growled.
Her pants were next. When she bent to remove her shoes before kicking her jeans away, she gave him a perfect view of how aroused she already was. He choked.
“Are you coming?” She pulled the glass door of the shower open.
“Is that really even a question?” They’d both come if he had any say about it, and since he was the Dom…
“You’re still dressed,” she pointed out, then disappeared inside.
A curse escaped. He began tearing at his clothes, but he couldn’t move fast enough. By the time he stepped inside, he was hard and dripping and pretty damn certain time wouldn’t be an issue after all.
And then he looked up.
“Holy fuck.”
Kennedy stood beneath the showerhead, water raining down her sleek skin, her arms stretched high to grasp the pipe where the showerhead attached to the wall. Closing the door behind him, he stood there for a moment, just looking, soaking in the sight of her. Her long legs. The curve of her hips that seemed made for his hands. The flat expanse of her belly, the perfect cushion for his aching cock. The height of the pipe forced her to reach, lifted her breasts as if offering them to him, a gift he couldn’t wait to devour.
And that’s exactly what she was, all of her. A gift.
“What do you think, sir?” she asked, that vixen glint he couldn’t get enough of in her eyes. “Will this do?”
He took the three steps toward her slowly, trying to clear his throat, to swallow down the surge of emotion he couldn’t quite control. But there was no controlling it. That was Kennedy’s lesson for him, the light she’d shed on his life. Sometimes the worst—and the best—things were beyond a person’s control. And that was okay.
He stopped when their bodies brushed, tipped her chin up until those startling green eyes met his. “Kennedy.”
Worry stared back at him. She dropped her arms. “What’s wrong? Are you okay? Is this too much after this morning? I’m—”
Needing her as close as he could get, he lifted her into his arms. Her words cut off, her legs coming up to grip his waist, helping to steady them until her back met the tile wall. Their kiss scorched his senses, hotter than the drops raining down on their skin, sealing them together in a way that confirmed the single thought swirling in his head. The thought he needed to let out.
He broke away. “Ken.”
Her eyes were dazed, her mouth puffy from his kiss. Christ, he needed her.
“I love you.”
“What?”
He had to laugh. He’d never imagined that telling a woman he loved her could be a time for laughter, but with Kennedy it was. “I love you. Don’t tell me you didn’t know that.”
She bit her lip. Nodded, eyes wide.
Keeping one hand steady on her hip, he raised the other to dig into the red hair he loved so much. “Maybe that was too abrupt. I can do better.”
She seemed skeptical, which meant, of course, that he had to prove himself. Settling her carefully on her feet, he took a step back, gathered both her hands in his, and stared deep into her eyes. “Kennedy.”
“Yes,” she croaked.
He kept his smile inside this time. “I’ve spent five years trying to keep people at arms’ length, refusing to let them too deep inside where they could hurt me. You…you could destroy me, but I don’t want to keep you out. I want you, all the way, so deep inside me that we’ll never find the ends of ourselves apart from each other. I love you.”
Kennedy choked on a cry. A tear trickled down her cheek. “What the hell, Isaac? That’s…”
He quirked a brow. “Good enough?”
She growled and lunged for him. This kiss was just as hot as the first, but deeper, stronger. Because he loved her. And he was never letting go.
“I love you too,” she whispered against his lips when he finally released her.
“I know.”
She smacked his chest, but her laughter spilled out anyway. The sound sent a tingle down his spine to his balls.
He moved back.
“Now,” he said, letting his voice drop to that Dom register she always responded to, “grab that pipe.”
Without hesitation, she did.
“Ready?” he asked.
The most beautiful smile lit her face. “Yes, sir.”
With those two words, everything settled inside him. This was right; he needed this, his Kennedy, his lover, his sub. He wanted it, wanted her, desperately. Not just her body, but her love, her light. Because sometimes control was impossible, but sometimes…sometimes it was not only possible, it was too damn fun. And they were about to have a helluva lot of fun.
∞
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Before you go…
Anything can happen in the shadows of a hot Southern night…
Explore the heat and danger in Ella’s SOUTHERN NIGHTS series, starting with:
Private security has never been so risky—or so tempting.
Ex-military security specialist Conlan James avoids commitment like the plague. His job, his Harley, and an occasional one-night stand are all he needs—or so he tells himself. But after he rescues Jess from a tense situation, he can’t get the shy, sexy brunette out of his mind. He can teach her self-defense, but can he shield his own scarred heart?
Southern belle Jess Kingston spent eight weeks healing from an ex-boyfriend’s brutal attack. Now she’s ready to put her life back together. Her ex, Brit, has other ideas. She needs someone who can teach her how to fight back—someone like the tough former soldier who rides to her rescue.
As the deadly game of cat-and-mouse intensifies, the heat between Con and Jess becomes an inferno. He’ll do anything to keep her safe. She’ll do anything to survive. Her vengeful ex is determined to destroy them both, and all it would take is one wrong move.
* * * * * *
∞
Chapter One
What the hell are you doing here?
This wasn’t the first time in the last five minutes that Conlan had asked himself the same question. Maybe if he had an answer, the revolving door in his brain would stop spinning, but that didn’t seem likely. Not anytime soon. Not with the beautiful brunette he’d come to see sitting close enough that, if he let himself look, he could detect the light dusting of freckles across her nose. But he wasn’t looking, and he shouldn’t be here, so how had he ended up standing in line behind the thirtysomething latte league? It sure as hell wasn’t for the coffee.
Legs braced wide, he shifted from one hip to the other, the creak of his motorcycle chaps reminding him he could be enjoying a few extra minutes on the Harley before work instead of spending that precious time here, mooning over a woman. Doe Eyes. The first time he’d seen her all those months ago, he’d thought her eyes reminded him of sweet Georgia pecans and skittish does. The name stuck, as had the memory of her eyes—and a hundred other glimpses he shouldn’t have taken.
Another name called, another latte dispensed, another shuffle forward.
He hadn’t seen those eyes in eight weeks, and yet still he’d shown up every Monday, like clockwork, hoping for one more glimpse and calling himself an idiot. Wasn’t like he planned on asking her out. So why the hell did he torture himself with these weekly forays into enemy territory?
Sex. Or sex appeal, at least.
Another step closer to the counter. The move didn’t ease the constriction behind the zipper of his jeans. This was what she did to him, thinking about her. Especially now, after so long apart.
The thought had a snort escaping. Ahead of him, Mr. Suit and Tie startled and glanced over a shoulder, but Conlan ignored the look. He was too busy figuring out when “this” had become enough like a relationship in his head that he would think things like “after so long apart.” Doe Eyes might appear prominently in his thoughts from time to time—especially certain times—but he’d never seen her outside of this coffee shop. And he wouldn’t. A quick roll in the hay was one thing, but Doe Eyes wasn’t the kind of woman who had one-night stands. He could tell that much just by looking at her. She was a relationship kind of woman, and he was a relationship-phobic kind of guy. Which meant he seriously needed to get a grip—and not on the part of him growing even harder at the idea.
Idiot was right.
He should be at work. Southern summer heat brought out the crazies almost as well as full moons did, and JCL Security was feeling the impact, juggling cases like they had eight arms, which they didn’t. Too many sleepless nights had been spent at his office, especially with the Bennett case coming up. Just a couple more weeks before Thea Bennett had her bastard of a husband before a judge and hopefully out of her life, but the paper- and prep work to get the high-profile bastard there had been a bitch. He seriously needed to—
“Conlan, hey!”
For a passing moment he was convinced the voice belonged to the woman filling his thoughts. But when the high, candied voice called again, he realized it was coming from the counter. The cashier. Tonya, Tammy? Tracy? He couldn’t remember. She was blonde with a deep tan he would’ve deemed impossible in a landlocked city like Atlanta, the shade a stark contrast to her white smile. Stepping up, he threw her a grin. “Hey.”
She batted long lashes, almost hiding the way her glance slid down to the crotch of his jeans, framed in his leather chaps. “Long time, no see.”
He winked automatically. “It’s a long wait between Mondays.”
The girl giggled. “Your usual?”
“That’s right. Thanks,” he said, passing over a ten-dollar bill.
She made change, certain to caress his hand as she laid the money in his palm. Conlan was more interested in the dark Colombian roast another employee was walking toward them. High-octane all the way. The sight of the near-black brew had him salivating for something other than Doe Eyes for the first time that morning.
He reached the condiment counter just as his phone buzzed in his back pocket. Probably Jack. Retrieving the cell confirmed his suspicion.
Where the hell are you? his partner had texted.
Piss off, Con replied, a grin tugging at his lips. The irony that he’d spent too much time asking himself the very same question didn’t escape him. In a half hour he’d be at the office and they could both stop wondering.
With a little back-and-forth he managed to cram the phone back in his tight jeans. He glanced around absently, and his gaze snagged on a pair of amber-brown eyes that suddenly met his.
He froze.
Doe Eyes dropped her chin and shifted over the slightest bit, enough that her friend’s position blocked her from view, but not before he caught the blush coloring her creamy cheeks.
His cock banged against his zipper as if begging to be let out. The bite of pain caught his breath in his throat. Jesus, what the hell was he—
Don’t! Ask. Again. He knew what the hell he was doing here, and he needed to go; he really did. He needed to stop letting his dick run this show, grab his coffee, and get back to reality.
He was restless, that was all. He was a man who needed action. Needed to be doing something, anything, not sitting behind a desk like he’d been for weeks while prepping Thea’s case. Usually he worked off his frustration in a way that involved cool silk sheets and bare skin and satisfaction on both sides, but there’d been no damn time. Just his hand and the additional chafing it provided, which wasn’t near as effective—or satisfying. That had to be the reason he couldn’t stop thinking about his mystery woman.
Popping the lid off his cardboard cup released the rich aroma of ground coffee beans into the air. He lifted his cup and blew across the hot liquid, the sound almost a sigh of relief. He was already reaching for the packets of sugar when black squiggles caught his eye. There. On the part of the paper sleeve now facing him, he could see a name and number were clearly written: Tiffany. A 470 area-code phone number.
So that was her name. Sounded like an eighties pop star. A glance over his shoulder found the cashier leaning across the bar where drinks were picked up, her mounded breasts shelved there, on display. Come back soon, she mouthed, her shoulders doing a little wiggle. On reflex, he threw her a grin, but her seemingly seductive move couldn’t pull his glance downward. His dick didn’t even twitch. Apparently only one thing could trigger his runaway libido this morning.
He added the sugar, trying to ignore the panic in his gut and his one-track mind. The latter was impossible. He wanted to know Doe Eyes’ name, her phone number. Were her breasts as full as they looked beneath that starched white button-down? Was her hair as soft as he swore it would be when he fisted it between his fingers?
He stirred a bit too vigorously, and coffee sloshed over the side of the cup.
Don’t look. Don’t. He realized he’d closed his eyes. A sigh escaped as he rubbed a thumb and finger against them, but as soon as the lids popped open, he searched for her. Had to see her. Felt his heartbeat pick up knowing she might meet his eyes.
He was so screwed—and smart enough to admit it. He let go, let the conflict and the churning in his gut and the tension cramping his muscles go. And then he looked toward her table.
It was empty.
“Well shit.”
He stood for a moment, cursing himself, the coffee, and everything else he could think of. When another customer stepped up behind him and cleared his throat, wanting access to the counter, Con grabbed his cup and headed out the door. On his way, he chucked the coffee in the trash without a single sip.
* * *
“He’s watching you,” Cristina teased. Jess ducked her head, but the hot tide spreading across her cheeks was impossible to hide.
It wasn’t mere embarrassment. She was mortified. If she could’ve started her first day back at work anywhere else, she would have, but Cris had insisted. Since Jess began her job right around the corner at Ex Libris Media straight out of college, she and Cris had met here for coffee on Monday mornings. It was their girl time, and Cris would be damned if she’d let what had happened to Jess take that away from them.
Jess, on the other hand, thought sometimes change was good.
That wasn’t her lying down and giving up. Yes, she’d been attacked by her boyfriend two months ago, but she’d survived. There were things she was determined to make happen—like standing on her own two slightly wobbly feet. It was just…seeing the man she’d fantasized about for months wasn’t one of them. Not now, while she still felt the imprint of every bruise, every cracked bone, every foolish dream across her healed skin. She felt ugly because what had happened was ugly, and no matter how hard she scrubbed, all these weeks later, she couldn’t get the ugly gone.
“I love watching bikers,” Cris mused, seeming oblivious to Jess’s discomfort. “If only I could get Steven to wear leather, I’d be a very happy wife.”
Sneaky woman. Who could resist laughing at the image of Steven, all five-feet-eleven lanky inches of him, being swallowed whole by a leather jacket and pants? Not that he wasn’t cute; he was just more Mr. Rogers than Mr. Hell’s Angels. “Sounds like a good setup for chaffing.”
Cris choked on a sip of tea. Spluttering, laughing, she finally managed, “Why do you think it has the cutout right there in the middle, huh?”
“For convenience.”
“Pffttt.” A flick of Cris’s hand brushed the idea aside.
“Display purposes?”
Cris tilted her head, considering. “Okay, that too, but…”
Jess shook a finger at her friend. “Uh—”
“But—”
“Uh-uh.”
“Je—”
Only one thing had ever stopped Cris when she got on a roll: The Look. Jess used it now.
“Party pooper.” Cris’s bottom lip poked out.
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
They both laughed. To Jess’s horror, she felt mirth give way to the burn of tears at the backs of her eyes.
“Oh, Jess…”
Shit shit shit.
“That’s it. I’m calling Saul.”
Jess jerked her head up. “You’re not calling my boss. I’m fine. I was cleared to work, and I’m going to work.”
“You’re not ready.”
Closing her eyes, Jess counted impatiently to ten. Cris meant well, but Jess had won this fight repeatedly in the past week—both with Cris and herself. She didn’t want to have to do it again.
She opened her eyes and stared straight into Cris’s. Love and concern radiated from her friend. So did fear. Jess was intimately familiar with the feeling. And with her decision. No way in hell would Brit take over her life. Saying no to him could very well have led to her death. If she could say it then, she could say it now, when only his memory was here to stop her.
She didn’t speak; she didn’t have to. Instead she gathered her purse and her coffee and stood. Cris tightened her lips but didn’t argue as she got to her feet. Together they made their way to the door, dumping their trash along the way.
Ignoring the slap of summer heat as she stepped outside, Jess scanned the parking lot. Cris would be doing the same, she knew. The fact that both of them worried, wherever they went, about Brit showing up pissed her off. After producing a convenient alibi for the night of her attack, Brit had walked out of the Atlanta Police Department and onto an airplane. Work, or so Detective King had informed Jess. Brit’s position as vice president of his father’s tech company—and his family’s prominent position in city politics—lent legitimacy to the story, for everyone but Jess. Cat and mouse was Brit’s favorite game, and what better way to keep the mouse on edge than for the cat to disappear? Two months after she’d last seen him, she couldn’t stop searching the streets for his face.
The not knowing had been Cris’s primary argument against Jess’s return to work. Jess had acquiesced far longer than she should’ve, far past the time it took for her injuries to heal. But she had a life to live. She couldn’t sit on her rear in a locked apartment, waiting. Wondering. Driving herself closer and closer to insane.
No. No matter what happened, she would face it on her feet, not cowering in a corner.
They came to Cris’s car first. When her friend would’ve kept walking, Jess cleared her throat.
Cris heaved a sigh. “Really?”
“Really.”
Cris faced her, looking ready to argue, but Jess wasn’t having it. “Move it before you make me late for work,” she said, her tone softened by the knowledge that Cris only wanted her safe.
Her friend’s good-bye was a warm bear hug that avoided Jess’s still-sore ribs. “Call me when you get home tonight.”
“Yes, Mom.”
Cris’s chuckle was watered down a bit by the tears glazing her eyes, but it was there nonetheless. “Hey, I’m not the one you want spanking you.”
Jess didn’t encourage her by replying. Besides, Cris didn’t need to know the idea of a man spanking her turned her stomach. She didn’t think she’d be considering erotic games like that for a long while, even in fantasy. She stepped to the side, waiting while Cris started her sporty yellow Nissan. When the car didn’t back out, Jess jerked her phone out of her pocket.
Would you go already! she texted.
A smiley face sticking its tongue out popped up on the screen, and then Cris reversed, blew Jess an apologetic kiss, and drove toward the exit. Jess walked a few spaces down to her car, still shaking her head as she fingered the Open button on her key fob.
“Well well well, look what the cat finally dragged out.”
Jess whipped around, pain shooting through her hip as it collided with the side-view mirror of the car next to hers. Speak of the freakin’ devil. Clearing her heart from her suddenly tight throat, she forced out, “Where did you come from?”
Did it matter? For God’s sake, the man who’d tried to kill her—and gotten away with it—was standing between her and freedom. But the thought was all her adrenaline-addled brain could produce.
Brit pushed his blond curls back off his forehead. That was how he’d taken her in, those innocent curls and bright blue eyes. Something Dr. Jekyll-ish would’ve been more accurate.
“Come on, Jess. Didn’t you miss me?” His perfectly polished John Lobb’s clicked on the pavement as he stepped closer. Jess backed up, wishing she was anywhere but stuck between two cars and an asshole. When said asshole’s eyes lit up, she winced. Never run from the cat, she reminded herself, but her legs weren’t listening. They took her backward again and again until the thick bushes lining the parking lot poked through her thin summer skirt.
Brit flashed that bright white smile she’d come to hate. “I’m just checking on you, Jess. Making sure you’re all right. Come here and give your fiancé a proper greeting.”
Like a kick in the balls? “You were not my fiancé. I would never marry you. Stay away from me.” She fumbled with her cell. “I’m calling the police right now.”
The smile went wide, but Brit’s eyes went dark. He clucked in mocking disappointment. “Go ahead, love.”
The sound of a car slowing behind her, readying to enter the parking lot, drew her attention. She glanced over her shoulder as an APD cruiser crawled by. Hope flared for the tiniest second in her knotted stomach. She nearly sagged in relief…until she faced Brit.
He was waving at the squad car. Unconcerned. Smiling that smile.
And why shouldn’t he be? They’d let him go before, right? It was his well-backed word against hers, and no one had believed hers. She doubted they’d even bothered to investigate his alibi. Her grip on the phone tightened until she could hear the plastic creak.
Brit took another small step forward. “Come here, Jess.”
The words were low, aroused. He wet his lips, and Jess shuddered.
It was broad daylight, for Christ’s sake. Why wasn’t anyone helping? “No way in hell. Leave me alone.”
The last word rose beyond her control as she watched Brit’s muscles tense, watched him prepare to lunge. She drew a breath, ready to scream.
“Jess, com—”
“Everything all right over here?”
The words were rough, hard. Strong. Standing at the opposite side of her bumper from Brit, facing the other man down like they were gunfighters at the O. K. Corral, was her biker. Her fantasy. She blinked, told herself she was crazy, but when her eyes opened, he still stood there. For one second she wanted badly, hysterically, to do something completely girlie like swoon. Too bad there wasn’t room in the tiny space between cars for her to fall flat out, but getting on her knees to thank God wasn’t beyond possibility.
“I think I asked you a question,” the man said.
Brit’s eyes narrowed, his hands balling into fists. “Mind your own business, you pr—”
“No,” Jess said, amazed her voice could sound so steady when her insides were shaking apart. “No, everything isn’t all right. Please…”
The man didn’t hesitate to push his way into Brit’s space. Part of her fell a little bit in love on the spot.
“I think you should go,” he said. Without taking his eyes off Brit, he extended his hand to her. Jess forced herself forward, gaze stuck on that hand as if it held all the hope in the world—and at that moment, maybe it did. She laid her hand in his. Felt his calloused fingers wrap hers up tight. And fell the rest of the way in love.
From one corner of her eye she saw Brit reach for her. Skittering away, she tightened her hold on her savior’s hand.
She needn’t have bothered. The man was faster than Brit, catching her ex’s hand before it ever came close. Brit’s skin went white around the man’s grip. The air between them sizzled with tension. Jess held her breath.
“Let go,” Brit warned, “or you will regret it.”
“I don’t think so. Leave. Now.”
Like a mask falling over his face, the convivial Brit Holbrooke returned. He chuckled, stepped back, calm and cool. Only his eyes revealed the truth. “Of course.” Those eyes centered on Jess. “Perhaps we’ll run into each other again, Jess, catch up on things.”
Her heart leaped to bullet-train speed. “No.”
Her savior didn’t look down, didn’t take his eyes off Brit, but she felt the rough trace of his thumb across the back of her hand. The touch gave her courage. It soothed her rattled edges.
Brit lifted a brow, telling her exactly what he thought of her response, met her savior’s eyes for one long moment, then turned away. It wasn’t until he’d climbed into a black SUV, backed out, and exited the parking lot that what she’d done hit Jess. She bent forward, her free hand going to her stomach to still the nausea churning inside.
“Just breathe,” the man said. He switched hands, one regripping hers, the other sliding along her spine, up and down, hypnotizing her with his touch. When she felt like she wouldn’t rattle apart, she straightened, meeting the man’s dark gray gaze head-on.
“Thank you.”
The words weren’t anywhere near adequate, but they were all she had. Her savior didn’t seem to mind. He smiled, and a teasing glint lit his eyes. “Anytime. So…what’s your name?”
“Jess.” A laugh, tinged slightly with hysteria, escaped. “Jess Kingston, damsel in distress.”
“Conlan James.” He shook the hand he still held. “Knight in shining armor.”
“A trait I very much appreciate right now.”
Her heart did a tap dance against her ribs, but for totally different reasons than it had five minutes ago. The reality of the moment hit hard. Here he was, her fantasy man, standing right next to her. Staring into her eyes. Touching her. A black bandanna covered his hair, baring his rugged face to her gaze. He wasn’t playboy beautiful like Brit, but the sexual appeal that dripped off him didn’t need refining. He was bigger than she’d expected, broader; the top of her head barely reached his stubble-darkened chin. His size, like his touch, soothed her, made her feel safe, protected. And wasn’t that a stupid, weak thing to think. Stupid Jess.
She should step back, let go of the heavy fingers wrapped around hers, but God, she didn’t want to. She could touch him forever.
The need was so intense that, for a moment, she couldn’t breathe. And then it passed and she realized she’d been holding her breath. He was still staring at her. “Sorry.”
Conlan’s hand slid away from hers, almost as if he was as reluctant to let her go as she was him. He cleared his throat. “Is this a regular problem?”
“Brit?” Was twice a problem? Did she really want this man to know how big a problem this was? “Oh, um, no. Not recently, no.” Her cheeks flashed hot. “No.”
Yeah, I think he’s got the “no” part.
He wasn’t looking at her like she’d sprouted wings, though, so hopefully she hadn’t made too much a fool of herself. “I should…probably go.” She gestured over her shoulder toward her car. “Don’t want to be late for work.”
She turned, but as she moved between her car and the next, that moment when Brit had spoken behind her flashed in her mind. Her steps faltered.
“You know…”
She turned back to Conlan.
He was digging in his back pocket. He pulled out a black leather wallet and flipped it open. From inside he retrieved a business card. He held it between his fingers, hesitating, then squared his shoulders. “Listen, I don’t know what your circumstances are, what’s going on, but I know when to listen to my instincts. Here.”
She took the card. JCL Security. The name and a local phone number were all that was listed. She glanced up at him.
“This company does private security here in Atlanta.”
So, not his phone number. “Oh, I don’t…”
He held up a hand. “Maybe you don’t. That’s okay. But I happen to know the owner, and they have some kick-ass self-defense instructors who are used to working with women in tough situations. If you need help, call them. Please.”
She frowned. “You sound like you’re pretty familiar with ‘tough situations.’”
“A few.” He stuffed his wallet back in his pocket, then offered her his hand. “And even if I’m wrong, it’s good knowledge for any woman to have. You should check them out.”
“Okay.” Stuffing her disappointment at his lack of personal interest down deep, she took his hand. “Thank you, Conlan.”
Their palms met, and a punch of heat shot up her arm, tightened her lower belly until she wanted to whimper. She’d harbored so many fantasies about this man. So many desires. And here he was, walking away. Longing tightened her throat, almost choking her as he released her hand.
“My pleasure, Jess.” Her name in that rough voice made her heart ache. He nodded toward the business card. “Think about it, okay? These guys are good at what they do.”
Unable to speak, she nodded. She didn’t want to see him walk away, so she turned first, moving toward her car without hesitation this time. She started the engine, glanced over her shoulder, and backed out. Somewhere to her right, the motorcycle she knew belonged to Conlan roared to life. She didn’t try for one last look; she kept her gaze on the road ahead, her mind on getting to work, and tried to forget the man with the power to make her want more.
∞
And don’t miss…
Southern Nights 2
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∞
Southern Nights 3
One twin left when she needed him most. Now both want her heart, but giving in may cost more than they realize. Anticipating their enemy’s next move is the only way to keep their son safe, but what about their hearts?
∞
“Ms. Sheridan writes suspense that grabs you and won’t let go.”
~ Tea and Book