Chapter Four
Annabelle watched his relaxed stride and was glad that her aviators hid her eyes from the tall, well-muscled man. He was too fine for words with his rich brown skin, almond-shaped brown eyes, and bald head. A goatee lined his firm, square jaw and emphasized his full sculpted lips. His short-sleeved, button-down white linen shirt revealed tattoo sleeves on each arm, and his white linen cargos showed off his thick calves. Oozing with confidence and swagger, he had every woman’s eyes on the beach on him, but he seemed oblivious, or maybe he was just use to it…
This was the second time in just as many days that she’d seen him on the beach, and it was bothering her. He was trouble, pure and simple, she told herself and quickly averted her eyes to stare down unseeingly at the magazine in her lap. Although he gave the appearance of being on chill mode, he was anything but, more like a large black panther on the hunt, stealthily on the move.
As he approached her lounge chair, the desire to flee was quickly rising within her, and Annabelle obeyed it, dropping the magazine and sitting up to slide her feet into her flip flops. She hadn’t gotten as far as she had without following her instincts. But it was too late. He dropped down on her chair next to her, and she was assailed by the alluring scent of his cologne. Those dark, penetrating eyes roamed over her swimsuit-clad body slowly, and she forgot to breathe as his gaze touched her like a physical caress.
The good Lord had made no mistakes with this man, Annabelle acknowledged to herself silently as her stomach plummeted only to rise back up as the butterflies took flight. His eyes definitely sealed the deal with the ladies, Annabelle was willing to bet. Soft, drowsy looking, and heavy-lidded, they were framed by a thick sweep of curly black lashes and reminded her of Rolos candy— milk chocolate with a lighter caramel center. Bedroom eyes. This man didn’t have to do a damn thing to pull women. She’d bet money that if he simply blinked, panties dropped.
His voice was so deep, smooth, and rich, like a fine wine that Annabelle wanted to get drunk on, and that realization stunned her into silence, which was why it took her a moment to process his words.
“It’s nice to finally meet you, Annabelle Gaines. You’ve led me on a long and not so merry chase, but it’s time to stop running. My name is Graham Carlton, and I’ve come to take you home to Baymoor,” he said. “I’m a friend—”
He was talking but Annabelle didn’t hear anything else after Baymoor. Fear wrapped its icy talons around her heart and clenched it. She opened her mouth to deny his claim, but the astute directness of his gaze warned her that he was smarter than the average bear. And that’s when Annabelle’s fear receded.
This man had tracked her to the other side of the world with the intent to bring her back to Davis Fowler and a life in purgatory. Well, he would die trying because the stakes were too high for Annabelle to ever return to Baymoor. The realization spurred her into action. She grabbed the small can of mace she kept under her towel and sprayed him directly in the face.
“The hell?!”
He’d been caught slipping. One minute, Graham was appreciating the fact that he was in her presence, and in the next, liquid fire was being sprayed in his face, scalding his skin. His face felt scorched, and he rose to seek water to extinguish the pain but found himself too busy trying to regain his balance from the hard shove Annabelle suddenly gave him. Graham fell off the lounger, and if this humiliating scenario wasn’t bad enough, he felt a bomb detonate in his balls when her foot connected with them and then again when she followed up with another kick for good measure.
Annabelle leaned above him, giving Graham, from what could see between his burning watering retinas, a first-class view of the psychotic he’d just unleashed. “Fuck you! I’m never returning to Baymoor, so why don’t you run and tell that like a good little errand boy? Stay. Away. From. Me. If you come near me again, I will KILL you!”
Not even Satan himself would fuck with a chick this certifiable. What the fuck was her problem?! If she was anyone else, Graham would have been plotting their demise and then following through with executing it. If he didn’t know what this woman had gone through, a part of Graham would almost admire her sneak attack. Almost. He reserved the right to revisit that thought at a later time. Like when his balls finally dropped out of his throat. Graham was profoundly disappointed to discover that the woman he’d infinitely fantasized about was nuttier than squirrel shit.
A crowd was gathering around them when Annabelle threateningly waved her mace in his face again, but this time, Graham managed to lock his hand around her wrist and wrestle it from her grasp while using his leg to sweep hers out from under her, causing Annabelle to land flat on her ass next to him. The crowd stirred in outraged anger and started to hurl insults and boo him.
Wheezing through the excruciating agony, Graham managed to snarl at her, “You’re a certifiable lunatic! Did you not hear me?! I’m a friend of Edith’s and Misha’s! She told me where I could find you! Said to tell you that she was ‘no longer wondering’, whatever the fuck that means.”
“Edith told you where to find me?” Annabelle was stunned by his admission before scrambling to her feet and dusting the sand from her body. “Well why didn’t you just say that?!”
She could still recall her excitement at reading the email consisting of that one line.
“I did, but like most crazy people, you’re clearly not able to process common sense and logic!” Graham was grinding his teeth through the pain so hard, he thought they’d shatter.
Instantly, Annabelle was filled with contrition as she observed his red eyes while he struggled to his feet. “Oh, my goodness! I’m so sorry about this! Here, let me help you into the lounger.”
“Stay right where you are!” Graham barked hoarsely, holding his hands up to ward her off and Annabelle stopped in her tracks.
Did he really just make the sign of the cross toward her?
“Lady, I only need one thing from you.” He managed to get up and stay upright, but walking was another matter, and Graham would be damned if he fell out like a punk in front of her.
“Anything! Here, let me get you some water for your eyes,” Annabelle suggested helpfully. She grabbed her water bottle from next to the lounger and offered it to him. “Why don’t you lean on me for support and I can get you settled in the chair?”
Her large brown eyes were filled with mortification and regret, and her small teeth worried that generous bottom lip that Graham found fascinating. He was pissed to find that he was still turned on by this nut job after the injuries she’d inflicted on him.
“The only thing I need right now is for you to get the hell away from me.”
***
“Tell me you didn’t!” Edith Fowler wailed into Annabelle’s ear, prompting her to hold the phone receiver away. “Why would you do something like that to him?!”
“Why would I not?” Annabelle retorted. “Screw the dumb shit, Edith! If a stranger rolls up on me and mentions bringing me back to Baymoor of all places, I’m reacting not asking questions!”
“A tall, dark, and handsome stranger that I practically gift-wrapped for you appears, and the first thing that comes to your twisted little mind is to assault a man that fiiine? And after I assured him that you were a lovely person,” Edith clucked her tongue disapprovingly. “Oh, honey, it’s just been you and those animals for far too long. You don’t even have any social skills. You’re like Mowgli from “The Jungle Book”. You know the little boy who lived among the animals?”
“I’m familiar with the movie, but the key word here is stranger, Edith,” Annabelle reminded her meaningfully then paused as she recalled Edith’s words. “Hold up! Run that part about ‘gift-wrapping’ him by me one more time, please.”
Edith’s exuberant laugh filled Annabelle’s ear, and it made her smile despite the current level of anxiety she was feeling from her earlier altercation with Graham Carlton. It was a sound that Annabelle was unused to hearing but was now occurring with more frequency. Years of living in that house of horrors with her sadistic husband, Brenton, had been anything but joyful and laughter filled. Now that the bastard was dead, Edith had shed the encumbrance of being married to a Fowler and was making up for lost time. She was taking chances and trying new things like matchmaking apparently.
“I was wondering if you were going to catch that. Graham started looking for you on behalf of your friends. His sister, Georgina, asked him to after hearing about your story from Chelsea and Kenya when she moved back to Baymoor.”
“Georgie came home?!” Annabelle was surprised to hear that, considering her friend had vowed never to return. “How is she doing?”
“She’s doing very well, which doesn’t come as a surprise to me,” Edith replied with fondness. “Even as a child, I could see the strength and determination in her. Georgina owns her own lingerie business and recently got married toooo…” Edith paused for dramatic effect before theatrically declaring, “Maxwell Hayes!!!”
“Farmer Max finally got married?! No way! I didn’t think there was a woman alive who could bring him to the altar.” Annabelle was easily able to conjure up an image of the good-looking farmer and was shocked that he was no longer a bachelor. She remembered how all the women, single and married, were gaga for him, trying their hardest to catch him, despite his clear avoidance of them. No matter how much Annabelle denied it, Davis had often accused her of having a thing for their client and vice versa. But that was completely untrue. Max just preferred Annabelle’s gentle mannerisms and considerate handling of his animals to Davis’s condescending and snarky attitude. She and Max had a mutually respectable working relationship, and Annabelle admired the way the farmer’s animals were his number one priority. To know that he married Georgina Carlton was a pleasant surprise.
“Yes, and they are amazing together! Like her aunt and uncle, I’m certain they have a long happy union ahead of them.” There was a wistful note in Edith’s voice, and Annabelle understood where it was born from. It was where castles, carriages drawn by white horses, and happily-ever-afters died. The home of broken fairytales. Edith, like the rest of the Fowler wives before her, had entered into her marriage suffering from grand delusions of an everlasting love. She’d barely said ‘I do’ before she was being abused on the regular. “So are her sister and Sheriff Holloway. They have a daughter together and are engaged.”
“Wow! Two of Baymoor’s confirmed bachelors taken off the market in less than a year and by sisters! I thought those two besties would grow old together on Max’s porch.” The familiar heaviness settled on Annabelle’s heart, realizing exactly how much she’d missed out on.
“Graham came to see you on behalf of Chelsea and Kenya. They, as well as your Aunt Chandra and cousin Inez, have been worried and heartbroken since you left. The uncertainty of whether you were dead or not has taken its toll on them,” Edith said sorrowfully. “The guilt of watching them suffer and knowing you are safe and happy has been an unbearable weight on my shoulders, Annabelle. No one understands better than I that the stakes were too high for you to reach out and make contact. But things have changed. I want you to talk to Graham and just listen to what he has to say. He’s a good man, Annabelle. I trust him implicitly.”
“But why, Edith?” Annabelle leaned back in her office chair, propping her legs on her desk as she focused on the ceiling track lighting in her small office. “What makes him so damn special that you’d break our rules for him? Those rules were put in place for a specific reason, and—”
“Because he is the one!” Edith sharply interrupted the woman she’d come to think of as a daughter. “He helped Misha out of her situation and promised to do the same for me. I put my faith in him, and he more than delivered. Now I’m asking you to please do the same.”
“He’s a man not God, Edith,” Annabelle quietly reminded her. She didn’t give a damn what Edith thought; in her experience, a man couldn’t be trusted to do anything except for his damn self. Yes, she was ecstatic that Misha and Edith were free to finally live their lives but Annabelle deserved the right to reserve judgment.
“You are such a stubborn girl! He’s a man, yes, but unlike any other,” Edith stressed to Annabelle as her phone alarm went off. “That’s my cue; please think about what I said. Oh, and it’d be a nice gesture if you extended a dinner invitation to Graham for a home-cooked meal. What would be nicer is if you invited him to stay with you. It’s the least you could do after he traveled around the world to speak to you and was assaulted for his troubles. Bye, my dear.”
Although it was phrased as a suggestion, Annabelle knew it was more of a directive. Her hands were tied, and they both knew it. It was Edith’s money that provided Annabelle the opportunity to escape from Davis, giving her the freedom that Edith had sacrificed herself for. Being married to a Fowler reaped generous financial benefits, but Edith’s family, the Dowells, had money as well. Her now deceased parents hadn’t approved of their only child’s marriage when it became obvious that something was wrong with her husband.
Uncomfortable with their astuteness, Brenton forbade his wife and child to visit his in-laws unless he accompanied them. As a result, it caused a strain between Wynton and Kassima Dowell, their daughter, and Brenton that remained until her parents died from health-related issues.
At the reading of the will, Brenton was livid to find that his in-laws had left Davis two-hundred and fifty thousand dollars and donated everything else to charities after explaining to the couple that her parents did this token was adequate recognition of their daughter’s union. Her parent’s solicitor had pulled Edith aside from her controlling husband and explained to her that her mother had set up a separate trust fund for Edith in the sum of five million dollars. It was put under the name Edith Nichols, Kassima’s maiden name and could only be accessed if she left Brenton or under the direst of circumstances.
The brutal assault Annabelle had suffered at her own son’s hands definitely fell under dire as far as Edith was concerned. While Annabelle was in hiding, Edith obtained the necessary funds and was there to give them to Annabelle when she boarded a bus to get to her destination— a women’s underground protective organization. From there, she’d managed to obtain a fake I.D. and passport, leading her to a new life. She’d traveled to a couple of cities in the U.S. before settling here in Furla, the place she now called home. Edith had made this possible, and the least Annabelle could do was accommodate her request for a dinner. Except she would take him to dinner. She wouldn’t even entertain the idea of issuing Graham an invitation into her home.
The sound of laughter shook Annabelle out of her reverie and reminded her exactly who was responsible for the coquettish trilling. She’d brought Mr. Carlton back to her job to take make sure he was okay. As soon as they walked in, Annabelle was subtly shoved to the side by the grown-ass women in her workplace. Immediately, they whisked him away and Annabelle took the opportunity to place a call to Edith.
She jumped out of her chair and swiftly left the office to find the source of the laughter even though she already had a sinking feeling that she already knew. As she walked down the hallway, the noise grew impossibly louder. From the kennel section, the dogs barked loudly and the cats hissed and meowed in response to the noise. Toussaint squawked and mimicked the boisterous mirth from his perch as his wings flapped with excitement, exposing the lighter gray feathers of his chest and the maroon feathers of his bottom.
“Did you need something, Dr. Peterson?” Dotty inquired, knowing damn well she had no business being in an examination room instead of at her station upfront.
Yes, for you to get your ass back to your workstation, Annabelle thought with annoyance as she backpedaled and stopped in the doorway. Words failed her at how many women were squeezed into the small room and crowded around Graham Carlton, who was leaning against an examining table. One receptionist, two kennel attendants, three client care members and two technicians. All that was missing was a freaking partridge in a pear tree!
For some reason, the appreciative stares they were giving the man irked the hell out of Annabelle. Her eyes met his over the heads of his adoring fan club. The superior smirk and raised eyebrow Graham gave her let Annabelle know he was aware of her disapproving thoughts and was challenging her to do something about it. Her narrowed eyes dropped to his crotch, and Annabelle made a subtle kicking motion with her foot. Somehow, she managed to refrain from doing some satisfied smirking of her own at his shout of laughter.
The deep, husky sound settled over her like a cozy blanket, and Annabelle needed a moment to process exactly why she was perfectly okay with that. In the meantime, she addressed the staff with firm authority. “Ladies, is there some reason that every employee on duty needs to be in this room right now? Aren’t there clients to tend to? Let’s give Mr. Carlton some breathing room so that he can be on his way. As it is, we’ve taken up enough—”
At Graham’s overexaggerated throat clearing, and her team’s expressions of polite disbelief, Annabelle grudgingly corrected herself. Treating him to a fulminating glare, she acknowledged, “Fine! I meant I’ve taken up enough of his time today.”
The group chorused their goodbyes to Graham, who, in turn, rewarded them with a smile so dazzling, it caused the women to suck the oxygen out of the room, Annabelle assumed. How else would she be able to later rationalize why she couldn’t breathe in this moment? But forget about that. Annabelle’s current situation was demanding to know who in the hell gave him the right to use that damn smile without issuing a warning first?! He was liable to give some poor, unsuspecting female a damn heart attack, she thought sourly.
Annabelle noisily cleared her throat and jerked her head toward the door. The women took the cue and finally departed, leaving her alone with Graham. He was assessing her with those unfathomable eyes and Annabelle found it unnerving, but forced herself to step further into the room. She refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much he rattled her. Nervously, Annabelle shoved her suddenly sweaty hands into her white lab coat as the silence lengthened. Graham remained perfectly still as if he knew that being in such close proximity to a man was a daunting experience for her. The thought left Annabelle feeling raw and exposed at the same time. With him being from Baymoor and Edith’s friend, of course he would know about her past and most likely pitied her. She defiantly lifted her chin to meet his gaze.
“How are you feeling?” Heat crept up Annabelle’s face as she remembered how much force she’d put behind her kick. She waved awkwardly at his lower area. “Did they give or at least offer you an ice pack?”
Graham was amused at her acute discomfort. He watched her worry her bottom lip and anxiously shift side-to-side. Annabelle looked like she wanted to bolt from the room, and Graham gave her props for not doing so. He’d gotten over his initial anger to now understand why she panicked, and respected the hell out of her punt game. He’d give her a pass, but that wouldn’t stop him from giving her shit about it as well.
“No, they said that I was to wait for you to physically examine me for an accurate diagnosis.” Graham laughed silently to himself as her eyes popped wide open and her mouth formed a perfect O. He straightened up from the table and lifted his shirt up, using his other hand to grab the waistband of his shorts. “These have to come off, correct?”
Mesmerized by the expanse of inked-up muscle he’d just revealed, Annabelle was finding it hard to speak. Heaven help her! His six-pack led to a v-cut that looked like a mythical unicorn she’d only heard about. She was shocked to find herself wanting to trace every single ridge with her tongue. She swallowed her drool before she choked on it.
“Something wrong, Doc?”
“No, everything’s fine!” Annabelle managed to hoarsely reply. Her eyes rose to meet his and squinted evilly at the unholy gleam she saw flickering there. Jerk! Well, two can play his game. With a sweet smile, she grabbed a pair of latex gloves from a box on the counter and nodded her head. “And only the shorts will need to be removed for the prostate exam I’m recommending. When you’re ready, just bend over the table and spread ‘em, Mr. Carlton.”
With a deep chuckle that made Annabelle’s stomach quiver, Graham righted his clothes. “My list of wild and kinky things to do with a woman is lengthy and creative, but that is nowhere on it. Not even with a woman as beautiful as you, doc. Oh, and the name is Graham. Use it.”
Ignoring the pleasure blooming inside of her at his compliment along with the curiosity sparked by him having such a list, Annabelle removed the gloves and shoved them in her pocket. “I don’t doubt that your list is…impressive,” she responded dryly, to which he wiggled his eyebrows roguishly. Was it just her or had someone turned the heat up on the thermometer?
Pay attention! Do not be distracted by his flirting! Annabelle scolded herself.
“Look. Why don’t we just cut the crap and get to the real reason why you’re here. I can get someone to cover the rest of my shift today. Let’s get out of here and talk, shall we?”
Annabelle looked as if she’d prefer a root canal to a sit-down, but Graham appreciated the way she addressed the purpose of his visit head-on and didn’t try to avoid him. He smiled wickedly as he held the door handle and made a sweeping motion. “I’m all yours, Doc. Lead the way.”
All hers, Annabelle speculated.
Now there was a thought.