Damn They Are Still Together Quotes

She sucked in a shuddering breath, and he pulled back far enough for them to share breath. Her fingers shook as she brushed them against his mouth, and his control nearly shredded apart right there. 'What are you waiting for?' he said, the words near guttural. 'Bastard,' she murmured, and kissed him. Her mouth was soft and warm, and he bit back a groan. His body went still—his entire world went still—at that whisper of a kiss, the answer to a question he’d asked for centuries. He realized he was staring only when she withdrew slightly. His fingers tightened at her waist. 'Again,' he breathed. She slid out of his grip. 'If we live through tomorrow, you’ll get the rest.' He didn’t know whether to laugh or roar. 'Are you trying to bribe me into surviving?' She smiled at last. And damn if it didn’t kill him, the quiet joy in her face. They had walked out of darkness and pain and despair together. They were still walking out of it. So that smile … It struck him stupid every time he saw it and realized it was for him.

She smiled at last. And damn if it didn't kill him, the quiet joy in her face. They had walked out of darkness and pain and despair together. They were still walking out of it. So that smile... It struck him stupid every time he saw it and realized it was for him.

Imagine saying to somebody that you have a life-threatening illness, such as cancer, and being told to pull yourself together or get over it. Imagine being terribly ill and too afraid to tell anyone lest it destroys your career. Imagine being admitted to hospital because you are too ill to function and being too ashamed to tell anyone, because it is a psychiatric hospital. Imagine telling someone that you have recently been discharged and watching them turn away, in embarrassment or disgust or fear. Comparisons are odious. Stigmatising an illness is more odious still.

Delicately, she parted her lips, swept them against his, and kissed first his top, then the bottom. Letting her lead, he pinched his brows together and held still. She didn’t come at him with fire. She told him a story. And he’d be damned if it didn’t start with once upon a time like she were proving he was some kind of hero. Specifically, hers.

i mean talk about decadence," he declared, "how decadent can a society get? Look at it this way. This country's probably the psychiatric, psychoanalytical capital of the world. Old Freud himself could never've dreamed up a more devoted bunch of disciples than the population of the United States - isn't that right? Our whole damn culture is geared to it; it's the new religion; it's everybody's intellectual and spiritual sugar-tit. And for all that, look what happens when a man really does blow his top. Call the Troopers, get him out of sight quick, hustle him off and lock him up before he wakes the neighbors. Christ's sake, when it comes to any kind of showdown we're still in the Middle Ages. It's as if everybody'd made this tacit agreement to live in a state of total self-deception. The hell with reality! Let's have a whole bunch of cute little winding roads and cute little houses painted white and pink and baby blue; let's all be good consumers and have a lot of Togetherness and bring our children up in a bath of sentimentality -- and if old reality ever does pop out and say Boo we'll all get busy and pretend it never happened.

Pull yourself together, Detective. You're embarrassing yourself, and more imprtant, you're embarrassing me." "They're going to do it outside. In public." "So the fuck what?" "Public," Peabody said, head still between her knees. "You're being honored by this department and this city for having the integrity, the courage, and the skill to take out a blight on this department and this city. Dirty, murdering, greedy, treacherous cops are sitting in cages right now because you had that integrity, courage, and skill. I don't care if they do this damn thing in Grand Central, you will get on your feet. You will not puke, pass out, cry like a baby, or squeal like a girl. That's a goddamn order." "I had more of a 'Relax, Peabody, this is a proud moment' sort of speech in mind," McNab murmured to Roarke. Roarke shook his head, grinned. "Did you now? You've a bit to learn yet, haven't you?

Don’t forget what he means to me, Poppy. I’ve known him my whole damn life,” he said. “We shared the same crib more times than not. We took our first steps together. Sat at the same table most nights, refusing to eat the same vegetables We explored tunnels and lakes, pretended that fields were new, undiscovered kingdoms. We were inseparable. And that didn’t change as we grew older.” His voice roughened, and he dropped his forehead to mind. “He was and still is a part of me.

I want you back, Annabelle.” This time my laughter is full of nothing but genuine humor. It’s that ‘oh my god, I can’t believe that’ kind of humor. I lean forward and put my face in my palms, still laughing. “Holy crap,” I say in-between laughs, “that’s hilarious.” I peek up at him to see his disgruntled expression and then bust up laughing again.  “I’m serious,” he grunts out, looking cute in his exasperation, damn him. Not done, I hold up a hand. “Oh, oh, wait. Just let me go get my gun so you can shoot me again. Of course I want to get back together with you, Gabriel.” Putting on a serious face, I say earnestly, “He shoots me because he loves me.

poetry readings have to be some of the saddest damned things ever, the gathering of the clansmen and clanladies, week after week, month after month, year after year, getting old together, reading on to tiny gatherings, still hoping their genius will be discovered, making tapes together, discs together, sweating for applause they read basically to and for each other, they can't find a New York publisher or one within miles, but they read on and on in the poetry holes of America, never daunted, never considering the possibility that their talent might be thin, almost invisible, they read on and on before their mothers, their sisters, their husbands, their wives, their friends, the other poets and the handful of idiots who have wandered in from nowhere. I am ashamed for them, I am ashamed that they have to bolster each other, I am ashamed for their lisping egos, their lack of guts. if these are our creators, please, please give me something else: a drunken plumber at a bowling alley, a prelim boy in a four rounder, a jock guiding his horse through along the rail, a bartender on last call, a waitress pouring me a coffee, a drunk sleeping in a deserted doorway, a dog munching a dry bone, an elephant's fart in a circus tent, a 6 p.m. freeway crush, the mailman telling a dirty joke anything anything but these.

In all probability the Human Genome Project will, someday, find that I carry some recessive gene for optimism, because despite all my best efforts I still can't scrape together even a couple days of hopelessness. Future scientists will call it the Pollyanna Syndrome, and if forced to guess, I'd say that mine has been a way-long case history of chasing rainbows.

She thought she loved him. What do you have in your pocket?” He smiled, drew out the gray button that had fallen off her very ugly suit the first day they’d met. “See?” She couldn’t say why that stupid button moved her so damn much. “People in love keep things. Sentimental things.” “What do you have?” She pulled the chain, and the tear-shaped diamond from under her shirt. “I wouldn’t wear this for anybody but you. It’s embarrassing. And—” “Ah, something else.” “Shit. I’m tired. It makes me gabby. I have one of your shirts.” His brow creased in absolute bafflement. “My shirts?” “In my drawer, under a bunch of stuff. You lent it to me the morning after our first night together. It still sort of smells like you.” For a moment, the worry on his face simply dissolved. “I believe that’s the sweetest thing you’ve said to me in all our time together.” “Well, I owed you. Besides, you have enough shirts to outfit a Broadway troupe. So, help me toss the room?” “Absolutely.

Call it a good marriage - For no one ever questioned Her warmth, his masculinity, Their interlocking views; Except one stray graphologist Who frowned in speculation At her h's and her s's, His p's and w's. Though few would still subscribe To the monogamic axiom That strife below the hip-bones Need not estrange the heart, Call it a good marriage: More drew those two together, Despite a lack of children, Than pulled them apart. Call it a good marriage: They never fought in public, They acted circumspectly And faced the world with pride; Thus the hazards of their love-bed Were none of our damned business - Till as jurymen we sat on Two deaths by suicide.

She smiled at last. And damn if it didn’t kill him, the quiet joy in her face. They had walked out of darkness and pain and despair together. They were still walking out of it. So that smile … It struck him stupid every time he saw it and realized it was for him.

Meg! I love you! I want to marry you!” “That’s weird,” she said without stopping. “Only six weeks ago, you were telling me all about how Lucy broke your heart.” “I was wrong. Lucy broke my brain.” That finally stopped her. “Your brain?” She looked back at him. “That’s right,” he said more quietly. “When Lucy ran out on me, she broke my brain. But when you left . . .” To his dismay, his voice cracked. “When you left, you broke my heart.” He finally had her full attention, not that she looked at all dreamy-eyed or even close to being ready to throw herself into his arms, but at least she was listening. He collapsed the umbrella, took a step forward, then stopped himself. “Lucy and I fit together so perfectly in my head. We had everything in common, and what she did made no sense. I had the whole town lining up feeling sorry for me, and I was damned if I was going to let anybody know how miserable I was. I—I couldn’t get my bearings. And there you were in the middle of it, this beautiful thorn in my side, making me “feel like myself again. Except . . .” He hunched his shoulders, and a trickle of rainwater ran down his collar. “Sometimes logic can be an enemy. If I was so wrong about Lucy, how could I trust the way I felt about you?” She stood there, not saying a word, just listening. “I wish I could say I realized how much I loved you as soon as you left town, but I was too busy being mad at you for bailing on me. I don’t have a lot of practice being mad, so it took me a while to understand that the person I was really mad at was myself. I was so pigheaded and stupid. And afraid. Everything has always come so easy for me, but nothing about you was easy. The things you made me feel. The way you forced me to look at myself.” He could barely breathe. “I love you, Meg. I want to marry you. I want to sleep with you every night, make love with you, have kids. I want to fight together and work together and—just be together. Now are you going to keep standing there, staring at me, or could you put “me out of my misery and say you still love me, at least a little?

What are you saying?” “I want to try.” He wanted clarification on that. “You want to try what?” There it was, that deep flush. “You know.” Yes, he knew, but he wasn’t going to let her off the hook so easily. She was going to be his. For a brief time, she would belong to him and he would have everything he wanted, and he wanted her to start talking dirty. Yes. He wanted to teach her, to train her to accept pleasure so she would expect it. “No, I don’t know. You’ll have to be plain.” Avery blushed a little. “I want to be intimate with you.” So sweet. So polite. So not happening. “That sounds like you want me to get into my pajamas and exchange secrets with you. I’m not your girlfriend, Avery. Tell me what you want. That’s lesson number one. Communication and honesty are the keys to the relationship I want. I need to hear you say plainly what you want.” She hesitated, but only for a moment. He wasn’t surprised. Deep in her heart, she was a brave girl. She’d faced so much and still was open with her heart. Damn, but he didn’t understand that. “I would like for us to sleep together.” “I’m not very sleepy.” He wasn’t going to let her get away with anything. She groaned a little in obvious frustration. “You know that’s not what I’m talking about.” “Yes. I do. So say what you want.” “I want to have sex.” “So clinical. I’ll have to think about that.” “I want to make love.” “Sweet, but not what I’m looking for.” Her face crinkled into the cutest pout. “Damn it, Lee. I want to fuck.” Just like that he was primed and ready. She’d said fuck with such a sweet little heat, her eyebrows forming a V over her face as though the entire incident had offended her polite sensibilities. She would learn there wasn’t room for politeness between them. He growled just a little. “I want to fuck, too, baby. I want to fuck all night long.

But what I would like to know," says Albert, "is whether there would not have been a war if the Kaiser had said No." "I'm sure there would," I interject, "he was against it from the first." "Well, if not him alone, then perhaps if twenty or thirty people in the world had said No." "That's probable," I agree, "but they damned well said Yes." "It's queer, when one thinks about it," goes on Kropp, "we are here to protect our fatherland. And the French are over there to protect their fatherland. Now who's in the right?" "Perhaps both," say I without believing it. "Yes, well now," pursues Albert, and I see that he means to drive me into a corner, "but our professors and parsons and newspapers say that we are the only ones that are right, and let's hope so;--but the French professors and parsons and newspapers say that the right is on their side, now what about that?" "That I don't know," I say, "but whichever way it is there's war all the same and every month more countries coming in." Tjaden reappears. He is still quite excited and again joins the conversation, wondering just how a war gets started. "Mostly by one country badly offending another," answers Albert with a slight air of superiority. Then Tjaden pretends to be obtuse. "A country? I don't follow. A mountain in Germany cannot offend a mountain in France. Or a river, or a wood, or a field of wheat." "Are you really as stupid as that, or are you just pulling my leg?" growls Kropp, "I don't mean that at all. One people offends the other--" "Then I haven't any business here at all," replies Tjaden, "I don't feel myself offended." "Well, let me tell you," says Albert sourly, "it doesn't apply to tramps like you." "Then I can be going home right away," retorts Tjaden, and we all laugh, "Ach, man! he means the people as a whole, the State--" exclaims Mller. "State, State"--Tjaden snaps his fingers contemptuously, "Gendarmes, police, taxes, that's your State;--if that's what you are talking about, no, thank you." "That's right," says Kat, "you've said something for once, Tjaden. State and home-country, there's a big difference." "But they go together," insists Kropp, "without the State there wouldn't be any home-country." "True, but just you consider, almost all of us are simple folk. And in France, too, the majority of men are labourers, workmen, or poor clerks. Now just why would a French blacksmith or a French shoemaker want to attack us? No, it is merely the rulers. I had never seen a Frenchman before I came here, and it will be just the same with the majority of Frenchmen as regards us. They weren't asked about it any more than we were." "Then what exactly is the war for?" asks Tjaden. Kat shrugs his shoulders. "There must be some people to whom the war is useful." "Well, I'm not one of them," grins Tjaden. "Not you, nor anybody else here." "Who are they then?" persists Tjaden. "It isn't any use to the Kaiser either. He has everything he can want already." "I'm not so sure about that," contradicts Kat, "he has not had a war up till now. And every full-grown emperor requires at least one war, otherwise he would not become famous. You look in your school books." "And generals too," adds Detering, "they become famous through war." "Even more famous than emperors," adds Kat. "There are other people back behind there who profit by the war, that's certain," growls Detering. "I think it is more of a kind of fever," says Albert. "No one in particular wants it, and then all at once there it is. We didn't want the war, the others say the same thing--and yet half the world is in it all the same.

I reach for her. 'I'm so sorry I had to keep...' My words die on my tongue as she steps back, avoiding me. 'Not happening.' A world of hurt flashes in those hazel eyes, and I fucking wither. 'Just because I believe you and am willing to fight with you doesn't mean I'll trust you with my heart again. and I can't be with someone I don't trust.' Something in my chest crumples. 'I've never lied to you, Violet. Not once. I never will.' She walks over to the window and looks down, then slowly turns back to me. 'It's not even that you kept this from me. I get it. It's the ease with which you did it. The ease with which I let you into my hear and didn't get the same in return.' She shakes her head, and I see it there, the love, but it's masked behind defences I foolishly forced her to build. I love her. Of course I love her. But if I tell her now, she'll think I'm doing it for all the wrong reasons, and honestly, she'd be right. I'm not going to lose the only woman I've ever fallen for without a fight. 'You're right. I kept secrets,' I admit, pressing forward again, taking step after step until I'm less than a foot from her. I palm the glass on both sides of her head, loosely caging her in, but we both know she could walk away if she wanted. But she doesn't move. 'It took me a long time to trust you, a long time to realise I fell for you.' Someone knocks, I ignore it. 'Don't say that.' She lifts her chin, but I don't miss the way she glances at my mouth. 'I fell for you.' I lower my head and look straight into her gorgeous eyes. She might be rightfully pissed, but she sure as Malek isn't fickle. 'And you know what? You might not trust me anymore, but you still love me.' Her lips part, but she doesn't deny it. 'I gave you my trust for free once, and once is all you get.' She masks the hurt with a quick blink. Never again. Those eyes will never reflect hurt I've inflicted ever again. 'I fucked up by not telling you sooner, and I won't even try to justify my reasons. But now I'm trusting you with my life- with everyone's lives.' I've risked it all by just bringing her here instead of taking her body back to Basgiath. 'I'll tell you anything you want to know and everything you don't. I'll spend every single day of my life earning back your trust.' I'd forgotten what it felt like to be loved, really, truly, loved- it'd been so many years since Dad died. And mom... Not going there. But then Violet gave me those words, gave me her trust, her heart, and I remembered. I'll be damned if I don't fight to keep them. 'And if it's not possible?' 'You still love me. It's possible.' Gods, do I ache to kiss her, to remind her exactly what we are together, but I won't, not until she asks. 'I'm not afraid of hard work, especially not when I know just how sweet the rewards are.. I would rather lose this entire war than live without you, and if that means I have to prove myself, over and over, then I'll do it. You gave me your heart, and I'm keeping it.' She already owns mine, even if she doesn't realise it.

You guys could handle this on your own. Why risk getting kicked out of your He-Man-Monster-Haters Club?" "Because we can't handle this on our own. At least I don't think we can." "You said yourself you already have some Prodigium working with you. Why not go to them?" "We have a handful," he said, frustration creeping into his voice. "And most of them suck. Look, just consider it a peace offering, okay? My way of saying I'm sorry for lying to you. And pulling a knife in your presence, even if it was just to open a damn window to get out before you vaporized me." Most girls got flowers. I got a dirt put used for demon raising. Nice. "Thanks," I replied. "But don't you want in on this?" He looked at me, and not for the first time, I wished his eyes weren't so dark. It would have been nice to have some idea of what was going on in his head. "That's up to you," he said. Mom always liked to say that we hardly ever know the decisions we make that change our lives,mostly because they're little ones. You take this bus instead of that one and end up meeting your soul mate, that kind of thing. But there was no doubt in my mind that this was one of those life-changing moments. Tell Archer no,and I'd never see him again. And Dad and Jenna wouldn't be mad at me, and Cal...Tell Archer yes, and everything suddenly got twistier and more complicated than Mrs. Casnoff's hairdo. And even though I'm a twisty and complicated girl, I knew what my answer had to be. "It's too much of a risk, Cross. Maybe one day when I'm head of the Council, and you're...well, whatever you're going to be for L'Occhio di Dio, we could work on some kind of collaboration." That brought up depressig images of me and Archer sittig across a boardroom table, sketching out battle plans on a whiteboard, so my voice was a little shaky when I continued. "But for now, it's too dangerous." And not just because basically everyone in our lives would want to kill us if they found out, I thought. But because I was pretty sure I was still in love with him, and I thought he might feel something similar for me, and there was no way we could work together preventing the Monster Apocalypse/World War III without that becoming an issue. Not that I could say any of that. Archer's face was blank as he said, "Cool. Got it." "Cross," I started to say, but then his eyes slid past me and went wide with horror. At the same time, I became aware of a slithering noice behind me. That just could not be good; in my experience, nothing pleasant slithers. Still, I was not prepared for the nightmares climbing out of the crater.

by the assault. Shading his eyes against the dazzle from the window, he peered down into the shadows. “Oh, hallo there, wee dog,” he said politely, and took a step forward, knuckles stretched out. Bouton raised the growl a few decibels, and he took a step back. “Oh, like that, is it?” Jamie said. He eyed the dog narrowly. “Think it over, laddie,” he advised, squinting down his long, straight nose. “I’m a damn sight bigger than you. I wouldna undertake any rash ventures, if I were you.” Bouton shifted his ground slightly, still making a noise like a distant Fokker. “Faster, too,” said Jamie, making a feint to one side. Bouton’s teeth snapped together a few inches from Jamie’s calf, and he stepped back hastily. Leaning back against the wall, he folded his arms and nodded down at the dog. “Well, you’ve a point there, I’ll admit. When it comes to teeth, ye’ve the edge on me, and no mistake.” Bouton cocked an ear suspiciously at this gracious speech, but went back to the low-pitched growl. Jamie hooked one foot over the other, like one prepared to pass the time of day indefinitely. The multicolored light from the window washed his face with blue, making him look like one of the chilly marble statues in the cathedral next door. “Surely you’ve better things to do than harry innocent visitors?” he asked, conversationally. “I’ve heard of you—you’re the famous fellow that sniffs out sickness, no? Weel, then, why are they wastin’ ye on silly things like door-guarding, when ye might be makin’ yourself useful smelling gouty toes and pustulant arseholes?

Now you listen to me,’ says Ove calmly while he carefully closes the door. ‘You’ve given birth to two children and quite soon you’ll be squeezing out a third. You’ve come here from a land far away and most likely you fled war and persecution and all sorts of other nonsense. You’ve learned a new language and got yourself an education and you’re holding together a family of obvious incompetents. And I’ll be damned if I’ve seen you afraid of a single bloody thing in this world before now.’ Ove rivets his eyes into her. Parvaneh is still agape. Ove points imperiously at the pedals under her feet. ‘I’m not asking for brain surgery. I’m asking you to drive a car. It’s got an accelerator, a brake and a clutch. Some of the greatest twits in world history have sorted out how it works. And you will as well.

Matteo didn't lick a woman's pussy because he felt obligated, or at the very least not mine. I might have argued he enjoyed it more than I did if he wasn't so damn good at it. That talented tongue explored every part of me, thrusting in and out until I whimpered. When he turned his attention to my clit, it was so he could slide a finger inside me. I clenched around him on a cry, feeling the way he moaned in response vibrate through me. He withdrew that finger, only to add a second and curl them to stroke that spot inside me that made me quiver. "Teo," I whimpered, and the sound of his name seemed to push him over the edge. He wrapped his lips around the bundle of nerves at the apex of my thigh, sucking gently. My legs tightened around his head; my hand buried in his hair to hold him exactly where I wanted him as I shattered in a blinding orgasm that stole my ability to function. I laid there, panting and trying to regain my ability to move. When I opened my eyes, it was to Matteo shoving his own underwear down his legs and kicking them off. He pulled his fingers free of me and spread my legs wide from where they'd wrapped around his head. Sliding up my body, his hips lined up with mine so he could grind his length against my wet core. His lips found mine in a bruising, claiming kiss that seemed even more primal because he tasted like me. He reached down, sliding himself through my wet and notching his head at my entrance. Pulling away from my lips, he groaned, "Tell me you're mine." Still recovering from my orgasm, I nodded in a daze. "Words, Angel. Give me the words." "Yours," I murmured, cupping his cheek with a delirious smile and tugging him down to kiss him again. He slid inside me slowly, filling me until there wasn't a single inch that couldn't feel him. "Fuck," he groaned against my mouth. He reached down, wrapping my legs around his hips. Our foreheads pressed together; our mouths not quite touching as he started to move inside me. Even without his lips on mine, I could taste him, taste me in his breath on my face. One of his hands grabbed mine, our fingers intertwining while he wrapped his other under my shoulder to hold me where he wanted me. He slid in and out in slow, hard thrusts.

He shrugged and glanced at her hair. “Rough night?” Her brows drew together. “What makes you say that?” “Your bun is askew.” Audrey’s fingers flew to her hair. Sure enough, it was lopsided and puffy on one side. “Damn it.” Reese set down the spoon and turned to her, reaching for her hair. “Here, I’ll fix it for you.” She frowned but stood still, dropping her hands. “That’s very domestic of you.” “Nah. I mostly wanted to see what this looks like when it’s not in a grandma style.” And he reached forward and snipped the band with a pair of scissors. She yelped, pulling away even as he ran his fingers through her hair, making it puff out into a halo around her head. “You a**hole!” “Look at that! All that loose, untamed hair!” He teased, even as he tried to run his fingers through it again. “It’s like you’re a wild woman. What will people think?

Last was man. One by one God judged them all; Those who were his He saved for his pleasure, Those who were Satan’s he stomped them as they sprawled, Tossed—t’ burn with their family together. I was last. Alone I stood. Before God of all. I wasn’t his. No! I still wasn't his. It’s all I want’d! Still I lost him—still I'd fall! Still I lost. No, I’d never be his! Angels grabbed my hands and feet and flung me with th’ damned, To lie and let th’ fire burn and through our lungs expand.

Before she could say anything more, Sabella swung around at the sound of Noah’s Harley purring to life behind the garage. God. He was dressed in snug jeans and riding chaps. A snug dark T-shirt covered his upper body, conformed to it. And he was riding her way. “Is there anything sexier than a man in riding chaps riding a Harley?” Kira asked behind her. “It makes a woman simply want to melt.” And Sabella was melting. She watched as he pulled around the side of the garage then took the gravel road that led to the back of the house. The sound of the Harley purred closer, throbbing, building the excitement inside her. “I think it’s time for me to leave,” Kira said with a light laugh. “Don’t bother to see me out.” Sabella didn’t. She listened as the Harley drew into the graveled lot behind the house and moved to the back door. She opened it, stepping out on the back deck as he swung his legs over the cycle and strode toward her. That long-legged lean walk. It made her mouth water. Made her heart throb in her throat as hunger began to race through her. “The spa treated you well,” he announced as he paused at the bottom of the steps and stared back at her. “Feel like messing your hair up and going out this evening? We could have dinner in town. Ride around a little bit.” She hadn’t ridden on a motorcycle since she was a teenager. She glanced at the cycle, then back to Noah. “I’d need to change clothes.” His gaze flickered over her short jeans skirt, her T-shirt. “That would be a damned shame too,” he stated. “I have to say, Ms. Malone, you have some beautiful legs there.” No one had ever been as charming as Nathan. She remembered when they were dating, how he would just show up, out of the blue, driving that monster pickup of his and grinning like a rogue when he picked her up. He’d been the epitome of a bad boy, and he had been all hers. He was still all hers. “Bare legs and motorcycles don’t exactly go together,” she pointed out. He nodded soberly, though his eyes had a wicked glint to them. “This is a fact, beautiful. And pretty legs like that, we wouldn’t want to risk.” She leaned against the porch post and stared back at him. “I have a pickup, you know.” She propped one hand on her hip and stared back at him. “Really?” Was that avarice she saw glinting in his eyes, or for just the slightest second, pure, unadulterated joy at the mention of that damned pickup? He looked around. “I haven’t seen a pickup.” “It’s in the garage,” she told him carelessly. “A big black monster with bench seats. Four-by-four gas-guzzling alpha-male steel and chrome.” He grinned. He was so proud of that damned pickup. “Where did something so little come up with a truck that big?” he teased her then. She shrugged. “It belonged to my husband. Now, it belongs to me.” That last statement had his gaze sharpening. “You drive it?” “All the time,” she lied, tormenting him. “I don’t have to worry about pinging it now that my husband is gone. He didn’t like pings.” Did he swallow tighter? “It’s pinged then?” She snorted. “Not hardly. Do you want to drive the monster or question me about it? Or I could change into jeans and we could ride your cycle. Which is it?” Which was it? Noah stared back at her, barely able to contain his shock that she had kept the pickup. He knew for a fact there were times the payments on the house and garage had gone unpaid—his “death” benefits hadn’t been nearly enough—almost risking her loss of both during those first months of his “death.” Knowing she had held on to that damned truck filled him with more pleasure than he could express. Knowing she was going to let someone who wasn’t her husband drive it filled him with horror. The contradictor feelings clashed inside him, and he promised himself he was going to spank her for this.

Heath said he still loves you. Enough to go against your parents, and me, to be with you. But you broke up two years ago and he didn’t do a damn thing about it until he found out you were engaged.” The darkness edged out the light. “You want to know the truth, Vivian? If I loved you as much as he claims to love you, nothing would’ve stopped me from keeping you.” I didn’t realize until that moment how easy it was for one simple sentence to dissolve the threads holding my world together. If I loved you as much as he claims to love you, nothing would’ve stopped me from keeping you.

we stared at each other, and I knew we were both thinking about the same exact thing: the night before. Not the long talk we’d had about our families—and that raw honesty we’d given each other—but about what happened after that. The movie. The damn movie. I didn’t know what the hell I’d been thinking, fully fucking aware I was already mopey, when I asked if he wanted to watch my favorite movie as a kid. I’d watched it hundreds of times. Hundreds of times. It felt like love and hope. And I was an idiot. And Aiden, being a nice person who apparently let me get away with most of the things I wanted, said, “Sure. I might fall asleep during it.” He hadn’t fallen asleep. If there was one thing I learned that night was that no one was impervious to Little Foot losing his mom. Nobody. He’d only slightly rolled his eyes when the cartoon started, but when I glanced over at him, he’d been watching faithfully. When that awful, terrible, why-would-you-do-that-to-children-and-to-humanity-in-general part came on The Land Before Time, my heart still hadn’t learned how to cope and I was feeling so low, the hiccups coming out were worse than usual. My vision got cloudy. I got choked up. Tears were coming out of my eyes like the powerful Mississippi. Time and dozens of viewings hadn’t toughened me up at all. And as I’d wiped at my face and tried to remind myself it was just a movie and a young dinosaur hadn’t lost his beloved mom, I heard a sniffle. A sniffle that wasn’t my own. I turned not-so-discreetly and saw him. I saw the starry eyes and the way his throat bobbed with a gulp. Then I saw the sideways look he shot me as I sat there dealing with my own emotions, and we stared at each other. In silence. The big guy wasn’t handling it, and if there were ever a time in any universe, watching any movie, this would be the cause of it. All I could do was nod at him, get up to my knees, and lean over so I could wrap my arms around his neck and tell him in as soothing of a voice as I could get together, “I know, big guy. I know,” even as another round of tears came out of my eyes and possibly some snot out of my nose. The miraculous part was that he let me. Aiden sat there and let me hug him, let me put my cheek over the top of his head and let him know it was okay. Maybe it happened because we’d just been talking about the faulty relationships we had with our families or maybe it was because a child losing its mother was just about the saddest thing in the world, especially when it was an innocent animal, I don’t know. But it was sad as shit. He sniffed—on any other person smaller than him it would have been considered a sniffle—and I squeezed my arms around him a little tighter before going back to my side of the bed where we finished watching the movie

I can’t find out anything, but I’ve put together a network. I’ll find her.” “The thing is, she doesn’t want to be found. That isn’t going to make things any easier.” He didn’t want to ask, but he had to know. “Why doesn’t she want to be found?” “Because you’re marrying Audrey at Christmas,” Colby said simply. “I’m not marrying Audrey,” came the sort reply. “I never meant to marry Audrey. She outflanked me while I was getting used to the idea of being a media snack.” “Well, Cecily doesn’t know that,” Colby replied. “Great,” he muttered. “That’s just great. I leave the country and come home to find myself engaged to a woman I wouldn’t have, at any price!” “That’s not the only reason Cecily left,” Colby said tersely. “She knew you wouldn’t forgive her for not telling you about Matt Holden.” Tate ran a hand through his hair, missing the former length of it. “I’ve had a rough few weeks.” “So has she,” the other man said curtly. “She could have told me about my mother and Holden!” “Cecily gives her word and keeps it. There aren’t a lot of people on the planet who could make that claim. She promised the senator she wouldn’t tell you anything.” The senator. His father. Tate paced with the phone to his ear, his mind busy with possible places she might have gone to. “She might have told my mother where she was going.” “I’d bet good money that she didn’t,” Colby returned immediately. “She doesn’t want you to find her.” Tate stopped pacing. He scowled. “She doesn’t want me to find her?” “Actually, she doesn’t want any of us to find her. Especially you.” Tate’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Any particular reason for that? Other than what I already know?” “Oh, boy.” Colby made a rough sound in his throat. “I still don’t think I should tell you. But if something should happen to her…” “Damn you, tell me!” Colby took a breath and went for broke. “All right. Cecily’s pregnant. That’s why she ran.” “You son of a bitch!” The phone slammed down so hard that Colby shuddered at the noise. He put the receiver down with a grimace. He shouldn’t have blown Cecily’s cover. But what else could he do? She was pregnant and alone and an attempt had been made on her life. It Tate wasn’t told, and Cecily was hurt or lost the baby, he might never get over it. That went double for Tate.

stalemate. Fated to both love and resent each other.” “What did you do?” Obviously, she’d married the man. “I broke up with him.” She pops a cherry into her mouth and chews industriously. “And I was damned miserable.” “Did you go back to him?” “No.” She smiles. “He called every evening with one question. ‘Is it still worth it?’ I held out for months. Until finally, I could answer, no, being apart from him wasn’t worth it.” “Then you got together, lived happily ever after and all that jazz, right?” Mrs. Goldman shakes her head. “No. Everything I feared they would think, they did. I had to quit the firm and open my own. Set me back years because no one wanted to hire a woman as their financial manager.” A dark look comes into her eyes. “But I persisted. And I made it.

The rain beat against the windows and against the tin roof of the hotel. It came down in hissing roars, then in whispers, then in loud shishes like sandpaper rubbed against wood. She drank the second glassful, climbed off the bed and began undressing, and then we were together, the cheap naked bulb still blazing down on the bed. Thinking back, I remember the stupidest things; the way there was a taut crease just above her hips, in the small of her back. The way she smelled like a baby's breath, a sweet barely there smell that retreated and retreated, so that no matter how close you got to it you weren't sure it was there. The brown speckles in the lavender-gray eyes, floating very close to the surface when I kissed her, the eyes wide open and aware. But not caring. The eyes of a gourmet offered a stale chunk of bread, using it of necessity but not tasting it any more than necessary. I remember getting up and coming back to her, and of throwing a shoe at the light bulb, later, when the whisky was gone. I remember the smell of rain-darkness in the room and her telling me I'd cut my feet on the light-bulb glass on the floor. And how she said I was no better than a tramp myself, that I made love to the cadence of the raingusts on the roof, and it was true I was doing just that, but it seemed the natural thing then. And I felt so marvelously clean and soaped and so in tune with the whole damned universe that I had the feeling I could have clouded up and rained and lightninged myself, and blown that cheese-colored room to smithereens.

Because you deserve a duke, damn it!” A troubled expression furrowed his brow. “You deserve a man who can give you the moon. I can’t. I can give you a decent home in a decent part of town with decent people, but you…” His voice grew choked. “You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever known. It destroys me to think of what you’ll have to give up to be with me.” “I told you before-I don’t care!” she said hotly. “Why can’t you believe me?” He hesitated a long moment. “The truth?” “Always.” “Because I can’t imagine why you’d want me when you have men of rank and riches at your fingertips.” She gave a rueful laugh. “You grossly exaggerate my charms, but I can’t complain. It’s one of many things I adore about you-that you see a better version of me than I ever could.” Remembering the wonderful words he’d said last night when she’d been so self-conscious, she left the bed to walk up to him. “Do you know what I see when I look at you?” His wary gaze locked with hers. “Proper Pinter. Proud Pinter.” “Yes, but that’s just who you show to the world to protect yourself.” She reached up to stroke his cheek, reveling in the ragged breath that escaped him. “When you let down your guard, however, I see Jackson-who ferrets out the truth, no matter how hard. Who risks his own life to protect the weak. Who’d sacrifice anything to prevent me from having to sacrifice everything.” Catching her hand, he halted its path. “You see a saint,” he said hoarsely. “I’m not a saint; I’m a man with needs and desires and a great many rough edges.” “I like your rough edges,” she said with a soft smile. “If I’d really wanted a man of rank and riches, I probably would have married long ago. I always told myself I couldn’t marry because no one wanted me, but the truth was, I didn’t want any of them.” She fingered a lock of hair. “Apparently I was waiting for you, rough edges and all.” His eyes turned hot with wanting. Drawing her hand to his lips, he kissed the palm so tenderly that her heart leapt into her throat. When he lifted his head, he said, “Then marry me, rough edges and all.” She swallowed. “That’s what you say now, when we’re alone and you’re caught up in-“ He covered her mouth with his, kissing her so fervently that she turned into a puddle of mush. Blast him-he always did that, too, when they were alone; it was when they were with others that he reconsidered their being together forever. And he still had said nothing of live. “That’s enough of that,” she warned, drawing back from him. “Until you make a proper proposal, before my family, you’re not sharing my bed.” “Sweeting-“ “Don’t you ‘sweeting’ me, Jackson Pinter.” She edged away from him. “I want Proper Pinter back now.” A mocking smile crossed his lips. “Sorry, love. I threw him out when I saw how he was mucking up my private life.” Love? No, she wouldn’t let that soften her. Not until she was sure he wouldn’t turn cold later. “You told Oliver you’d behave like a gentleman.” “To hell with your brother.” He stalked her with clear intent. Even as she darted behind a chair to avoid him, excitement tore through her. “Aren’t you still worried Gran will cut me off, and you’ll be saddled with a spoiled wife and not enough money to please her?” “To hell with your grandmother, too. For that matter, to hell with the money.” He tossed the chair aside as if it were so much kindling; it clattered across the floor. “It’s you I want.

Well, what happened to your scruples in the woodcutter’s cottage? You knew I thought you’d already left when I went inside.” “Why did you stay,” he countered smoothly, “when you realized I was still there?” In confused distress Elizabeth raked her hair off her forehead. “I knew I shouldn’t do it,” she admitted. “I don’t know why I remained.” “You stayed for the same reason I did,” he informed her bluntly. “We wanted each other.” “I was wrong,” she protested a little wildly. “Dangerous and-foolish!” “Foolish or not,” he said grimly, “I wanted you. I want you now.” Elizabeth made the mistake of looking at him, and his amber eyes captured hers against her will, holding them imprisoned. The shawl she’d been clutching as if it was a lifeline to safety slid from her nerveless hand and dangled at her side, but Elizabeth didn’t notice. “Neither of us has anything to gain by continuing this pretense that the weekend in England is over and forgotten,” he said bluntly. “Yesterday proved that it wasn’t over, if it proved nothing else, and it’s never been forgotten-I’ve remembered you all this time, and I know damn well you’ve remembered me.” Elizabeth wanted to deny it; she sensed that if she did, he’d be so disgusted with her deceit that he’d turn on his heel and leave her. She lifted her chin, unable to tear her gaze from his, but she was too affected by the things he’d just admitted to her to lie to him. “All right,” she said shakily, “you win. I’ve never forgotten you or that weekend. How could I?” she added defensively. He smiled at her angry retort, and his voice gentled to the timbre of rough velvet. “Come here, Elizabeth.” “Why?” she whispered shakily. “So that we can finish what we began that weekend.” Elizabeth stared at him in paralyzed terror mixed with violet excitement and shook her head in a jerky refusal. “I’ll not force you,” he said quietly, “nor will I force you to do anything you don’t want to do once you’re in my arms. Think carefully about that,” he warned, “because if you come to me now, you won’t be able to tell yourself in the morning that I made you do this against your will-or that you didn’t know what was going to happen. Yesterday neither of us knew what was going to happen. Now we do.” Some small, insidious voice in her mind urged her to obey, reminded her that after the public punishment she’d taken for the last time they were together she was entitled to some stolen passionate kisses, if she wanted them. Another voice warned her not to break the rules again. “I-I can’t,” she said in a soft cry. “There are four steps separating us and a year and a half of wanting drawing us together,” he said. Elizabeth swallowed. “Couldn’t you meet me halfway?” The sweetness of the question was almost Ian’s undoing, but he managed to shake his head. “Not this time. I want you, but I’ll not have you looking at me like a monster in the morning. If you want me, all you have to do is walk into my arms.” “I don’t know what I want,” Elizabeth cried, looking a little wildly at the valley below, as if she were thinking of leaping off the path. “Come here,” he invited huskily, “and I’ll show you.” It was his tone, not his words, that conquered her. As if drawn by a will stronger than her own, Elizabeth walked forward and straight into his arms that closed around her with stunning force. “I didn’t think you were going to do it,” he whispered gruffly against her hair.

So what's going on with you and your boyfriend?" Eli asked me right before he shoved a forkful of eggs into his mouth during breakfast the next morning. I made a face in the direction of my plate before shooting a glance upward to find Gordo’s eyes on me, a smirk on his face. "Mason?" I asked, going back to my food. Eli made a gagging noise, elbowing me hard in the ribs. "I'm not gonna go into details on how disturbing it is that I say ‘your boyfriend’ and you automatically think of fucking Mase." "He's always calling me his wife, or telling people I don't know that we're getting married," I replied, elbowing him back as hard as he got me. It was partially the truth… but mostly, I didn’t want to talk about the man who had been kissing my shoulder hours ago. "I love Mase, but it'll be a sunny day in my asshole before you and him get together," he mumbled. I snorted, biting into my biscuit. "Who the heck else would you be talking about?" I asked, but I knew. Oh, I knew damn well he was referring to Sacha. Freaking Gordo snickered from across the table before putting his hands up in surrender when I glared at him. "I didn’t say anything." "Sacha, Flabby. Sacha. Your boyfriend. Your snuggle bug." Eliza finally answered. Suddenly the half-eaten biscuit on my plate needed to be eaten immediately. I shoved the entire piece into my mouth to avoid the conversation my brother was trying to edge into. I'd had talks about boys with Eli in the past, and they never ended—or started—well. "There's nothing going on between us. We're just friends." Because we were. Eli made a noise that sounded like “hmmph” deep in his throat. It was incredulous and disbelieving. Then he asked the question to prove it, his attention back on his band mate. "Gordo, do you think I'm blind?" Gordo shook his head. "Gaby, do you think I'm blind?" he asked. "Not blind, just dumb.” I smiled. He shot me a frown. A moment later, he threw his arm over my shoulders and started shoving his plate away with his free hand. "Flabby Gaby, that kid is in love with you." In love. With me? I leaned forward and tried to sniff his breath. “Are you still drunk?” But my brother kept talking before I could keep going. "Anyone with eyes and ears knows that guy thinks you shit out Lucky Charms." Gordo and I burst out laughing. "Is that a good thing?" I asked him. Eliza shoved my face away with his palm, ignoring my commentary again. "And I think that you love him, too." The noise that came out of my mouth sounded like a hybrid “moo” and squawk at the same time. "I—,” I slammed my mouth shut before opening it again with a sputter. “What?

Ove nods by way of confirmation and lets him back down on the ground. Then turns around, walks around the SUV, and gets back into the Saab. Parvaneh stares at him, with her mouth hanging open. “Now, you listen to me,” says Ove calmly while he carefully closes the door. “You’ve given birth to two children and quite soon you’ll be squeezing out a third. You’ve come here from a land far away and most likely you fled war and persecution and all sorts of other nonsense. You’ve learned a new language and got yourself an education and you’re holding together a family of obvious incompetents. And I’ll be damned if I’ve seen you afraid of a single bloody thing in this world before now.” Ove rivets his eyes into her. Parvaneh is still agape. Ove points imperiously at the pedals under her feet. “I’m not asking for brain surgery. I’m asking you to drive a car. It’s got an accelerator, a brake, and a clutch. Some of the greatest twits in world history have sorted out how it works. And you will as well.” And then he utters seven words, which Parvaneh will always remember as the loveliest compliment he’ll ever give her. “Because you are not a complete twit.

They are many indeed that lie there, though until now we have not thought of it so. Hitherto we have just all remained there together, they in the graves, we in the trenches, divided only by a few handfuls of earth. They were but a little before us; daily we became less and they more, and often we have not known whether we already belonged to them or not. And sometimes too the shells would bring them back among us again, crumbling bones tossed up; scraps of uniform; wet, decayed heads, already earthy, to the noise of the drumfire issuing once more from their buried dugouts and returning to the battle. It did not seem to us terrible; we were too near to them. But now we are going back into life and they must stay there. Ludwig, whose cousin was killed in this sector, blows his nose through his fingers and turns about. Slowly we follow. But we halt yet a few times and look about us. And again we stand still, and suddenly we know that all that yonder, that hell of terrors, that desolate corner of shell-hole land, has usurped our hearts;—yes, damn it, that it should sound such slush! —it seems almost as if it had become endeared to us, a dreadful homeland, full of torment, and we simply belonged in it.

I was here. I was fine. It was a beautiful day, and I was around people who gave me more love and happiness in a month than I’d had for seventeen years. I would never have to see those jerks again. And today was going to be a good day, damn it. So I got it together and finally looked back down at my best friend to ask, “Did I tell you I stole a bottle of Visine once because I wanted to put a few drops into my dad’s coffee, but I always chickened out?” Lenny snickered. “No. Psycho. Did I tell you that one time I asked Santa to bring my mom back?” I made a face. “That’s sad, Lenny.” I blinked. “I pretty much did the same thing.” “Uh-huh.” I raised my eyebrows at her. “Did I ever tell you that I wanted to have like ten kids when I was younger?” The laugh that came out of her wasn’t as strong as it usually was, but I was glad she let it out anyway. It sounded just like her, loud and direct and so full of happiness it was literally infectious. “Ten? Jesus, why?” I wrinkled my nose at her. “It sounded like a good number.” The scoff that came out of her right then was a little louder. “You’re fucking nuts, Luna. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten-ten?” “That’s what ten means.” I grinned at her. “I said that was back when I was younger, not any time recently. I can’t afford ten kids.” “Still. How about… none?” I glanced down the table again when I heard Thea’s sharp laugh. “Okay, Only Child.” I laughed. “I think four’s a good number now.” My friend beside me groaned before reaching forward to grab a chip, dipping it into the tiny bowl of guacamole beside it. “Look, Grandpa Gus was basically my brother, my dad, my uncle, and my grandpa all rolled into one, and I had a bunch of kids to play with,” she claimed. “Whatever makes you happy, but I think I’m fine with zero kids in my future.” I reached over and grabbed one of the pieces of fajita from her plate and plopped it into my mouth. “Watch, you’ll end up with two,” I told her, covering my mouth while I chewed the meat. “You’ve already got that ‘mom’ vibe going on better than anyone I know.” That had her rolling her eyes, but she didn’t argue that she didn’t, because we both knew it was true. She was a twenty-seven-year-old who dealt with full-grown man babies daily. She had it down. I was friends with my coworkers. Lenny was a babysitter for the ones she was surrounded with regularly. “Like you’re one to talk, bish,” she threw out in a grumpy voice that said she knew she couldn’t deny it. She had a point there. She picked up a piece of fajita and tossed it into her mouth before mumbling, “For the record, you should probably get started on lucky number four soon. You aren’t getting any younger.” I rolled my eyes, still chewing. “Bish.” “Bish.

maybe he hasn’t been judging Carl for other reasons. Maybe Owen doesn’t judge him because Carl returns the favor, by not judging a secret Owen felt safe confiding in Carl. Even if that theory is wrong, I still need to talk to him. Because Carl’s also the only lawyer I know in town. I knock on the front door, but no one answers. Not Carl, not Patty. It’s odd because Carl works from home. He likes to be around for his kids—his two young kids—who usually nap at this time. Carl and Patty are sticklers for their children’s schedule. Patty lectured me about it during our first night out together. Patty had just celebrated her twenty-eighth birthday, which made the lecture all the more enjoyable. If I was still able to have children—that was how she said it—I was going to have to be careful not to let them rule the roost. I’d have to show them who was in charge. That meant a schedule. That meant, in her case, a 12:30 P.M. nap every day. It’s 12:45. If Carl isn’t home, why isn’t Patty? Except that through the living room blinds, I see that Carl is home. I see him standing there, hiding behind those blinds, waiting for me to go. I knock on the door again, pressing hard on the doorbell. I’m going to ring the doorbell for the rest of the afternoon until he lets me in. Kids’ naps be damned. Carl swings the door open. He is holding a beer; his hair is neatly combed. Those are the first indicators that something strange is going on. His hair is usually uncombed,

Hey beautiful,” Trey answers, sounding exhausted. “Hey you.” My heart clenches in my chest from the sound of his voice. He breathes heavily. “I’m sitting here, shirt off, beer in hand, TV on, and I feel so fucking empty.” The image of him lying on the couch we bought together, his beautiful body stretched out across the cushions, makes me ache in places I haven’t ached in a long time. I want him so bad. “I’m missing my girl tucked against my chest.” “I would give anything to be there right now,” I answer honestly. Sighing, he asks, “Remember that piece of spaghetti I threw on the ceiling the night before you left?” “Yeah.” I smile to myself, thinking about that night. Trey insisted upon making spaghetti and meatballs for me. He came home with a grocery bag full of pasta, spaghetti sauce, and pre-made meatballs. When cooking the noodles, he told me an “old wives’ tale.” He said if you throw the noodles to the ceiling and it sticks, then the pasta is done. What he didn’t realize is if that pasta never comes down, you overcooked it. “It fell this morning. Scared the shit out of me. I thought it was a spider trying to bury itself in my hair while I was making eggs.” A laugh bursts out of me as I think about Trey bouncing around the apartment, spaghetti in hair thinking it was a spider. “Oh no. Miss Pasta-relli finally fell?” “She did and that squirrely bitch knew exactly what she was doing, too. Trying to scare the crap right out of me.” “Seems like she did.” I chuckle. “But I got the last laugh when I turned the trash compactor on. Her little pasta self squiggled down the drain. Revenge never felt so sweet.” Still laughing, I shake my head. “Is this what your life has come to? Fighting with old, overcooked pasta?” “I’m telling you, Amelia, with you gone, I’ve lost my damn mind.” “Sounds like it

And whatever you do, do not break the mirror.” Without looking away from Mari, Bowe asked, “Why no’?” This seemed an ideal solution to him. Jillian murmured, “The shock could . . . it could kill her.” No’ ideal. “I want to be alone with her,” Bowe said. She nodded. “We’re going to the binding ceremony. Good luck, Bowen.” After they closed the door, Bowe could still hear Mari’s father say, “Jill, why are you so confident in MacRieve?” “Because he won’t ever rest until he has her back with him,” she replied before they descended the stairs. Alone with Mari, Bowe said, “Lass, we’re about to take a break from the mirror for a bit. How am I to marry you in front of all those witches in an eerie, embarrassing ceremony if you will no’ look away?” No reaction. He put his arms around her waist and leaned down to kiss her neck, closing his eyes with pleasure just to be close to her once more. “Doona wish to turn from your glass? Verra well. Then ask it some questions while you’re here. Ask it how much your Lykae’s missed you.” Had she blinked? At her other ear, he murmured, “Ask it who Bowe loves.” Her lips parted. Her body seemed to begin thrumming, as if she was struggling with everything she had in her to be free. “Aye, that’s right. Ask it who’s the only one Bowe’s ever been in love with.” He brushed the back of his fingers down her cheek, willing her to meet his gaze in the mirror. “And the last question we’re goin’ tae have before you come away with me . . . ask it how damned good our lives are goin’ tae be together, just as soon as you turn tae kiss me.” Her brows drew together, and her stiff posture tightened, then relaxed. Her eyelids slid closed. “There now, that’s it, beautiful girl,” he asked, easing her face toward him. Behind her, he pressed the mirror until it flipped over, revealing the back of the frame. “Now, kiss me, witch.

Over the next few days we spent every waking moment together. We made up silly dances, did puzzles in the evening, and she stood smiling on the beach waiting for me as I took my customary New Year’s dip in the freezing cold North Atlantic. I just had a sense that we were meant to be. I even found out she lived in the next-door road along from where I was renting a room from a friend in London. What were the chances of that? As the week drew to a close we both got ready to head back south to London. She was flying. I was driving. “I’ll beat you to London,” I challenged her. She smiled knowingly. “No, you won’t.” (But I love your spirit.) She, of course, won. It took me ten hours to drive. But at 10:00 P.M. that same night I turned up at her door and knocked. She answered in her pajamas. “Damn, you were right,” I said, laughing. “Shall we go for some supper together?” “I’m in my pajamas, Bear.” “I know, and you look amazing. Put a coat on. Come on.” And so she did. Our first date, and Shara in her pajamas. Now here was a cool girl. From then on we were rarely apart. I delivered love letters to her office by day and persuaded her to take endless afternoons off. We roller-skated in the parks, and I took her down to the Isle of Wight for the weekends. Mum and Dad had since moved to my grandfather’s old house in Dorset, and had rented out our cottage on the island. But we still had an old caravan parked down the side of the house, hidden under a load of bushes, so any of the family could sneak into it when they wanted. The floors were rotten and the bath full of bugs, but neither Shara nor I cared. It was heaven just to be together. Within a week I knew she was the one for me and within a fortnight we had told each other that we loved each other, heart and soul. Deep down I knew that this was going to make having to go away to Everest for three and a half months very hard. But if I survived, I promised myself that I would marry this girl.

He frowned down at her. “You need to settle down and listen to me.” “You need to fuck off and—” She never got the next word out because he flipped her over on her stomach. While she cursed and tried to move him he tied her hands together with something, then wrapped some silky cloth around her head, forcing it between her lips. Bound and gagged, he moved her back over so she was on her back again. Beyond pissed, she struggled against her bindings, trying to get free so she could kill him. To her disgust he just grinned and watched her writhe on her mattress until she finally lay there in a sweaty, panting heap, with her hands still bound and her mouth still gaged. “Done with your tantrum?” he asked in a quiet voice. “Fuck you,” she said, or at least tried to say. It must have come through loud and clear because he smiled at her, a predatory smile that actually made her wet. Damn her hormones had bad taste and timing. He licked his lips and her pussy throbbed. “Oh, you’ll be begging me to fuck you by the time I’m done with you.” She glared, then rolled over on her stomach so she could flip him off with both bound hands. “See, this is why I love you. I love you, Amanda. You’re it for me. All I want, the only woman I want.” He leaned down and brushed her hair back from her face with a gentle touch. “Hold still and I’ll let you up. I’m sorry if I scared you.” “Wait,” she said in a garbled voice. “You love me?” He smiled and began to unbutton his shirt, slowly, revealing his magnificent body an inch at a time. “That’s right, I love you. I love how brave you are, how smart, how classy and yet at the same time you can cuss up a blue streak. I love how you take care of me, how I’m the only one who gets to see the soft, feminine side of you that comes out when you make love. I love your temper, your kindness, and how you devour me with your eyes, like you want to eat me alive. Kind of like you’re doing right now.” “I don’t love you,” she mumbled through the gag. “Liar,” he whispered into her ear, tracing the shell with the tip of his tongue.

This isn’t weird for you, Mark? I mean, not even a little bit?” Green questioned. “Why? Is it for you?” Ruxs inquired, slightly nervous. “No. Not at all. I’ve thought of a million sexual things I could do to you and what I wanted you to do to me. But that’s because I’m bi. You on the other hand, have never been with a man. Now you just had your finger in my ass. I’m just wondering. You’re not the slightest bit weirded out.” Ruxs thought for a second. He stared into those smoky eyes and knew exactly why he wasn’t weirded out. Green was his friend, his best friend. The only person he had, his family. Nothing about them coming together was weird for him. Ruxs was a man who always did his own thing. He wasn’t judgmental and he didn’t worry about labels or societal conformity. If it felt good, then it was all good. He’d lived by that motto since college. Ruxs finally shook his head no. “I feel good about this. You and I being together this way is only strange in a good way. It’s wild to be able to finally touch you like I’ve been wanting too. To see you come, to watch you get off. I’m just trying to wrap my head around you wanting me.” Ruxs had a hard time meeting Green’s eyes. He hoped like hell that Green did want him.  Green cupped his jaw and turned him so he was facing him. “I do want you. More than you think. I want you because you’re an amazing man, Mark Ruxsberg. You have to stop thinkin’ otherwise. You’re smart, caring, loyal, a damn good cop, you’re great to Curtis and…” Green tilted his still half-hard cock against Ruxs’ pelvis. “You’re sexy as fuck. Big and beautiful. Muscles all over the fuckin’ place. It’s a huge turn-on for me.” Ruxs blushed. He loved Green telling him this. Most of all he believed him. Green wasn’t a liar and he didn’t do anything that he didn’t want to do… just like him. “So no more of this self-doubting shit. Or else I won’t blow you anymore.” Green winked, rolling off of him and climbed out of the messy bed. “Now get your lazy ass up, and don’t worry about the sheets, the maid comes today. We got to get going. We’re supposed to be doing surveillance on that damn warehouse.” Ruxs

Suddenly I realized I was standing on the hot wood of the dock, still touching elbows with Adam, staring at the skull-and-crossbones pendant. And when I looked up into his light blue eyes, I saw that he was staring at my neck. No. Down lower. “What’cha staring at?” I asked. He cleared his throat. “Tank top or what?” This was his seal of approval, as in, Last day of school or what? or, Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders or what? Hooray! He wasn’t Sean, but he was built of the same material. This was a good sign. I pumped him for more info, to make sure. “What about my tank top?” “You’re wearing it.” He looked out across the lake, showing me his profile. His cheek had turned bright red under his tan. I had embarrassed the wrong boy. Damn, it was back to the football T-shirt for me. No it wasn’t, either. I couldn’t abandon my plan. I had a fish to catch. “Look,” I told Adam, as if he hadn’t already looked. “Sean’s leaving at the end of the summer. Yeah, yeah, he’ll be back next summer, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to compete once he’s had a taste of college life and sorority girls. It’s now or never, and desperate times call for desperate tank tops.” Adam opened his mouth to say something. I shut him up by raising my hand. Imitating his deep boy-voice, I said, “I don’t know why you want to hook up with that jerk.” We’d had this conversation whenever we saw each other lately. I said in my normal voice, “I just do, okay? Let me do it, and don’t get in my way. Stay out of my net, little dolphin.” I bumped his hip with my hip. Or tried to, but he was a lot taller than me. I actually hit somewhere around his mid-thigh. He folded his arms, stared me down, and pressed his lips together. He tried to look grim. I could tell he was struggling not to laugh. “Don’t call me that.” “Why not?” “Dolphins don’t live in the lake,” he said matter-of-factly, as if this were the real reason. The real reason was that the man-child within him did not want to be called “little” anything. Boys were like that. I shrugged. “Fine, little brim. Little bass.” He walked toward the stairs. “Little striper.” He turned. “What if Sean actually asked you out?” I didn’t want to be teased about this. It could happen! “You act like it’s the most remote poss-“ “He has to ride around with the sunroof open just so he can fit his big head in the truck. Where would you sit?” “In his lap?” A look of disgust flashed across Adam’s face before he jogged up the stairs, his weight making the weathered planks creaked with every step.

As the sun set, I ate a hospital meal and watched TV. Every few minutes, I glanced at the girl on the bed and tried to see Raven. I struggled to remember her smile and laugh. With her face so swollen, she didn’t seem like my love. I worried I’d lost her because I brought Caleb to Ellsberg. Eventually, the nurse showed me how to turn the chair into a pull out bed. I thanked her, but the thing was too damn small for me to fit on. Besides, I didn’t want to sleep until Raven woke up. Finally, I gave into my weird little urge to kiss the sleeping beauty. I needed to know she was okay. Know she wanted me to stay because she still loved me. I felt nervous until her swollen lips twitched into a smile after my kiss. “Tell me a story,” she mumbled while gripping my shirt with her good hand and tugging me into the bed with her. I adjusted our bodies just enough for me to rest next to her. While the position wasn’t comfortable, I finally relaxed at knowing my woman wanted me close. Caressing her battered face with my fingers, I loved how she smiled for me. Even in pain and after a hellish day, she soothed my fears. “Once upon a time,” I said and she smiled again, “there was a lonely fool who wasted one day after another of his life. One day, he met the most fascinating chick and she quickly wrapped the fool around her finger. She loved him in the best way and saved him from himself. He loved her too and only wanted for her to be happy and safe.” Hesitating, I frowned at the sight of her suffering. As if knowing what I was thinking, she reached up and ran a finger of my lips. “More.” “After the evil… let’s call them gnomes because I hate those ugly little fuckers. So, once the gnomes were destroyed, the fool and his lovely savior bought a big house for all the beautiful blond babies they would have together.” As Raven smiled at this idea, my uneasiness faded. “Their kids all had names with a V in them to honor their hot parents.” Raven laughed then moaned at the gesture. Still, she kept smiling for me. “The fool, his beautiful woman, and their army of glorious babies played videogames, bowled, and roller skated. They were always happy and never sad in a town with their friends and family. They all lived happily ever after.” Raven swollen lips smiled enough to show her missing tooth. Even though she was essentially blind with her battered eyes, she knew I’d seen her mouth and covered it with her hand. “You’re beautiful, darling. Nothing will ever change that.” Raven grunted, unconvinced. “There’s more to love about you than your beauty.” Another grunt followed by a hint of a pout. “Sugar, if I got all banged up and my stunning good looks were damaged, you’d still love me, right?” Raven laughed, but said nothing, so I answered for her. “Of course, you would. My amazing personality and giant brain would keep you horny even if my hot body wasn’t at its best.” Laughing harder now, Raven leaned against me. “I liked your story.” “Unlike most fairytales, this one is coming true.

Excuse me, sir.” One the young officers put his hand up to stop them. “Are you Furious Barkley?” “Maybe. Maybe not. Is there a problem, officers?” Doug stepped in front of Furi. “Damn straight there’s a problem.” Syn stepped inside the door, yanking his dark aviator glasses off his face. The scowl he wore told Furi this was not a pleasant coincidence. “Thanks guys, you can go.” Furi stood with his mouth hanging open while Syn dismissed the officers. “Seriously, Starsky. You gonna track my boy down every time he leaves the house?” Doug said angrily, still blocking Furi. “He’s not your boy. And what I do regarding Furi is none of your goddamn business.” Syn’s clenched jaw made his words sound like an evil hiss. He shouldered past Doug and got directly in Furi’s face. “When I’ve been calling him for over six hours and he hasn’t picked up or returned any of my calls, I’ll send a fuckin’ SWAT team to find him if I want to.” Syn spun and pointed his finger in Doug’s face, “That’s my say, not yours.” Syn’s voice was rising with his growing temper, and all eyes were on them. “Okay, let’s get out of here.” Furi pushed at both men, urging them out the door. As soon as they were out in the brisk fall air, Syn rounded on Furi, pushing their chest together. “Where have you been, Furious? I’ve been going crazy trying to check on you, and you’re sitting here casually eating pancakes,” Syn growled. “Hey, back up, man.” Doug tried to wedge in between Furi and Syn. Syn looked up in annoyance. “Doug, I swear, if you touch me, I’m gonna ensure that you never regain the use of that hand.” “Okay, okay.” Furi put both hands flat on Syn’s chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat underneath all that muscle. Fuck. He really was scared. What was I thinking turning off my phone with everything that’s going on? “Syn. I’m so sorry. I turned my phone off because–” “You don’t owe him an explanation. You’re a grown man, Furious. You were having a business meeting; he has no right to demand you be available to him at all times, just like Patrick.” Furi and Syn both snapped at Doug. But Furi took control. “Hey! Don’t you ever say that again. This man is nothing like that asshole.” Furi shook his head at the absurdity of Doug’s accusation. “Don’t even say his name in the same sentence as Patrick’s.” Doug looked at Furi as if he were a stranger. “Doug, you don’t know everything that’s been going on. But I promise I’ll catch you up, okay? Then you’re going to feel pretty shitty about what you just said about Syn.” Furi nodded his head. “Go home. I’ll call you when I’m back at Syn’s place.” “You’re staying with him?” Doug yelled. “Doug. You know it’s not safe at my place,” Furi said softly, his eyes pleading with his friend for him to understand. “Then you should come to stay with me. I don’t trust this guy!” “This is fuckin’ crazy,” Syn snarled. “I know you’re his friend, but you’re sounding more pissed than a friend should be.” “Don’t try to read me, Detective. Furi is my best friend, and I’ve had his back since the first day he got here.” Doug wasn’t backing down from Syn’s intimidating posture. Syn’s dark glasses were back on, creating a perfectly badass look with his black leather coat and boots. All the hardware Syn had tucked under his arms and the shiny badge hanging around his neck was a sight right out of a sexy cop porno.

Sean was watching me, though. And Sean wiped the bryozoa residue from his hand across my stomach. This was the third time a boy had ever touched my bare tummy, and I’d had enough. Through gritted teeth, like any extra movement might spread the bryozoa further across my skin, I told him, “I like you less than I did.” I bailed over the side of the boat-the side opposite where the bryozoa returned to its native habitat. Deep in the warm water, I scrubbed at my tummy with both hands. A combination of bryozoa waste and Sean germs: it was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Leaning toward worst, because now I had slime on my hands. Or maybe this was psychosomatic. Holding my hands open in front of me in the water, I didn’t see any slime. I rubbed my hands together anyway. Something dove into the water beside me in a rush of bubbles. I came up for air. Sean surfaced, too, tossing sparkling drops of water from his hair. “You still like me a lot, though, right?” “No prob. Green is the new black.” Giving up on getting clean, I swam a few strokes back toward the platform to get out again. What I needed was a shower with chlorinated water and disinfectant soap. I might need to bubble out my belly button with hydrogen peroxide. “What if I made it up to you?” He splashed close behind me. “What if I helped you get clean? We don’t want you dirty.” He moved both hands around me under the water, up and down across my tummy. It was the fourth time a boy had touched my tummy! And it was very awkward. He bobbed so close behind me that I had a hard time treading water without kicking him. I needed to choose between flirting and breathing. Cameron and my brother leaned over the side of the boat and gaped at us, which didn’t help matters. I’d been afraid of this. Flirting with Sean was no fun if the other boys acted like we were lepers. Well, okay, it was fun, but not as fun as it was supposed to be. Obviously I would need to give McGullicuddy the little dolphin talk. I wasn’t sure I could do this with Cameron-Cameron and I didn’t have heart-to-heart convos-but I might need to make an exception, if he continued to watch us like we were a dirty movie on Pay-Per-View (which I’d also seen a lot of. Life with boys). BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE- Sean and I started and turned toward the boat. Still behind the steering wheel, Adam had his chin in his hand and his elbow on the horn. -EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE Damn it! I turned around to face Sean and gave him a wry smile, but he’d already taken his hands away from my tummy. The horn really ruined the mood. -EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE Sean hauled himself up onto the platform. I followed close behind him, and (glee!) he put out a hand to help me. Cameron and my brother yelled at Adam. -EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP. “Oh!” Adam said as if he’d had no idea he’d been laying on the horn. He looked at his elbow like it belonged to someone else. I was in the boat with Sean now, and he was still holding my hand. Or, maybe I was still clinging to his hand, but this is a question of semantics. In any case, I pulled him by the hand past the other boys to the bow. We didn’t have privacy. There was no privacy on a wakeboarding boat. At least we had the boat’s windshield between us and the others. As I turned to sit down on the bench, I stuck out my tongue at Adam behind the windshield. He crossed his eyes at me.

I turn my body from the sun. What ho, Tashtego! Let me hear thy hammer. Oh! ye three unsurrendered spires of mine; thou uncracked keel; and only god-bullied hull; thou firm deck, and haughty helm, and Pole-pointed prow, - death-glorious ship! must ye then perish, and without me? Am I cut off from the last fond pride of meanest shipwrecked captains? Oh, lonely death on lonely life! Oh, now I feel my topmost greatness lies in my topmost grief. Ho, ho! from all your furthest bounds, pour ye now in, ye bold billows of my whole foregone life, and top this one piled comber of my death! Towards thee I roll, thou all-destroying but unconquering whale; to the last I grapple with thee; from hell's heart I stab at thee; for hate's sake I spit my last breath at thee. Sink all coffins and all hearses to one common pool! and since neither can be mine, let me then tow to pieces, while still chasing thee, though tied to thee, thou damned whale! Thus, I give up the spear!" The harpoon was darted; the stricken whale flew forward; with igniting velocity the line ran through the groove; - ran foul. Ahab stooped to clear it; he did clear it; but the flying turn caught him round the neck, and voicelessly as Turkish mutes bowstring their victim, he was shot out of the boat, ere the crew knew he was gone. Next instant, the heavy eye-splice in the rope's final end flew out of the stark-empty tub, knocked down an oarsman, and smiting the sea, disappeared in its depths. For an instant, the tranced boat's crew stood still; then turned. "The ship? Great God, where is the ship?" Soon they through dim, bewildering mediums saw her sidelong fading phantom, as in the gaseous Fata Morgana; only the uppermost masts out of water; while fixed by infatuation, or fidelity, or fate, to their once lofty perches, the pagan harpooneers still maintained their sinking lookouts on the sea. And now, concentric circles seized the lone boat itself, and all its crew, and each floating oar, and every lance-pole, and spinning, animate and inanimate, all round and round in one vortex, carried the smallest chip of the Pequod out of sight. But as the last whelmings intermixingly poured themselves over the sunken head of the Indian at the mainmast, leaving a few inches of the erect spar yet visible, together with long streaming yards of the flag, which calmly undulated, with ironical coincidings, over the destroying billows they almost touched; - at that instant, a red arm and a hammer hovered backwardly uplifted in the open air, in the act of nailing the flag faster and yet faster to the subsiding spar. A sky-hawk that tauntingly had followed the main-truck downwards from its natural home among the stars, pecking at the flag, and incommoding Tashtego there; this bird now chanced to intercept its broad fluttering wing between the hammer and the wood; and simultaneously feeling that etherial thrill, the submerged savage beneath, in his death-gasp, kept his hammer frozen there; and so the bird of heaven, with archangelic shrieks, and his imperial beak thrust upwards, and his whole captive form folded in the flag of Ahab, went down with his ship, which, like Satan, would not sink to hell till she had dragged a living part of heaven along with her, and helmeted herself with it. Now small fowls flew screaming over the yet yawning gulf; a sullen white surf beat against its steep sides; then all collapsed, and the great shroud of the sea rolled on as it rolled five thousand years ago.

Through the breach, they heard the waters pour, as mountain torrents down a flume. "The ship! The hearse!--the second hearse!" cried Ahab from the boat; "its wood could only be American!" Diving beneath the settling ship, the whale ran quivering along its keel; but turning under water, swiftly shot to the surface again, far off the other bow, but within a few yards of Ahab's boat, where, for a time, he lay quiescent. "I turn my body from the sun. What ho, Tashtego! let me hear thy hammer. Oh! ye three unsurrendered spires of mine; thou uncracked keel; and only god-bullied hull; thou firm deck, and haughty helm, and Pole-pointed prow,--death-glorious ship! must ye then perish, and without me? Am I cut off from the last fond pride of meanest shipwrecked captains? Oh, lonely death on lonely life! Oh, now I feel my topmost greatness lies in my topmost grief. Ho, ho! from all your furthest bounds, pour ye now in, ye bold billows of my whole foregone life, and top this one piled comber of my death! Towards thee I roll, thou all-destroying but unconquering whale; to the last I grapple with thee; from hell's heart I stab at thee; for hate's sake I spit my last breath at thee. Sink all coffins and all hearses to one common pool! and since neither can be mine, let me then tow to pieces, while still chasing thee, though tied to thee, thou damned whale! THUS, I give up the spear!" The harpoon was darted; the stricken whale flew forward; with igniting velocity the line ran through the grooves;--ran foul. Ahab stooped to clear it; he did clear it; but the flying turn caught him round the neck, and voicelessly as Turkish mutes bowstring their victim, he was shot out of the boat, ere the crew knew he was gone. Next instant, the heavy eye-splice in the rope's final end flew out of the stark-empty tub, knocked down an oarsman, and smiting the sea, disappeared in its depths. For an instant, the tranced boat's crew stood still; then turned. "The ship? Great God, where is the ship?" Soon they through dim, bewildering mediums saw her sidelong fading phantom, as in the gaseous Fata Morgana; only the uppermost masts out of water; while fixed by infatuation, or fidelity, or fate, to their once lofty perches, the pagan harpooneers still maintained their sinking lookouts on the sea. And now, concentric circles seized the lone boat itself, and all its crew, and each floating oar, and every lance-pole, and spinning, animate and inanimate, all round and round in one vortex, carried the smallest chip of the Pequod out of sight. But as the last whelmings intermixingly poured themselves over the sunken head of the Indian at the mainmast, leaving a few inches of the erect spar yet visible, together with long streaming yards of the flag, which calmly undulated, with ironical coincidings, over the destroying billows they almost touched;--at that instant, a red arm and a hammer hovered backwardly uplifted in the open air, in the act of nailing the flag faster and yet faster to the subsiding spar. A sky-hawk that tauntingly had followed the main-truck downwards from its natural home among the stars, pecking at the flag, and incommoding Tashtego there; this bird now chanced to intercept its broad fluttering wing between the hammer and the wood; and simultaneously feeling that etherial thrill, the submerged savage beneath, in his death-gasp, kept his hammer frozen there; and so the bird of heaven, with archangelic shrieks, and his imperial beak thrust upwards, and his whole captive form folded in the flag of Ahab, went down with his ship, which, like Satan, would not sink to hell till she had dragged a living part of heaven along with her, and helmeted herself with it. Now small fowls flew screaming over the yet yawning gulf; a sullen white surf beat against its steep sides; then all collapsed, and the great shroud of the sea rolled on as it rolled five thousand years ago.

A man can survive ten years--but twenty-five, who can get through alive? Shukhov rather enjoyed having everybody poke a finger at him as if to say: Look at him, his term's nearly up. But he had his doubts about it. Those zeks who finished their time during the war had all been "retained pending special instructions" and had been released only in '46. Even those serving three-year sentences were kept for another five. The law can be stood on its head. When your ten years are up they can say, "Here's another ten for you." Or exile you. Yet there were times when you thought about it and you almost choked with excitement. Yes, your term really _is_ coming to an end; the spool is unwinding. . . . Good God! To step out to freedom, just walk out on your own two feet. But it wasn't right for an old-timer to talk about it aloud, and Shukhov said to Kilgas: "Don't you worry about those twenty-five years of yours. It's not a fact you'll be in all that time. But that I've been in eight full years--now that is a fact." Yes, you live with your feet in the mud and there's no time to be thinking about how you got in or how you're going to get out. According to his dossier, Ivan Denisovich Shukhov had been sentenced for high treason. He had testified to it himself. Yes, he'd surrendered to the Germans with the intention of betraying his country and he'd returned from captivity to carry out a mission for German intelligence. What sort of mission neither Shukhov nor the interrogator could say. So it had been left at that- -a mission. Shukhov had figured it all out. If he didn't sign he'd be shot If he signed he'd still get a chance to live. So he signed. But what really happened was this. In February 1942 their whole army was surrounded on the northwest front No food was parachuted to them. There were no planes. Things got so bad that they were scraping the hooves of dead horses--the horn could be soaked In water and eaten. Their ammunition was gone. So the Germans rounded them up in the forest, a few at a time. Shukhov was In one of these groups, and remained in German captivity for a day or two. Then five of them managed to escape. They stole through the forest and marshes again, and, by a miracle, reached their own lines. A machine gunner shot two of them on the spot, a third died of his wounds, but two got through. Had they been wiser they'd have said they'd been wandering in the forest, and then nothing would have happened. But they told the truth: they said they were escaped POW's. POW's, you fuckers! If all five of them had got through, their statements could have been found to tally and they might have been believed. But with two it was hopeless. You've put your damned heads together and cooked up that escape story, they were told. Deaf though he was, Senka caught on that they were talking about escaping from the Germans, and said in a loud voice: "Three times I escaped, and three times they caught me." Senka, who had suffered so much, was usually silent: he didn't hear what people said and didn't mix in their conversation. Little was known about him--only that he'd been in Buchenwald, where he'd worked with the underground and smuggled in arms for the mutiny; and how the Germans had punished him by tying his wrists behind his back, hanging him up by them, and whipping him. "You've been In for eight years, Vanya," Kilgas argued. "But what camps? Not 'specials.' You bad breads to sleep with. You didn't wear numbers. But try and spend eight years in a 'special'--doing hard labor. No one's come out of a 'special' alive." "Broads! Boards you mean, not broads." Shukhov stared at the coals in the stove and remeinbered his seven years in the North. And how he worked for three years hauling logs--for packing cases and railroad ties. The flames in the campfires had danced up there, too--at timber-felling during the night. Their chief made it a rule that any squad that had failed to meet its quota had to stay In the forest after dark.

I’ve never been in control of anything. Why should this be different? Because I want it to be. Just this once. Because my heart feels like it’s cracking, splintering in two, going back to a dreadful place I swore I'd left behind. But this time, there's a difference: I’ve gotten pretty damned good at taping it back together.

So what’s the story your grandpa told you?” I leaned back against the blanket, propping my head in one hand and looking up at him. “It wasn’t about the pond, I guess. It’s more about the town. I didn’t ever come to Mona when I lived here. I never had reason to - so when I asked my grandpa if there were any good fishing spots around here, and he mentioned this pond, I asked him about the town. He said Burl Ives, the singer, was once thrown in jail here in Mona. It was before his time, but he thought it was a funny story.” “I’ve never heard about that!” “It was the 1940’s, and Burl Ives traveled around singing. I guess the authorities didn’t like one of his songs - they thought it was bawdy, so they put him in jail.” “What was the song?” I snickered. “It was called Foggy, Foggy Dew. My grandpa sang it for me.” “Let’s hear it!” I challenged. “It’s far too lewd.” Samuel pulled his mouth into a serious frown, but his eyes twinkled sardonically. “All right you’ve convinced me,” he said without me begging at all, and we laughed together. He cleared his throat and began to sing, with a touch of an Irish lilt, about a bachelor living all alone whose only sin had been to try to protect a fair young maiden from the foggy, foggy dew. One night she came to my bedside When I was fast asleep. She laid her head upon my bed And she began to weep She sighed, she cried, she damn near died She said what shall I do? So I hauled her into bed and covered up her head Just to keep her from the foggy, foggy dew. “Oh my!” I laughed, covering my mouth. “I don’t think I would have stuck Burl Ives in jail for that, but it is pretty funny,” “Marine’s are the lewdest, crudest, foulest talking bunch you’ll ever find. I’ve heard much, much worse. I’ve sung much, much worse. I tried to remain chaste and virtuous, and I still have the nickname Preacher after all these years - but I have been somewhat corrupted.” He waggled his eyebrows at his ribaldry. “I kind of liked that song…” I mused, half kidding. “Sing something else but without the Irish.” “Without the Irish? That’s the best part.” Samuel smiled crookedly. “I had a member of my platoon whose mom was born and raised in Ireland. This guy could do an authentic Irish accent, and man, could he sing. When he sang Danny Boy everybody cried. All these tough, lethal Marines, bawling like babies

I feel like this is totally a moment for Perry and Dex, considering they’ve been to Hell and back (again, literally) and seem to understand each other on this basic, soulmate kind of level. I guess it’s kind of inspiring to see a couple such as Dawn and Sage still together, considering they seem to have gone through something similar. True love binds. Of course that makes me have a tiny pity party for myself, complete with festive hat, confetti, and party horn that makes a pathetic little toot, since I also seem to be damned with these afflictions and yet I’m still alone. Finding someone who understands me seems pretty much impossible. That

Without moving apart, Zev moaned and whispered into Jonah’s mouth, “Damn, Blondie, you’re a great kisser.” Jonah moved his arms up to Zev’s back, wrapping the young man in his embrace and stroking his smooth, firm skin. “You’re not so bad yourself, Hassick. You been practicing this with someone without me knowing?” Zev snickered. “You jealous?” Jonah didn’t return the smile. He looked into Zev’s eyes and answered without any guile, “Yeah. I’m jealous of anyone who got to touch you.” Instead of looking freaked out, as Jonah had half expected, Zev remained completely calm. He gazed into Jonah’s eyes with such powerful emotion that Jonah’s heart raced and his breath hitched. “Unless you can manage being jealous of yourself, you don’t have to worry. Like I told you yesterday, I haven’t ever thought about anyone else—girls or guys—let alone touched anyone else. It’s just you, Blondie. It’s always been you.” Zev let his words sink in, then he reversed the tables on the discussion. “What about you? Been hiding out behind the bleachers sneaking kisses with cheerleaders?” Jonah snorted more than laughed. “Uh, Zev, I was teasing about the whole not-so-smart thing earlier, but now I’m thinking I may have been on to something. That hardness you feel against your stomach isn’t a banana. That’s me happy to see you, or feel you, in this case. And you’re a guy. With that background in place, we can add two and two together here and even someone with your limited math skills can come up with the correct answer. I’m gay. I’ve got no deep dark cheerleader secrets in my past.” Zev was amazed at how easily Jonah said the words. He admired how his friend so completely accepted this part of himself. No shame, no hesitation. Just a matter-of-fact statement. In that moment, Zev decided he’d take the same approach. He knew it’d shock his parents. Hell, it’d rock his whole community. But he was attracted to a man. He had a male mate. That meant he was gay. Zev Hassick was a gay shifter. The pack would just have to find a way to deal with that truth even though they’d always believed it to be impossible. “And in case you’re wondering,” Jonah continued, his hand still rubbing Zev’s back but now moving lower, skating over his ass, “I don’t have any deep dark football player secrets, either. I’ve had a crush on one guy for as long as I can remember and I kinda put all my eggs in that basket.” Zev took another kiss, slow, soft and sweet this time. “I better be the egg-basket guy in that story, Blondie, or the tickles are coming back in full force.

If you’re still reading this…well, I have no idea what must be going through your mind right now.  Maybe you’ll find the contents unforgivable and decide that there is no future for us.  Perhaps you’ll find it flattering that I weaved you into yet another tale.  Please know that this is the story that has had my mind preoccupied as of late.  One that started as a journal so many years ago, and was resuscitated when you returned to Jupiter Falls.  I’m not sure it’s one for anyone else’s eyes, and I certainly have no plans to submit it to my publisher, but she commands my attention and demands to be written, only to run off at the most inconvenient times.  She refuses to tell me where to take her, or what her ending might be.  A damn tease is what she is. A tease…which might be how you feel about me right now.  Please know it was never my intent to seem so indecisive for so long, but this is the final piece that I felt you needed to know about before things went too far.  It might already be too late for me, as I’ve come to the realization that every smile, every laugh, every song we (badly) sing along to…all of it reminds me that I loved you in another time and I love you today.  I can put the words here that try to explain how I feel when I’m with you, but they’ll all fall short.  I feel like I’m at home when we’re together, safe with the woman I’m meant to spend my life with.  When you look at me with any one of your numerous smiles…I can’t describe how easily I read each of them, or how each one sends a different sensation surging through my system.  Even the simplest touch from you elicits the feeling that you’re unraveling me, stripping me to the very core of who I am, laying me bare.  And when you do…the love that radiates from you feels like nourishment that I could sustain myself on

I tugged her body against mine, tits pressing to me and damn near making me groan with longing before she slid her hands up my chest as we began to dance with one another. My body fell into a rhythm with hers so naturally that I swear even my heart was pounding to the tune. Her chest brushed mine, fingers skimming up my neck as my hand fell to the round curve of her ass and I tugged her closer. My gaze was on her mouth as the heat between us built in time with the movements of our bodies and our breaths mingled in the small space left dividing us. But just as I was starting to give serious consideration to an absolutely terrible idea, she turned in my arms, her ass pushing back into my crotch as she hooked one arm around the back of my neck. A real growl escaped me then as she ground herself against me, making my cock swell and my thoughts scatter as I lost all sense of everything other than this fucking girl in my arms as we danced together. I was vaguely aware of Seth dancing with Gwen beside us, but I couldn't tear my eyes from this perfect temptation in my arms. It was hotter than any sex I could ever remember having and neither of us had removed so much as a single item of clothing. Roxy kept dancing with her hand clasped around the back of my neck, the arch of her spine giving me a view down her shirt which I was having a damn hard time tearing my attention from. The fabric shifted and slipped across her skin, offering me the barest glimpse of her hardened nipples with every thump of the music and I licked my lips with the desire to suck on them. My dick was definitely letting itself be known as she continued to grind herself against me and as much as I was enjoying that friction, I really needed to make some effort to control myself. I grasped her hip and turned her around, the beast in me purring as she instantly looped her arms around my neck to draw me closer. I didn't even know how many songs had played while we'd been dancing and I didn't care because I knew it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough. My gaze met hers and the fire in her was enough to set me alight too as she tilted her chin up and bit down on that full bottom lip. My attention was instantly hooked on her mouth, our bodies still moving together in this hot, endless friction which was begging for some relief. My resolve was snapping, all the reasons I had to pull away falling from my mind like flakes of snow trying to land on an inferno and I found myself leaning in, devouring the distance that parted us like I wanted to devour this beautiful creature in my arms. I tightened my grip on her waist, letting her feel the throbbing press of my dick driving into her and making it more than clear what I wanted to spend the rest of the night doing to her. I didn't care if she was a Vega, a princess, the architect of my fall from power, none of that mattered. Because all there was in that moment was her and me and the press of the heavens above us driving us together like we might burn up in the fire which blazed between us if we didn't just dive into it now. (Darius POV)

I buttoned my own shirt reluctantly though there wasn't much I could do about my throbbing hard on aside from plan a trip back to my room as soon as I could possibly get out of this training session so that I could jerk off repeatedly with all of the new spank bank material she'd just gifted me. Tory remained on the desk in front of me and I was hoping that was because her legs weren't working right yet. The thirst prickled at me again as I eyed her throat and she sighed loudly as she noticed. “You’re still going to bite me, aren’t you?” she asked, her fingers curling around the edge of the desk. “You could look at it as rewarding me for my efforts,” I teased, because there was no fucking way she was getting out of here without me drinking from her and we both knew it. “Well that makes me feel a little better about leaving you with blue balls,” she taunted and I almost groaned in frustration as my dick throbbed in agreement. “Next time, I’ll be sure to carve out a few hours to dedicate to you,” I told her. “And then neither of us will be left wanting.” “Next time?” she asked, raising an eyebrow like that wasn't at all likely to happen. But I could hear her heartbeat pounding and I knew she was wondering how hard I could make her come with several hours at our disposal and my cock a whole lot more involved in the act. I found myself smiling again but then my mood dipped as I realised there wasn't likely to be a next time if the other Heirs succeeded with their plans for the dance. I didn't even really want to go along with the damn plan and in a moment of madness, I suddenly wondered if I could just save her from it. They would still strike at Darcy and maybe that would be enough to force the twins to leave the academy. But if I was being honest, I didn't even really want them to leave anyway. I moved closer to her again, tucking a lock of dark hair behind her ear. “Are you going to the dance on Friday?” I murmured and her pulse scattered, making my smile deepen in satisfaction. “Err, yeah,” she said, that suspicious look returning to her eyes. “Why don’t you blow it off?” I suggested, wondering if I could just convince her to stay away from it all together. She was my Source after all so the others couldn't even really get mad at me for protecting her - that was kinda in the job description anyway. She blinked at me in surprise and I realised she'd probably thought I was going to ask her to go to the dance with me as her date. But I couldn't do that, if I wanted to save her from the other Heirs and their plans then I needed to keep her away from the whole thing. “What possible reason would I have to do that?” she asked, shifting just enough to make my hand fall from her face. I felt the rejection before she could even voice it, but I wasn't going to give up that easily. I ran my dislodged hand down her arm instead, raising goosebumps along her skin and hopefully reminding her of just how good I'd made her feel with these fingers. “Because then I could sneak out and come to your room. We could have the whole House and an entire evening to ourselves." “That’s pretty presumptuous of you, Earth boy.” “Earth boy?” I asked in amusement, refusing to back down no matter how hard she was trying to resist me. I held a hand out to her, bringing earth magic to my fingertips and causing a dark blue flower to blossom in my palm. Girls fucking loved that trick. “Perhaps I’ve gotten what I wanted from you now,” she said, shifting forward to get up without reaching for the flower. Okay, so maybe this girl didn't love that trick after all. I let the flower dissolve into nothing again and stepped forward to stop her from getting to her feet, smiling darkly. “I’m confident you’ll come back for more,” I promised her and I could tell she was at least a little tempted by the prospect.(Caleb POV)

Layla sat on the floor in costume and makeup, waiting for the others for the pre-performance activities that Miss Ginger insisted on. First practice. Then pep talk and prayer. Mercedes slipped into the tiny room and sat beside her, stretching a little. “You okay?” Layla asked. “Talking to the cops freaked me out,” Mercedes confessed. “How am I supposed to dance after that?” Layla met her eyes. “I don't know if Diamond is kidnapped or at a party with movie stars. But somehow I'm not feeling a party.” She spritzed more hair spray on her wayward curls. “Yeah, me neither,” Mercedes admitted. “I got this bad feeling. Damn it! I never should have let her go to the food court alone.” “Hey, you can't swallow this blame,” Layla told her. “That mall is like our second home. There was no way you could have guessed something bad would happen.” “Yeah, I know, but I still feel responsible. I didn't need that new leotard! We shoulda stayed together. If I had just....

Yes Dear [Verse] Well, I’ve been known to raise some hell, ride the wind, and chase the storms, But when it comes to you, my lady, I find myself reborn. All the wild ways of my youth seem to fade to gray, ‘Cause when you speak, darlin', there ain't much to say but... [Chorus] Yes dear, you’re right dear, I ain't gonna argue at all, A happy wife makes a happy home, that's the truth, y’all. Damn woman, I loved you first, and that means I’m right dear, But when you're smiling at me, well, it all becomes so clear. [Verse 2] Outlaws and rebels, that's what folks used to call my name, Running whiskey through the night, playing a dangerous game. But then you came into my life, all calm and fierce, Now every morning starts with "Yes dear," whispered in my ears. [Chorus] Yes dear, you’re right dear, I ain't gonna argue at all, A happy wife makes a happy home, that's the truth, y’all. Damn woman, I loved you first, and that means I’m right dear, But when you're smiling at me, well, it all becomes so clear. [Bridge] Now the only fight I want is fighting for your love, Your laughter echoes in my heart, fits like a flawless glove. And every time you say I’m wrong, I shrug and pull you near, Cause it’s worth it just to keep you happy, always saying, "Yes dear." [Verse 3] I might be an outlaw still, but you’re the sheriff of my heart, Together we ride this life, never apart. So let them talk of wild men tamed by love's sweet song, I'll just smile and say, "Yes dear," no matter what goes wrong.

They’re waiting for us in the… room,” Cora sniffs, pulling back to glance at me through red-rimmed eyes. She swipes at the tears along her cheekbone. “Mandy’s at work. She said it was too hard to be here. Mom and Dad are going to wait out here, but… did you want to come in with me? To say goodbye?” “Of course.” I don’t hesitate. We rescued this dog together, and I’ll be damned if I’m not with Cora when Blizzard takes her last breath. Goddamn. Cora gives a tight nod, then alerts one of the staff that we’re ready to go in. I follow her, a solemn silence settling between us. It’s a quiet, peaceful room, adorned with electronic candles and soft music. Blizzard is lying very still on a dog bed in the center of the floor, her fluffy chest heaving ever so slowly with each breath. I feel my emotions get stuck in my throat when I lay eyes on the dog that has felt like my own for the last ten years. I’d dog-sit her when the Lawsons took family vacations. I’d take her to the dog park with Mandy and Cora, watching her chase tennis balls and make new friends. Blizzard always greeted me first when I’d walk through the front door with Mandy, collapsing onto my feet and rolling over for belly rubs. She always sat beside me at the dinner table, waiting for the snack I’d inevitably offer her, and she always wagged her tail in adoration as I sang karaoke in the Lawson’s living room.

Nick made himself release his grip on the timber. He swung free for one terrifying moment. He felt Sayer’s grip tighten to a crushing vise and a mighty tug upward as the runner hauled him just far enough to balance his weight on top of the crackling wood. “Move forward,” Sayer muttered, retaining his hold on Nick’s arm, and together they maneuvered away from the perilous fall. When they had both retreated from the beam and found the safety of some relatively sound planking, they collapsed side by side, gasping violently. “Damn,” Sayer rasped when he had sufficient breath to speak, “you’re a heavy bastard, Sydney.” Disoriented, his body racked with pain, Nick tried to make himself comprehend that he was still alive. He drew his sleeve over his sweat-soaked brow and found that his arm was cramping and shaking, the abused muscles going berserk. Sayer sat up and regarded him with clear anxiety. “It looks like you’ve strained some muscles. And your hand looks like it’s been pushed through a sieve.” But he was alive. It was too miraculous to believe. Nick had gotten a reprieve he didn’t deserve, and by all that was holy, he was going to take advantage of it. As he thought of Lottie, he was seized with dark longing. “Sayer,” he managed to say hoarsely, “I’ve just decided something.” “Oh?” “From now on, you’ll have to find your own fucking way around Fleet Ditch.” -Sayer & Nick

Here’s the venue layout. We have three main stages here, here and here. We’ve got Johnny Cash, Lillie Langtry and Karen Carpenter headlining. George Handel and Glen Miller are putting together some fusion thing for the chill-out tent.” “Johnny Cash,” said Pius. “Isn’t he in Hell?” “We got him on secondment.” “You’ve got the damned performing at our festival?” “No, The Damned are still alive and touring down on Earth,” said Joan, grinning. No one else smiled. “Whoosh,” said Evelyn, passing a hand over her head.

Are you telling me you want this? That you want to get married?” She arched a brow, and he couldn’t hold her gaze. For the first time in his life, Leo found himself truly nervous. Here was a situation he couldn’t hit, wrestle, or order into compliance. Baring feelings was all well and good, but talking about them sucked. But there came a time in a man’s life where he had to suck it up and gush, especially when he was a blind idiot for a while. “Would I be going through all this trouble if I didn’t want to get married? Listen, Vex, I know we got off to a rocky start. In my defense, you’re a little much for any man to handle. Not that I mind,” he hastened to add when her second brow shot up. “I like who you are, and I’m a big enough man to admit I might have reacted poorly when you declared I was your mate and that I couldn’t escape.” “I said what?” Again, she gaped in open surprise. Then laughed. Pretty damned hard as a matter of fact. He frowned. “Don’t you dare deny it, Vex. You had me all but in front a preacher within five minutes of us meeting. And it scared me. But you were right about us belonging together, even if it took me longer to realize it. You are the one for me, Meena. The chaos to balance my serenity. The colored rainbow to enrich the grayness of my current life. I want you, Vex. Catastrophes and all. I just hope, even after what I’ve done, and the fact I might sometimes have a stick up my ass, at least according to Luna, that you’ll forgive me and still want me too.” He ended his gush of words and stared at Meena hopefully, and a little fearfully, given she once again stared at him slack-jawed. Would she say something? She did, just not from her lips. No, Meena’s voice came from behind him. “Oh, Pookie, that has got to be the most beautiful thing I ever heard.” Either Meena had some mad ventriloquist skills or… Leo froze as he stared at the woman in front of him, a woman that he realized the more he stared was Meena and yet not. This one wore her hair in soft curls around her shoulders, a tiny scar marred the tip of her chin, and her scent… was all wrong. However, the body that jumped on his back and the lips that noisily kissed the flesh of his neck? That was his Vex. What the hell? “Who are you?” he asked. The Meena clone grinned and waved. “Teena, of course.” “My twin,” Meena added against his ear. “Identical twin?” “Well, duh. And it’s a good thing too, or I’d be a little miffed right now that you just said all those beautiful things to her.” “I thought it was you.” “Apparently. It happens a lot, which I totally don’t get. She looks nothing like me.” “I feel like such an idiot.” He tried to crane his head to see the Meena clinging to his back, but she slapped her hands over his eyes. “No, you can’t look. It’s bad luck.” “But…” “No buts. Although I will say yours looks awfully delicious in those pants. But it will look even better when it’s naked and wearing my teeth marks.” “Vex!” “I know. I know. Don’t start something we can’t finish. Consider yourself warned, however. As soon as that priest says I do, your ass is mine. All mine.” Such a low, husky promise. “Come on, Teena, you are just in time to help me get into my gown. Can you believe my Pookie arranged all this?” The pride in her voice made him smile, but he did have to shake his head at the whole twin sister thing. With one last kiss on his neck, Meena whispered, “See you in a little bit, Pookie.

You have always embodied the worst of my father,” Lillian said. “The coldness, the ambition, the self-centeredness. Except you’re worse because you’re able to disguise it far more adeptly than he does. You’re what my father would have been if he’d been blessed with good looks and a little sophistication. I think that in winning you Daisy must somehow feel she has finally succeeded with Father.” Her brows came together as she continued. “My sister has always compelled to love unlovable creatures…the strays, the misfits. Once she loves someone, no matter how many times they betray or disappoint her, she will take them back with open arms. But you won’t appreciate that any more than Father does. You’ll take what you want, and give her very little in return. And when you inevitably hurt her, I will be the first in a line of people waiting to slaughter you. By the time I finish with you, there won’t be enough left for the others to pick over.” “So much for impartiality,” Matthew said. He respected her brutal honesty even though he was smarting from it. “May I respond with the same frankness you’ve just shown me?” “I hope you will.” “My lady, you don’t know me well enough to assess how much like your father I may or may not be. It’s no crime to be ambitious, particularly when you’ve started with nothing. And I’m not cold, I’m from Boston. Which means I’m not prone to displaying my emotions for all and sundry to see. As far as being self-centered, you have no way of knowing how much I’ve done, if anything, for other people. But I’ll be damned if I recite a list of my past good deeds in hopes of winning your approval.” He leveled a cool stare at her. “Regardless of your opinions, the marriage is going to happen, because both Daisy and I want it. So I have no reason to lie to you. I could say I don’t give a damn about Daisy, and I would still get what I want. But the fact is, I’m in love with her. I have been for a long time.” “You’ve been secretly in love with my sister for years?” Lillian asked with blistering skepticism. “How convenient.” “I didn’t define it as ‘in love.’ All I knew was that I had a persistent, all-consuming…preference for her.” “Preference?” Lillian looked momentarily outraged, and then she surprised him by laughing. “My God, you really are from Boston.” “Believe it or not,” Matthew muttered, “I wouldn’t have chosen to feel this way about Daisy. It would have been far more convenient to find someone else. The devil knows I should be given some credit for being willing to take on the Bowmans as in-laws.” “Touché.” Lillian continued to smile, leaning her chin on her hand as she stared at him.

When Vanity caught Stack staring toward them, she smiled. “I really think you guys should let us use the locker room. I’m perspiring. Cherry’s perspiring.” Cherry went still, then looked down at herself and blushed. Sweat dampened the front of her tank top, especially between and beneath her big boobs. Denver scowled, giving Stack a shove. Which in turn knocked him into Armie. None of them spoke. Cannon took up the torch. “It’s only set up for men.” “We don’t need the urinals,” Vanity said. “Just the showers.” Yvette plucked at her top. “I really could—” Cannon put his hand over her mouth. “We don’t have a door on the locker room, and sure, we’d all know not to step in, but there are other people here, other guys, and—” Vanity said, “So put someone there to keep watch for us.” Stack opened his mouth, but at first nothing came out. He cleared his throat. “Sounds carry down there.” He gestured. “There not being a door and all.” Grinning, Armie said, “Meaning whoever keeps guard—” “Watch,” Vanity corrected. “—will hear every little detail. Like clothes dropping. And water running. Even slick, soapy hands—” This time, Stack shoved him without Denver’s help. “I’ll do it,” Cannon offered, and he sounded like he’d just thrown himself on the sacrificial altar. “Fuck that.” Denver took a step forward. “I don’t want you listening to Cherry shower.” Cherry’s face got hotter. “Denver!” Folding his arms, Cannon stared at him. “You think I’d let you listen to Yvette?” “Cannon!” Yvette joined the brigade of embarrassed women. Only Vanity remained unflustered. “Let Armie do it.” Mutually appalled, Stack, Denver and Cannon all stared at her. Going along, Armie nodded and rubbed his hands together. “Yeah, let me do it.” “Hell, no.” “In his dreams.” “Not in this lifetime.” Armie laughed. “You guys know I won’t be thinking anything you wouldn’t be thinking.” “Maybe,” Denver said. “But we wouldn’t go blabbing it everywhere.” Crossing his heart dramatically, Armie swore, “It’ll be between me and my pillow.” Denver took a step toward him, but Vanity put herself in his way. “We’re showering. For the future, you might want to think about creating a space for women.” “Tried,” Cannon argued. “We’re out of room here. I wanted to expand, but the guy who owns the lot next to us doesn’t want to sell.” “Hmm...” Vanity got a thoughtful look on her face. “Well then, I suggest you find a desk to put down there and then, perhaps, we could plan this around when Harper is here doing the scheduling. She could be our lookout.” “I could call her—” Cannon tried to offer. But Stack noticed that Vanity already had both her arms wrapped around one of Armie’s. And damn him, Armie just let her, smiling in a way that just might lose him a few teeth. Leese looked at each of the men and started snickering. “They’re pathetic, right?” Armie said. “They’re something,” Leese agreed. “Not sure what.” “You two losers are just jealous,” Cannon accused. “Yeah,” Armie said, patting at Vanity’s arm. “So jealous.” Denver growled when Cherry cozied up to the other side of Armie, and even Yvette smiled as she followed along, all of them heading to the locker room. The men stared until the group was out of sight. “I’m going to have to punch him,” Denver said. “At least once.” “Get in line,” Cannon told him. Then he pointed at Leese. “Not a word out of you!” Trying to bite back his grin, Leese got started mopping. Damn, Stack wondered, did Vanity enjoy making him nuts? And unlike Cannon and Denver, he couldn’t protest as much as he wanted because, though he’d thrown out some signals, he and Vanity weren’t official. Fuck.

Paul turned pinkened, watery eyes toward him. “Oh, boy,” Jack said. “You’re going to hate yourself.” “Don’t I know it,” he agreed with a slight slur, drinking another shot nonetheless. “Want to tell me about it?” “About what?” “I’m thinking it has something to do with Vanessa,” Jack said. “Matt’s my best friend. That would be wrong.” “What happened?” “Nothing happened. For me, anyway.” He put his empty glass on the bar. Jack was sure Paul had already had too much, but he poured. “Okay, now I’m just taking advantage of you,” Jack said. “Because I’m curious. She said you and Matt were together the night you met.” “Yeah. I should’ve stopped going out with him years ago. I spotted her first.” Jack kind of lifted his brows. “How’d he get her, then?” Paul threw back his drink. “I think the son of a bitch said dibs.” And then he put his head down on the bar and passed out. So that’s how it went. Because if Matt was the first one to get to her, talk to her, and if she was impressed enough to go out with him, a Marine doesn’t mess with a brother’s woman. Not even Valenzuela would do that. That was a line even he had never crossed—not his Mexican brothers and not his Marine brothers. Because he liked living…. Whoa, damn, Jack thought. And now she’s married, pregnant and Paul is still miserably drawn to her. That bites. “I’m

Harper, wait up!” He caught my arm and spun me around so I was facing him. “You’re not even going to say hi now?” “Hi.” My voice cracked and I kept my eyes to the ground. Chase gently placed his hand under my chin and lifted until I was staring at him through unshed tears. “Baby what’s wrong?” God I didn’t want to hear him call me that. Memories of our times together flashed through my mind and my cheeks instantly filled with heat. “Nothing,” I cleared my throat and blinked back the tears, “it’s just allergies or something.” His look told me he wasn’t buying that, but didn’t push that subject further. Stepping back he hung his head and sighed roughly, shifting his weight a few times, “I haven’t seen you around my house much. I know you don’t want to be with me, but don’t feel like you can’t be there, I won’t bother you and Brandon.” “That’s not why I haven’t been there. I um, I broke up with him.” Chase’s head snapped up, “You did? When, why didn’t you tell me?” He was failing miserably at trying to hide his elated smile. “A little over a week ago. But it hurt me more than I could ever explain to do it, and I need time to get over that. I can’t just rush back to you because Brandon and I aren’t together anymore.” He cupped my cheeks and hunched down so he was almost eye level, “I love you, I’ll give you all the time you need. Unless. Unless you don’t want me anymore?” I pressed my face harder into his left hand and closed my eyes, inhaling his clean masculine scent. “I’ve told you, I will always love you Chase, but I’m still not sure you won’t eventually leave me. Because of that fear, I don’t know if I can be with you. And some things have changed since we talked last, you might change your mind about me altogether.” “That’s not possible.” I pulled his hands off my face and wrapped his tattooed arms around my shoulders. After placing a kiss on his throat I buried my head in his chest, “I wish that were true.” My life had drastically changed in such a short amount of time. For obvious reasons, I’d had to break up with Brandon and now Chase and I were going to have a baby. Because of the turn of events, I found myself wanting a life with Chase more and more, I wanted him to be there for me and his baby. Here, wrapped up in his strong arms, I could almost let myself believe it might happen. But Chase was about to graduate college, he was a tattoo artist and spent most of his mornings surfing. I couldn’t see him settling down with me and our baby. “It is Harper,” his voice cracked when he said my name, and tears started falling down his face, “I love you so damn much, why can’t you see that?” Oh

Can you forgive me? Men are complete idiots when a woman cries.” He gave her the smile he’d reserved for old ladies in the jury box. She nibbled on her lower lip, looking pensive and wary. The bluebird in his grandma’s cuckoo clock sprang from its door and chirped, breaking the silence. Maddie jumped, pressing her hand to her chest as though trying to keep her heart from jumping out. As the clock struck, he cursed himself for making her uncomfortable. How could he have made such a tactical error? From what he’d discerned, she might as well be a virgin. He’d simply forgotten himself. Lost in her charm and good-girl complex, he’d said the first teasing thing that sprang to mind. And since he was a guy, it had been sexual. He took two cautious steps toward her, hoping she wouldn’t bolt upstairs. “That wasn’t the best thing to say when I’m trying to get you out of your clothes.” Auburn brows drew together in what he could only suspect was disapproval. He shook his head. What the hell was wrong with him? This wasn’t the time to mention seeing her naked. Shit, it was like he had no experience with women. She still said nothing, just stared at him with those uncanny green eyes. And damn if it wasn’t making him a bit unsettled. It had been so long since he’d been anything but cool and detached, even before his troubles in Chicago. The knowledge caused a stirring of unease. “I swear, I didn’t mean it.” He was starting to sound like a sixteen-year-old apologizing for trying to get to second base. Quietly, she toyed with the fabric of her dress, picking at one of the sparkly beads. At a loss for how to make the situation right, he offered the one thing he wanted to avoid, but was guaranteed to put her at ease. “Do you want me to call my neighbor, Gracie, to come help you out of your dress? She eats shit like this up, so you’ll make her day.” Maddie shifted on the balls of her feet. He narrowed his eyes. No matter how hard he peered at her, she remained a mystery. He sweetened the offer. “She’s a baker, so I bet she even has some cupcakes or cookies lying around.” Maddie placed her hand on her stomach. Why wouldn’t she speak? He raked a hand through his hair. “Princess, take pity on me here. I can’t begin to guess what you’re thinking. Did I scare you away forever?” She blinked, her face clearing as though she’d suddenly come out of a trance. “I’m sorry. Other than being an emotional basket case, I’m fine.” This

Paul, the baby is coming very soon.” He smiled. “That’s getting real obvious.” “You’re my very best friend, Paul.” “Thanks, Vanni,” he said, but he furrowed his eyebrows. Suspicious. “I want you to be with me during the delivery.” “With you how?” he asked. “I want you to be the one to encourage me, coach me, coax me. Hold my hand. Support me.” “Um… Isn’t that Mel’s job?” “Mel is going to be very much a coach, but she’s also going to be the midwife and she’ll be busy with other things. Especially when the baby is coming out. I need you to do this.” “Vanni,” he said, scooting forward on his chair, “I’m a guy.” “I know. Guys do this.” “I can’t…Vanni, I shouldn’t…. Vanessa, listen. I can’t see you like that. It wouldn’t be…appropriate.” “Well, actually, I thought about my brother or my dad and frankly, that really doesn’t appeal to me. So,” she said, lifting a video from the table beside her, “I got us a childbirth movie from Mel.” “Aw, no,” he said, pleading. She stood up and popped it into the VCR, then sat down again with the remote in her hand. “Jack delivered his own son,” she said. “I know, but in case you’re interested, he wasn’t thrilled about it at the time. And he refuses to do it again—he’s adamant about that. And, Vanni, this isn’t my son. This is my best friend’s son.” “Of course I know that, Paul. But since it is your best friend’s son, he’d be so grateful.” She started the video. “Now, I want you to concentrate on what the partner is doing. Don’t worry about the mother. Most of the time while I’m in labor you’ll either be behind me, or helping me walk or squat to use gravity to help with the dilating, or reminding me to breathe properly. It’s not like you’re going to have your face in the field of birth.” “I’m starting to feel kind of weak,” he said. “Why don’t you ask Brie or Paige, if you need someone for that?” “I could do that, but to tell you the truth, I’m much closer to you. And you’re here—right here. You can do this. We’ll watch the movie together and if you have any questions, just ask me.” He looked at the screen, his brows drawn together. He squinted. This was an unattractive woman, giving birth. Well, not just yet—she was working up to it. Her big belly was sticking out, which was not what made her plain. It was the stringy hair, monobrow, baggy socks on her feet and—“Vanni, she has very hairy legs.” “If that’s what worries you I can still manage to shave my legs, even though I have to admit I’ve lost interest.” The hospital gown on the woman was draped over her belly and legs in such a way that when she started to rise into a sitting position, spreading her thighs and grabbing them to bear down, she was covered. Then the doctor or midwife or whoever was in charge flipped that gown out of the way and there, right in Paul’s face, was the top of a baby’s head emerging from the woman’s body. “Aw, man,” he whined, putting his head in his hands. “I said watch the coach—don’t worry about the woman,” Vanni lectured. “It’s pretty damn hard to not look at that, Vanni,” he said. “Concentrate.” So

Christopher walked back home with Albert padding calmly beside him. For some reason the dog seemed improved after meeting Beatrix Hathaway. As Christopher gave him a damning glance, Albert looked up at him with a toothy grin, his tongue lolling. “Idiot,” Christopher muttered, although he wasn’t certain if the word was directed at his dog or himself. He felt troubled and guilty. He knew he’d behaved like an ass to Beatrix Hathaway. She had tried to be friendly, and he had been cold and condescending. He hadn’t meant to be offensive. It was just that he was nearly mad with longing for Prudence, for the sweet, artless voice that had saved his sanity. Every word of every letter she’d sent him still resonated through his soul. “I’ve done a great deal of walking lately. I seem to think better outdoors…” And when Christopher had set out to find Albert, and found himself walking through the forest, a mad idea had taken hold of him…that she was nearby, and fate would bring them together that quickly, that simply. But instead of finding the woman he had dreamed of, craved, needed for so long, he had found Beatrix Hathaway. It wasn’t that he disliked her. Beatrix was an odd creature, but fairly engaging, and far more attractive than he had remembered. In fact, she had become a beauty in his absence, her gangly coltish shape now curved and graceful… Christopher shook his head impatiently, trying to redirect his thoughts. But the image of Beatrix Hathaway remained. A lovely oval face, a gently erotic mouth, and haunting blue eyes, a blue so rich and deep it seemed to contain hints of purple. And that silky dark hair, pinned up haphazardly, with teasing locks slipping free. Christ, it had been too long since he’d had a woman. He was randy as the devil, and lonely, and filled with equal measures of grief and anger. He had so many unfulfilled needs, and he didn’t begin to know how to address any of them. But finding Prudence seemed like a good start.

How can I want so much with my heart to stay here with you when I know in my head that I want to go back to Earth where I have a family and friends and career waiting for me? How can I imagine staying here, making love with you, having…having your sons when it would mean almost never seeing the people I care for most again. How do you explain that?” “Love.” Baird sank down beside her on the bed and tried to take her hands again. Liv wouldn’t let him. “What?” She tried to give him a skeptical look even though her heart was pounding again with his proximity. “Love,” he repeated simply. “You love me as I love you. That’s what makes you want to stay with me, Lilenta. That’s why my mating scent works on you so strongly. And why your scent drives me crazy too,” he added with a sigh. “It’s because we love each other and we’re meant to be together. Can’t you please just accept that?” “I…” Liv bit her lip, looking down at her knees which were still drawn up to her chin. God, she wished she could believe him. But maybe that was just because he was so close and he smelled so damn good. Just being near him gave her a contact high. How could she trust herself when she was in such a state? “I can’t,” she said at last, looking up at him. “I’m sorry, Baird, but I just can’t.” “Gods! Lilenta, please—” “Stop!

I look down at it, and the words blur for me. I try to unscramble them, but it’s too hard. I shove the board back toward him. He narrows his eyes at me and scrubs the board clean. He writes one word and turns it around. You, it says. He points to me. I point to myself. “Me?” He nods and swipes the board clean. He writes another word and shows it to me. “Can’t,” I say. He nods and writes another word. He’s spacing the letters far enough apart that they’re not jumbled together in my head, but it’s still hard. My lips falter over the last word, but I say, “Read.” Then I realize that I just told him I can’t read. “Wait! I can read!” I protest. He writes another word: Well. He knows I can read. Air escapes me in a big, gratified rush. “I can read,” I repeat. “I can’t read well, but…” I let my words trail off. He nods quickly, as though he’s telling me he understands. He points to me and then at the board, moving two fingers over it like a pair of eyes, and then he gives me a thumbs-up. My heart is beating so fast it’s hard to breathe. I read the damn words, didn’t I? “At least I can talk!” I say. I want to take the words back as soon as they leave my lips, but it’s too late. I slap a hand over my lips when his face falls. He shakes his head, bites his lip, and gets up. “I’m sorry,” I say. I am. I really am. He walks away, but he doesn’t take his backpack with him.

Lilenta…” Baird reached for her but she shied away. “No, don’t touch me! In fact, I don’t think we should touch anymore at all.” Baird frowned. “What are you talking about?” Liv shook her head, her pulse pounding as all her old fears of being pinned down and helpless under the big alien male came back in a rush. “There’s something about you. I can’t…can’t seem to control myself when you get too close. When you touch me. And don’t tell me it’s my body reacting to yours because we ‘need’ each other again either,” she snapped, when he opened his mouth as if to reply. “I don’t care what causes it, I don’t like being out of control. Don’t like it that I can’t seem to stop myself from…from acting like some kind of animal in heat.” “I told you this would happen.” Baird shifted on the bed toward her but Liv pulled away again. He sighed and sat back. “Your body is in heat, Lilenta—to a certain extent anyway. And as long as we’re together you’ll get hotter and hotter. Having me inside you is the only thing that will ease you.” “Well then I guess I’ll just have to manage on my own because there is no way I’m letting you try to get your whole entire uh…self inside me.” Liv’s heart was still racing. “In fact, I don’t think I want you touching me at all anymore. It’s too dangerous.” Baird’s face was like a thundercloud. “You signed a contract, Olivia. This is our bathing week—you can’t deny me the right to wash you.” “Exactly—wash me. And that’s it.” Liv lifted her chin defiantly. “I’m pretty sure if I went over that contract with a fine tooth comb there wouldn’t be anything about you being able to rub me with fifty types of oil and lay on top of me and practically hump me through the mattress.” “I was scent marking you,” he protested. “Gotta do that in order to let other males know you’re mine.” “I’m not yours,” she flared at him angrily. “And I never will be! So you can wash me—fine, I can’t stop you. But nothing outside the bathing pool. That means no more naked massages with exotic oils. And absolutely no more marking, or whatever you call it.” “Fine.” Baird was so angry now his eyes were practically glowing. “But if I can’t mark you, then we’re not leaving the suite. Not with you smellin’ so hot and not having any of my scent on you.” Liv threw up her hands. “Great. Put me under house arrest—I don’t care. Just stay away from me.” “If that’s how you feel,” he said, his jaw clenched. “I told you once I wasn’t interested in taking what you didn’t want to give.” “That’s exactly how I feel,” Liv assured him. “And I’m not giving another inch.” “Fine.” He was still glaring at her but the pain was back in his eyes now—back to stay and Liv knew she was the cause of it. Suddenly she felt horrible. “Try to understand, Baird,” she pleaded softly. “I never asked for this—for our minds to align or for you to claim me. I never wanted any of it. I just…I just want to go home.” Baird closed his eyes briefly. “I wish I could let you. But I can’t, Olivia. I need you too damn much. I’m sorry.

Charles?  What is wrong?" That rueful little smile still in place, he bent his head, looking down as though he could see the beautiful animal whose broad forehead was pressed to his chest, and whose ears were only a few inches from his nose.  "I cannot ride him," he said softly, with one of his long, slow, blinks that lent him an air of studied sadness.  "As much as he means to me, as much as I've missed him, he is nothing more to me than a pet, now —" He never finished the sentence.  As though he'd taken violent offense at his master's words, the stallion flung up his head, the blow catching Charles squarely beneath the jaw, snapping his head back and sending him reeling backwards into Amy's arms. She staggered under his weight. "Will, help me!" Her brother rushed forward, and together they eased the captain down onto his back in the straw.  He lay unmoving, his lashes still against his cheeks.  Blood gushed from his nose. "Charles!" Amy slid a hand beneath his nape and lifted his head just as his eyes fluttered open. "Oh-h-h-h," he moaned, covering his nose with one hand and trying to stop the bleeding.  "Damn." "Will, get some cold water, quick!" Amy urged.  As her brother ran out of the barn toward the well, Amy helped Charles to sit up.  Cradling him against her body and tipping his head back over her arm, she tore off her neckerchief and pressed it to his nose. "You silly man," she said, in gentle admonishment.  "I would've thought you knew your horse well enough to realize he doesn't take kindly to insults, either to himself or to his master." "I didn't insult him. "  His voice sounded nasally and thick. "You insulted yourself." "I did not." "You did.  You said you couldn't ride him." "I damn well can't." "You damn well will.  My brother didn't go to all the trouble of bringing him back just so you could do nothing more than groom and feed him." "My dear Amy, please be realistic.  I cannot ride him." "Why not?" "Because I can't see." "So you can't.  But there's nothing wrong with your legs —" she blushed hotly, remembering the feel of them hard and strong against her own — "or your balance, or anything else about you.  You simply can't see where you're going.  But Contender can." "I shall not be able to guide him where I wish to go, pull him up when he needs pulling up, anticipate possible dangers to both himself and I." "Then you can go out riding with Mira and me, and we'll anticipate those things for you." "But I shall look the fool, up there on his back." "You shall look splendid." "Amy," he said in a patient, controlled voice, "you do not understand.  If something cannot be done the proper way, it should not be done at all.  Since I cannot ride him the proper way, I should not —" "No, Charles, you don't understand.  Sometimes there is no right way to do something, but a whole parcel of varying ways.  So you can't ride him the way you used to.  You find a different way." "But —" "You're doing it again," she scolded. "Doing what?" "Trying to be perfect.  And taking yourself far too seriously.  Stop it." He began to protest, then grinned and gave her a half-hearted salute.  "Yes, ma'm." At

But really, my lord, ’tis a nerve-wracking situation and I would . . . well . . . If we could get it over?” Connall stared at her blankly, clearly taken completely by surprise at this outburst, then he frowned and echoed, “Get it over?” “Aye . . . well . . .” She forced a smile and began wringing her hands together as she explained, “Tis rather like knowing that someday soon, though you are not sure when exactly, you will have to approach the blacksmith about knocking a rotten tooth out.” “Knockin’ a rotten tooth . . .” Connall was staring at her with disbelief, though she didn’t understand why. Nor did she understand why, when he finally spoke, he sounded somewhat upset. “Me lady wife, I realize ye havenae—What on earth makes ye think—‘Knockin ’ out a rotten tooth’?” Eva bit her lip, unsure what she should say to improve the situation. He seemed rather offended by the comparison. “Well, I have never—I mean, from what I have been told, it does not sound like something to look forward to, my lord.” “What ha’e ye been told?” He sounded as if he were forcing patience. Eva considered whether she had the courage to repeat Mavis’s description and was quite sure she didn’t. It was one thing to be told that by another woman, it was quite another to repeat it to the man with the boiled sausage he intended to use on you. She shook her head helplessly, but Connall apparently wasn’t in the mood to humor her. “What’d that useless brother o’ yers tell ye?” “Oh, it was not Jonathan,” she assured him quickly. “It was my maid, Mavis . . . Well, she was not truly my maid. She worked in the kitchens, but did occasionally act as lady’s maid to me . . . Well, once or twice. She traveled to court with us because Jonathan said I needed a lady’s maid there,” Eva explained lamely, then fell silent, aware she’d been babbling. “I see, and what did this Mavis tell ye aboot what goes on between a husband and wife?” Connall was sounding a little less angry now, she noted with relief. Still, it was difficult to imagine telling him so she said instead, “Well she was describing what went on between the servants, not necessarily between husband and wife, if you see what I mean?” “Stop stalling,” he said quietly. “A wife shouldnae fear telling her husband ought.” Eva sighed at these words, it was becoming obvious that he wasn’t going to let this pass and she was going to have to repeat what Mavis had said. She was beginning to wish that she had never opened her mouth, but had simply awaited his pleasure in silent suspense. Unfortunately, she hadn’t done so. Deciding that there was nothing for it, she gathered her courage and blurted, “She said it appeared that the man and woman wrestled a bit and then he stuck his boiled sausage up between her legs.” Connall made an odd sound, somewhere between a cough and snort, then turned his head abruptly away so that she could not see his expression. Eva was not certain at first if he were angry or shocked, but then she noted the way his shoulders were shaking and suspected the man was actually laughing at her. Indignation quickly rose up in her, but before she could say anything, there was a knock at the door. Eva glared at her husband as he glanced around, then stood and headed for the door. “Yer flouncin’!” Connall crowed with amusement. “Damn me, I’d ha’e sworn ye were no a flouncer, but yer flouncin’!” Realizing

me. “Well, I know one thing about my twins. They’re not going to be models. I already tried them out for catalogue work. Within the first ten minutes, Orianthe informed me that she doesn’t like to do boring things and that modelling’s boring. And she’s not going to let her brother do boring things either.” I laughed. The cries of the twins pealed down the hallway as they bounded inside and called Jessie’s name. They must have discovered she was home. “Hey, where’s the pup?” I asked Pria. “Can I see him? Jessie said he’s growing big.” Immediately, Pria rolled her eyes and made a low disparaging sound. “I sent Buster out with the dog walker as soon as I knew Kate was coming over with the kids. He’d knock them flying. Wish I’d never bought him, to tell you the truth. After the break-in, I wanted a watchdog, but I should have paid more attention to the breed. He’s damned strong—even though he’s only nine months old. And he snaps. To tell you the truth, I’m a bit scared of the mutt. I’m having a dog trainer try to rein him in, but if that doesn’t work, he’s gone.” “What a shame,” I said. “Jess told me she’d like to walk the dog sometimes, but that’s not sounding good.” “Nope. The only thing I got right about him is his name. Because Buster has busted everything from doors to shoes.” She shook her head, a sorry smile on her face. The sound of the three children playing became too much. Tommy had once run through this house, too. I stayed for a while longer then made an excuse to leave.     29.                 PHOEBE   Tuesday night   STORM CLOUDS PUSHED INTO THE SKY, making the day darken a good hour before the incoming night. The heavy atmosphere pressed down on me. I opened the window of my bedroom upstairs at Nan’s house, letting the chill air stream in. I could only just catch a glimpse of the water from here. An enormous cruise liner dominated the harbour, staining the water red and blue with its lights. Maybe my small step in seeing Pria and Kate earlier had helped my frame of mind, but I didn’t feel it yet. I was back at square one. I began pacing the room, feeling unhinged. Things were all so in between. Dr Moran hadn’t succeeded in jogging my memory about the letters. She’d said she didn’t think it was possible to do all that I’d done in sleepwalking sessions and so the memory should still be in my mind somewhere. True sleepwalkers rarely remembered their dreams. Not remembering any of it was the most disturbing thing of all. It wasn’t the first time I’d forgotten things. With the binge drinking and the trauma of losing Tommy, there were gaps in my memory. But not a fucking chasm. And forgetting the writing of three notes and delivering them was a fucking chasm. Nan called me for dinner, and we ate the pumpkin soup together. I’d tried watching one of her sitcoms with her after that, but I gave up halfway through. I headed back upstairs. Surprisingly, I was tired enough to sleep. I crawled into bed and let myself drift off. I woke just before four thirty in the morning. The temperature had plummeted—I guessed it was below ten degrees. I’d been dreaming. The dream had been of the last day that Sass, Luke, Pria, Kate,

Shelby is a wonderful young woman. You’re good together.” “Mother…” “It isn’t just her. Oh, it’s obvious she loves you. But it’s also you. The second she’s near you, all those tense lines in your face relax and you soften up. That grumpy, self-protective shield drops and you’re warm and affectionate. She’s good for you, she brings out your best, makes you fun. You have something special with her.” “She’s twenty-five.” Maureen shook her head. “I don’t think that’s relevant. It doesn’t seem to have anything to do with how you two communicate…” “There are things you don’t understand about Shelby,” he said. “She’s not just young, she hasn’t had many relationships. She’s been taking care of her mother and hasn’t really looked at the world. In a lot of ways, she’s a child.” “I know all about her mother, but she’s no child,” Maureen said. “It takes maturity and courage to do what she did. So she didn’t have a lot of relationships with young men, it doesn’t mean she lacks worldly experience. And your age doesn’t matter to her.” “It will. I’m too old. I’m not going to stand still while she gets older. She’ll be thirty-five and I’ll be almost fifty. She’d find herself with an old man.” “At fifty?” She laughed. “I liked fifty,” she said with a dismissive shrug. “Fifty was good. I was only twenty-three when I married your father and I never thought of him as too old for me. To the contrary, it made me feel better in so many ways, to be with a mature man, a man of experience who didn’t have doubts anymore. He was stable and solid. It brought me comfort. And he was awful good to me.” Luke straightened his shoulders. “I’m not getting married. Shelby will move on, Mom. She wants a career. A young husband. She wants a family.” “You know this?” Maureen asked. “Of course I know that,” he said. “You think we haven’t talked? I didn’t lead her on. And she didn’t lead me on. She knows I don’t want a wife, don’t want children…” Maureen was quiet for a long moment. Finally she said, “You did once.” Luke let go a short laugh that was tinged with his inner rage. “I’m cured of that.” “You have to think about this. The way you’ve managed your life since Felicia hasn’t exactly brought you peace. I suppose it’s normal when a man gets hurt to avoid anything risky for a while, but not for thirteen years, Luke. If the right person comes along, don’t assume it can’t work just because it didn’t work once, a long, long time ago. I know this young woman as well as I ever knew Felicia. Luke, Shelby is nothing like her. Nothing.” Luke pursed his lips, looked away for a second and then took a slow sip of coffee. “Thank you, Mom. I’ll remember that.” She stepped toward him. “It’s going to hurt just as much to let her go as it hurt you to be tossed away by Felicia. Remember that.” “You know, I don’t think I’m the one guilty of assumptions here,” he said impatiently. “What makes you think all people want a tidy little marriage and children? Huh? I’ve been damn happy the past dozen years. I’ve been challenged and successful in my own way, I’ve had a good time, good friends, a few relationships…” “You’ve been treading water,” she said. “You’re marking the years, not living them. There’s more to life, Luke. I hope you let yourself see—you’re in such a good place right now—you can have it all. You put in your army years and it left you with a pension while you’re still young. You’re healthy, smart, accomplished, and you have a good woman. She’s devoted to you. There’s no reason you have to be alone for the rest of your life. It’s not too late.” He’d

Take a break for a second.” I gingerly sit down next to him. He scoots closer until his hip touches mine. I scoot away from him, but he scoots even closer. I look up, and I can’t keep from grinning at him. “You’re in my space,” I warn. “I like being in your space. I kind of want to be all up in your space,” he says, his voice teasing and playful. But then he pats his shoulder. “God didn’t give me broad shoulders just to hold up my T-shirts.” He uses his hand to push my head onto his shoulder. He’s quiet for a moment, but then he says, “Let me take some of your burden, Sky. Tell me what’s wrong.” He sits quietly and just breathes. He doesn’t say anything more. I sit there and take in the scent of him. It’s woodsy and manly and clean. It’s Matt, and I like it. I don’t want to cry anymore. I want to climb into his lap and kiss him. “Oh God,” I moan. “Nope. I’m just Matt,” he says with a chuckle. I punch his shoulder playfully. He pretends to fall to the side, but he pops right back up, getting even more in my space. “Is this about your boyfriend?” he asks quietly. I shake my head. I had almost forgotten about Phillip. “No,” I start. But I can’t get the words together. “Never mind.” He sits quietly, and then he starts to whistle. He’s not letting me off without an explanation. “It’s just that I never had a family.” There. I said it. Now he can pity me. “So when Seth was worried, not just about his sisters but about me too, it made me feel a little emotional.” I shrug. It sounds even more stupid now that it’s out of my mouth. “That’s all. I know it’s stupid.” He doesn’t say anything. He just nods. “I just am having a hard time finding my place in this situation. But I think I’m finding it, and it feels good.” He arches his brow. “So, that was a good cry?” he asks. “That was a very good cry.” A grin tugs at the corners of my lips even though I’m still feeling really emotional. “Okay,” he says with a nod. He pats his shoulder. “You want to cry on me some more? I kind of like having you touch me.” He grins and opens his arms in invitation. “I’m really good at hugs, too.” I bite my lower lip, trying not to grin. “I’ll pretend it’s a chore if it’ll make you feel better. I’ll even groan out loud.” This time I laugh. I can’t help it. He’s so damn sweet. “Is that a no?” he asks, deadpan. “I’m not usually this emotional,” I say. He shrugs. “All women say that. It usually precedes an episode of batshit craziness.” “Are you calling me crazy?” He shakes his head vehemently. “Definitely not.” He smiles. “There are a lot of words I would call you. Crazy isn’t one of them.” Now I’m intrigued. “Do tell.” “You’re fucking gorgeous as hell,” he says. His eyes drag up and down my body. Heat creeps up my cheeks. “And you’re smart. And loyal. And you’ve bitten off more than you can chew by taking on three kids that aren’t even yours.” I like that he thinks I’m smart. And loyal. “And you’re not mine.” He gets to his feet and reaches down to take my hand. “So we had better get out of the stairwell before I do something stupid like kiss you.

You’re looking a little too amused, there, Pete,” she says. She fills her mouth with pool water and spits it from between her teeth at my foot. Damn, that’s hot. But, again, I’m a guy. We tend to get a little orally fixated. She could spit a goober and I’d still probably find it sexy. “What are you going to do about it?” I ask, sitting forward with my elbows on my knees. She looks startled for a second. Then I realize she’s plotting. I can almost smell the gears in her mind burning, they’re working that hard. Gonzo rolls up next to me. They must have warned everyone about Gonzo’s tracheostomy tube because no one tries to get him wet and he’s careful about the edge of the pool. Next thing I know, he’s beside me, and he doesn’t take the same care with me that he took with Reagan. A blast of water hits me in the face. I put my hands up to block him, but dammit, he’s having so much fun with it that I don’t want to stop him. Instead, I let him squirt until the gun’s empty. Then I blow water from my lips and open my eyes. She’s grinning like hell, and Gonzo’s almost as happy as she is. “You so deserved that,” she says. I stand up and point to her. “I’m coming for you, Reagan,” I warn. She squeals and backs away. She looks a little panicky, but then I realize she’s having fun and she’s panicking because I’m going to dunk her rather than because I’m going to touch her. This shit is like foreplay. The really good kind. I go in the shallow end and stalk her all the way to the rope that sections off the middle of the pool. I want to touch her so badly I can taste it. “Come here, little girl,” I taunt. “Let me show you what happens when you mess with a real man.” She laughs and ducks under the rope. She comes up smiling, though. I go under and reach for her, and she almost slides right by me, but I grab her at the last second. I slowly and gently pull her against me. We’re so close together that I can feel her heart beating against my chest. She stares into my eyes, and then her gaze drops to my lips and moves back up. “Pete,” she warns. She kicks her feet to stay afloat. “Reagan,” I mock. “It wasn’t my fault,” she says, but she’s a little breathless. “It was Gonzo. He planned the whole thing.” “Liar,” I whisper. Her face flushes. I tread water with one hand and hold her against me with the other. This feels so good that I don’t want to let go.

I should have rid myself of you when I learned I was with child. But it would have been a mortal sin.” She stared at him, and in her eyes, he saw nothing but hatred. “I’ve suffered every day you lived. And I will not stand by and let you ruin another woman’s life.” He expected Rose to speak, to say something to defend them. But her silence was damning. Though she continued to hold his hand, he could feel her grip loosening. She didn’t want him any more than his mother had. He should have expected it. And although he ought to let her go, now that she knew he was a bastard, damned if he wanted to. His only thread of honor had snapped in front of a truth he didn’t want to face. Iain stared at the women with no regrets for what he was about to do. He tightened his hand upon hers. “Most of the men and women in that ballroom will believe that I have compromised Lady Rose,” he said coolly. “I intend to marry her, no matter what anyone says about me.” “I cannot allow that,” Lady Wolcroft interrupted. “My granddaughter believed that you were an earl, a man who could provide a future for her. I believed that, too.” To Moira, she admitted, “I am sorry for my interference. You never told any of us about . . . why you hid him from the world. I thought you were merely estranged.” “I kept Iain away so that this would never happen,” his mother admitted. “I could not bring shame upon my husband.” It was as if he weren’t in the room at all. Iain refused to remain silent while they discussed his future. Ignoring all of them, he turned back to Rose. “Before all this happened, I asked you to marry me. Have your feelings changed, now that you know the truth?” The frozen expression on her face revealed her own doubts. “I feel as if I’ve stepped into the midst of a storm. I need a moment, Iain.” With that, she let go of his hand. The women closed in on her, and Lady Wolcroft sent him a dark look. “I think it’s best if you leave now, Ashton.” She opened the door and waited. Iain didn’t move. Instead, he locked his gaze upon Rose. “This is about what you want, a ghrá. They don’t matter.” She still wouldn’t look at him. But her hands were trembling as she gripped them together. “I—I need time to think.” It was as if he’d been imprisoned within panes of glass. He’d wanted to believe that she would be different. That she would love him enough to overlook the broken shards of the life he had. He didn’t want to leave her here with these vultures who would tell her how to live her life and what to do now. But when he saw her pale expression, his worst fears were confirmed. Love wasn’t enough to overcome the revelation that he was worth nothing. She’d wanted an earl, not a bastard. And no matter how much it broke him, the right thing was to let her go.

Never Let Me Down" (feat. Jay-Z, J-Ivy) [Intro:] Yeah Grandmama Told you I won't let you down Told you I won't let this rap game change me, right? [Chorus:] When it comes to being true, at least true to me One thing I found,one thing I found Oh no you'll neva let me down, Get up I get(down) Get up I get(down) Get up I get(down) Get up I get(down) Get up I get(down) Get up I get(down) [Jay-Z:] Yo, yo first I snatched the street then I snatched the charts, First had they ear now I hav they're heart, Rappers came and went, I've been hear from the start, Seen them put it together Watch them take it apart, See the Rovers roll up wit ribbons I've seen them re-poed, re-sold and re-driven So when I reload, he holds #1 position When u hot I'm hot And when your feet cold, mines is sizzelin It's plain to see Nigga's can't f*** wit me Cuz ima be that nigga fo life This is not an image This is God given This is hard liven Mixed wit crystal sipping It's the most consistent Hov Give you the most hits you can fit inside a whole disc and Nigga I'm home on these charts, y'all niggaz visitin It's Hov tradition, Jeff Gordan of rap I'm back to claim pole position, holla at ya boy [Chorus] [Kanye West:] I get down for my grandfather who took my momma Made her sit that seat where white folks ain't wanna us to eat At the tender age of 6 she was arrested for the sit in With that in my blood I was born to be different Now niggas can't make it to ballots to choose leadership But we can make it to Jacob and to the dealership That's why I hear new music And I just don't be feeling it Racism still alive they just be concealing it But I know they don't want me in the damn club They even made me show I.D to get inside of Sam's club I did dirt and went to church to get my hands scrubbed Swear I've been baptised at least 3 or 4 times But in the land where nigga's praise Yukons and getting paid It gon' take a lot more than coupons to get us saved Like it take a lot more than do-rags to get your waves Noting sadder than that day my girl father past away So I promised to Mr Rany I'm gonna marry your daughter And u know I gotta thank u for they way that she was brought up And I know that u were smiling when u see that car I bought her And u sent tears from heaven when u seen my car get balled up But I can't complaint what the accident did to my Left Eye Cuz look what a accident did to Left Eye First Aaliyah and now romeo must die I know a got angels watching me from the other side

managed to snag the last available table and all three ordered the special with sweet tea to drink. “It’s like Thanksgiving,” Shiloh said. “Not for me. Thanksgiving was working an extra shift so the folks with kids could be home for the day. Christmas was the same,” Bonnie said. Abby shrugged. “The army served turkey and dressing on the holidays. It wasn’t what Mama made, but it tasted pretty damn good.” Since it was a special and only had to be dipped up and served, they weren’t long getting their meal. Abby shut her eyes on the first bite and made appreciative noises. “This is so good. I may eat here every Sunday.” “And break Cooper’s heart?” Bonnie asked. “Hey, now! One night of drinking together does not make us all bosom buddies or BFFs or whatever the hell it’s called these days.” Abby waved at the waitress, who came right over. “I want this plate all over again,” she said. “Did you remember that we do have pie for dessert?” the waitress asked. “Yes, I’ll have two pieces, whipped cream on both. What about you, Shiloh?” She blushed. “I shouldn’t, but . . . yes, and go away before I change my mind.” “Bonnie?” Abby asked. Bonnie shook her head. “Just an extra piece of pie will do me.” “So that’s two more specials and five pieces of pie, right?” the waitress asked. “You got it,” Abby said. “I’m having ice cream when we finish with hair and nails. You two are going to be moaning and groaning about still being too full,” Bonnie said. “Not me. By the middle of the afternoon I’ll be ready for ice cream,” Abby said. “My God, how do you stay so small?” Shiloh asked. “Damn fine genes. Mama wasn’t a big person.” “Well, my granny was as wide as she was tall and every bite of food I eat goes straight to my thighs and butt,” Shiloh said. “But after that wicked, evil stuff last night, I’m starving.” “It burned all the calories right out of your body,” Abby said. “Anything you eat today doesn’t even count.” “You are full of crap,” Shiloh leaned forward and whispered. The waitress returned with more plates of food and slices of pumpkin pie with whipped cream, taking the dirty dishes back away with her. Bonnie picked up the clean fork on the pie plate and cut a bite-size piece off. “Oh. My. God! This is delicious. Y’all can eat Cooper’s cookin’. I’m not the one kissin’ on him, so I don’t give a shit if I hurt his little feelin’s or not. I’m comin’ here for pumpkin pie next Sunday if I have to walk.” “If Cooper doesn’t want to cook, maybe we can all come back here with him and Rusty next Sunday,” Abby said. “And if he does?” Shiloh asked. “Then I’m eating a steak and you can borrow my truck, Bonnie. I’d hate to see you walk that far. You’d be too tired to take care of the milkin’ the next day,” Abby said. “And you don’t know how to milk a cow, do you?” Bonnie’s blue eyes danced when she joked. Abby took a deep breath and told the truth. “No, I don’t, and I don’t like chickens.” “Well, I hate hogs,” Shiloh admitted. “And I can’t milk a cow, either.” “Looks like it might take all three of us to run that ranch after all.” Bonnie grinned. The waitress refilled their tea glasses. “Y’all must be the Malloy sisters. I heard you’d come to the canyon. Ezra used to come in here pretty often for our Sunday special and he always took an extra order home with him. Y’all sound like him when you talk. You all from Texas?” “Galveston,” Abby said. “Arkansas, but I lived in Texas until I graduated high school,” Shiloh said. The waitress looked at Bonnie. “Kentucky after leavin’ Texas.” “I knew I heard the good old Texas drawl in your voices,” the waitress said as she walked away. “Wonder how much she won on that pot?” Abby whispered. Shiloh had been studying her ragged nails but she looked up.

Oh crap!” Leigh gasped suddenly. “What is it?” Justin asked, glancing sideways at her with alarm. “Is my phone broken?” “No, my water is,” Leigh muttered. “What?” he and Valerie said together. “I guess they weren’t Braxton Hicks after all,” she muttered. “Damn.” “I—you—are you sure your water broke?” Justin got out finally, his voice high with alarm and his eyes repeatedly moving from the road to her. “Well, I still have to pee, so I’m guessing the puddle I’m sitting in is amniotic fluid,” Leigh said dryly. “Watch the road, Justin,” Valerie said, undoing her seat belt and shifting out of her seat to kneel between the front seats. “I’m turning around. We’re going back to the house,” Justin warned, slowing. “Well, why the heck would you do that?” Leigh asked with irritation. “I need Rachel or Dani. Neither of them are at the house. So who’s going to deliver this baby? You?” “Oh God,” Justin muttered, hitting the gas again.

It’s not important,” I murmured even as I railed at myself for being such a coward. Tomorrow was my last full day and night at the resort before I had to report to work the morning after that and I still had no idea where I stood with the men who’d become such a part of me that I didn’t want to remember a time when we hadn’t been together. The men I’d finally come to accept I was completely in love with. The revelation should have been a joyous one, but it wasn’t. It broke my damn heart. Because

It has nothing to do with pity. I think it’s pretty fair: I give you something you want, and you give me something I want.” Jared chuckled, shaking his head. “Shit, you’re actually serious.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I can’t fucking believe you.” “Why?” Gabriel’s voice was calm and rational, as though Jared was the one spouting ridiculous things. “Just think about it and it will make perfect sense.” His expression softened. “You know how much you mean to me. It won’t gross me out if you kiss me sometimes. If it means I get to keep you, I’ll do it happily.” “That’s—that’s fucking crazy.” Gabriel looked as stubborn as ever. “It’s not. I like when you touch me. I wouldn’t be grossed out.” Jared let out a harsh laugh. “And you think it’d be enough for me? That you wouldn’t be grossed out? That you would stoically endure it? Really, Gabe?” A myriad of emotions flickered across Gabriel’s face until they settled into one clear expression of determination. Gabriel walked toward him. “Don’t,” Jared managed before Gabriel grabbed his face, rose on his toes and pressed their lips together. Jared was stronger and bigger than him. He could easily push him away. And yet, he couldn’t. Gabriel’s lips were very soft and plump—and Gabriel’s. His Gabriel’s. Jared couldn’t resist. Couldn’t fight himself. His lips moved. It was a stolen moment, something fucked up and hopeless, but all the years of watching and yearning had stripped away his control and he poured everything into the kiss. Everything he couldn’t say and everything he felt. Gabriel didn’t kiss back. He was completely still, just allowing it, and rage swept through Jared, a rage unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. Jared hardened the kiss to the point of bruising. He pried Gabriel’s lips open and thrust his tongue inside the warm, wet cavern of his mouth, the kiss becoming obscene and dirty. He wanted to shock him. He wanted to hurt him. He wanted to repulse him. But Gabriel didn’t push him away. He took it all, trusting him. And that made him stop. Jared wrenched his lips away and leaned his forehead against Gabriel’s, breathing raggedly. Damn you. He felt Gabriel touch his hair and then cup his face gently. Jared pulled back to look at him. Gabriel’s face was flushed, his expression a little bewildered, but he didn’t look disgusted. He wet his lips. “Did you like it?” Jared started laughing. He slid to the floor, rested his head in his hands and laughed, and laughed, and laughed. It was an awful sound, as if his throat had been cut, but he couldn’t stop. He felt empty. Disillusioned. He didn’t know what he’d expected. He certainly hadn’t expected that Gabriel would suddenly realize he was gay after one kiss, but… But maybe he had. A fool. A fucking fool. Gabriel sat down next to him and put an arm around his shoulders. “Jay—I’m sorry.” Jared said nothing. Gabriel leaned his cheek against Jared’s shoulder. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice tight with emotion. Jared closed his eyes. “Don’t.” Gabriel wrapped his other arm around Jared’s waist. “You can’t say I don’t feel it only because I don’t want you that way. I—” His voice thickened. “I love you in every way that matters. I love you so much it fucking scares me.

When we’re outside, I hear Brittany take a deep breath. I swear it sounds as if she’s holding herself together by a thin thread. Not the way it’s supposed to go down: bring girl home, kiss girl, mom insults girl, girl leaves crying. “Don’t sweat it. She’s just not used to me bringin’ girls in the house.” Brittany’s expressive blue eyes appear remote and cold. “That shouldn’t have happened,” she says, throwing back her shoulders in a stance as stiff as a statue’s. “What? The kiss or you likin’ it so much?” “I have a boyfriend,” she says as she fidgets with the strap on her designer book bag. “You tryin’ to convince me, or yourself?” I ask her. “Don’t turn this around. I don’t want to upset my friends. I don’t want to upset my mom. And Colin…I’m just really confused right now.” I hold out my hands and raise my voice, something I usually avoid because like Paco says, it means I actually care. I don’t care. Why should I? My mind says to shut the fuck up at the same time words spout from my mouth. “I don’t get it. He treats you like you’re his damn prize.” “You don’t even know what it’s like with me and Colin…” “Tell me, dammit,” I say, unable to hide the edge to my voice. Initially I hold myself back from what I really want to say, but I can’t resist and tell it to her straight up. “’Cause that kiss back there…it meant somethin’. You know it as well as I do. I dare you to tell me bein’ with Colin is better than that.” She looks away hastily. “You wouldn’t understand.” “Try me.” “When people see Colin and me together, they comment on how perfect we are. You know, the Golden Couple. Get it?” I stare at her in disbelief. That is beyond fucked up. “I get it. I just can’t believe I’m hearin’ it. Does bein’ perfect mean that much to you?” There’s a long, brittle silence. I catch a flicker of sadness in those sapphire eyes, but then it’s gone. In an instant her expression stills and grows serious. “I haven’t been doing a bang-up job at it lately, but yes. It does,” she finally admits. “My sister isn’t perfect, so I have to be.” That is the most pathetic shit I’ve ever heard. I shake my head in disgust and point to Julio. “Get on and I’ll take you back to school to get your car.” Silently, Brittany straddles my motorcycle. She holds herself so far away from me I can barely feel her behind me. I almost take a detour to make the ride last longer. She treats her sister with patience and adoration. God knows I wouldn’t be able to spoon-feed one of my brothers and wipe his mouth. The girl I once accused of being self-absorbed is not one-dimensional. Dios mío, I admire her. Somehow, being with Brittany brings something to my life that’s missing, something…right. But how am I going to convince her of that?

[...] That our love was meant to transcend time. But I reminded you that it did. That no matter what happened to me, our love with still be alive. In our children. In their children. In the letters I wrote and in the roots of the home we grew together. My love for you wasn’t going to fade because my life was. It would only grow stronger and will continue to live on forever.

What was the trigger when you shifted earlier?” he asked, as if this moment were a reprieve from the real world, where the freezing storm and the surging river could muffle their words from the gods. “It was nothing.” She sighed. “Let’s just say it was fear and necessity and impressively deep-rooted survival instincts.” “You didn’t lose control immediately upon shifting. When you finally used your magic, your clothes didn’t burn; neither did your hair. And the daggers didn’t melt.” As if just now remembering that she still has them, he swiped them from her. He was right. “Why was it different this time?” he pressed. “Because I didn’t want you to die to save me,” she admitted. “Would you have shifted to save yourself?” “Your opinion of me is pretty much identical to my own, so you know the answer.” He was quiet for long enough that she wondered if he was piecing the bits of her together. “You’re not leaving,” Rowan said at last, arms crossed. “I’m not letting you off double duty in the kitchens, but you’re not leaving.” “Why?” “Because I said so, that’s why.” And she might have told him it was the worst gods-damned reason she had ever heard, and that he was an arrogant prick, had he not tossed her his cloak—dry and warm. Then he dropped his jacket in her lap, too.

We need to talk.” “No, we don’t.” Instead of walking back to her seat, she stood next to me and crossed her arms, mirroring my pose. Then, she rocked back on her heels, lips curling into an uncomfortable smile. “So, you were sad because of me?” “Don’t be a fucking bitch,” I said through gritted teeth. She smacked me across the face. “Don’t call me a fucking bitch.” “You fucking are,” I growled, rubbing my cheek. “Just because I didn’t tell you that I loved you?” she asked, the words so damn sharp and sour. “Are you really that butthurt over it, João? Because if you are, you should’ve let me at least respond to you last night before running out of Landon’s and driving away like a maniac!” “I needed to get Ana.” “That’s always going to be your excuse.” “It’s not a fucking excuse.” I seethed. She poked a finger hard into my chest. “That doesn’t give you the right to call me a bitch. And still… you could’ve waited two fucking minutes for me to tell you that I—” She paused and glanced behind me. “That you what?” I asked and followed her gaze, my eyes landing on Landon and Ana together. “Of fucking course.” “João, come on,” she said, hurrying after me. “How do you expect me to love you when all you are is rude to me?! God, you’re so frustrating.” She ran her hands through her hair, frustration all over her face. “Don’t be stupid! If I didn’t love you, I wouldn’t be doing any of this shit!” “I’m not being fucking stupid,” I growled. I was fucking scared.

Wife. Yes, she was that. To him. To a man she still did not dare trust. A man who had once been her nemesis. A man she did not know, beyond the span of a week and a few, turbulent kisses. To say nothing of a forced carriage ride and an overnight abduction… She stifled a shudder. She would be damned before she would show him a single weakness. “Damn you, speak to me,” he growled. She met his gaze at last, startled by the intensity she saw reflected in his countenance. His jaw was rigid, his dark eyes sparkling. “What would you have me say, my lord? You have gotten what you wanted. You will have my fortune, such as it is. I must bear your touch until I present you with an heir. There seems hardly anything worth speaking about.” His expression shifted. “You must bear my touch?” Suggesting she was unaffected by him was a lie, and she knew it. But she did it to spite him. “Yes. Just as I said.” “Come here,” he told her in a voice of silken menace. Molten heat pooled between her thighs. She pressed them together, doing her utmost to banish the unworthy sensation. She could not afford to want the Earl of Sinclair. Not when she could not be sure she could trust him. “No,” she denied, fixing him with a challenging stare. She was not his to order about.

Alexander was a decent man, and he probably coped the best way he could at the time, but it still pissed me off that Rowan’s pain hadn’t been addressed. I got the sense she was the glue that held them together—that was why her father’s career and being Little Miss Perfect had been so damn important to her. Her father never should have allowed her to fill that role.

Damn it. I didn’t bring a tissue with me today. That’s because I had told myself that I wasn’t going to get upset. It’s been two years now. Two years and I’m still blubbering away. I need to get a grip. Pull myself together. One way to do that would be to stop coming here. But I’m not prepared to do that yet. That’s because I haven’t moved on. I can only do that if I find somebody else. But filling a hole in the heart is not easy. It takes a special kind of person to replace a lost soulmate.

She'd make all the ingredients individually for her kimchi-jjigae," he went on. "Anchovy stock. Her own kimchi, which made the cellar smell like garlic and red pepper all the time. The pork shoulder simmering away. And when she'd mix it all together..." He trailed off, tipping his head back against the seat. It was the first movement he'd made over the course of his speaking; his hands rested still by his sides. "It was everything. Salty, sour, briny, rich, and just a tiny bit sweet from the sesame oil. I've been trying to make it for years, and mine has never turned out like hers." My anxiety manifestation popped up out of nowhere, hovering invisibly over one off Luke's shoulders. The boy doesn't know that the secret ingredient in every grandma's dish is love. He needs some more love in his life, said Grandma Ruth, eyeing me beadily. Maybe yours. Is he Jewish? I shook my head, banishing her back to the ether. "I get the feeling," I said. "I can make a mean matzah ball soup, with truffles and homemade broth boiled for hours from the most expensive free-range chickens, and somehow it never tastes as good as the soup my grandma would whip up out of canned broth and frozen vegetables." Damn straight, Grandma Ruth said smugly. Didn't I just banish you? I thought, but it was no use. "So is that the best thing you've ever eaten?" Luke asked. "Your grandma's matzah ball soup?" I shook my head. I opened my mouth, about to tell him about Julie Chee's grilled cheese with kimchi and bacon and how it hadn't just tasted of tart, sour kimchi and crunchy, smoky bacon and rich, melted cheese but also belonging and bedazzlement and all these feelings that didn't have names, like the dizzy, accomplished feeling you'd get after a Saturday night dinner rush when you were a little drunk but not a lot drunk because you had to wake up in time for Sunday brunch service, but then everything that happened with Derek and the Green Onion kind of changed how I felt about it. Painted over it with colors just a tiny bit off. So instead I told him about a meal I'd had in Lima, Peru, after backpacking up and down Machu Picchu. "Olive tofu with octopus, which you wouldn't think to put together, or at least I wouldn't have," I said. The olive tofu had been soft and almost impossibly creamy, tasting cleanly of olives, and the octopus had been meaty and crispy charred on the outside, soft on the inside.

I’m expecting huge fucking dividends on my investment, Mr. King, a big payoff. You break my trust, my fucking heart again, and I’ll put a bullet in you my damn self. I’m still angry. I’m still trying to get used to the idea of you being here. All is not well with us, yet, but facts are facts, and the facts are, we’re in this together, no matter what. There’s a lot that hasn’t changed and never will. And sadly, I do love you, too.

We were watching videos at night on her Samsung tablet or my company iPad. She showed me the Silvano Agosti 1983 Italian interview with a little Italian boy called “D'Amore si vive, We Live of Love.” The boy was so cute, and his thoughts seemed similar to mine and Martina's. I was so deeply in love with her. The boy on the interview was just like what our own child would be, and we agreed and laughed. “We Live of Love.” What a coincidence! Living. By: Love. I knew the interview from before and she was surprised at how I knew about it. I showed her on my Instagram a picture of the boy I had recently taken a screenshot of and posted. With the subtitle at the right moment under his face: “Descubrir a la vida.” To discover life. Together. With his one and only girlfriend, as the boy explains. I told her multiple times that I was still unsure if she was real, or if it was all a dream; if I had only dreamed of her one night in the dark; if Pinto and I had invented her in my mind. She was a big fan of space, but I thought she liked the mystery behind the endless space with all its questions and secrets for us humans. I thought she liked the sky and space because she recently flew from Argentina to land in my arms. Martina and I were obsessed with Chris Rock and Eddie Murphy; we both knew all their stand-up comedies by heart. We kept replaying the best moments or faces that Chris or Eddie made. We had so much fun watching the same videos over and over that I couldn't believe it. Nobody else ever found the same moments or the same stand-ups as funny as Martina and I did. Nobody before or after found it so amusing. If I showed it to someone, they didn't understand why I was so excited about it or why racist jokes were so funny for an hour from one black comedian to the next. We were obsessed the way Eddie spoke about the „Zebra-Bitch of her dreams, her dream-wife who doesn’t know the concept of money”, saying “she should have an afro, like Angela Davis goes 'God damn it.'“ We were laughing so much. Sometimes I tickled her flat belly or her ribs and she was laughing so sweetly and so much that she couldn't stop. She was begging me to stop tickling her when I barely touched her. She said “No, no, no, no” so many times so quickly and cutely that I had to stop and kiss her; I couldn't resist her lips or her person, I had to kiss and hug her. We laughed so much at particular parts of Chris Rock's stand-up comedies that we could barely stop, almost as if we were tickling each other. We were laughing when Chris Rock was mocking Bone-Thugs-n-Harmony for singing ‘Welfare chariots’ such as „The First of the Month” or when he explained that the government hates rappers, but „only the good rappers get gunned down. They could find Saddam Hussein in a cave in Iraq but couldn't arrest anyone related to Tupac Shakur’s assassination, which didn't happen in a cave in Iraq but in Las Vegas, on the Strip, not one of those side streets, but in front of Circus Circus, after a Mike Tyson fight. Now how many witnesses do you need, to arrest somebody?” We were fascinated with Eddie Murphy, Charlie Murphy, and Chris Rock, but when I showed her Richard Prior, Doug Stanhope, Aries Spears, or George Carlin, she was no longer so impressed for some reason. Her favorite part perhaps was when Chris Rock talked about love and relationships. He said that „you never really been in love unless you have contemplated murder; unless you have practiced your alibi in front of the mirror, staring at a can of rat poison for 45 minutes straight, you haven't been in love. And the only thing preventing you from killing your significant other was an episode of CSI.” He said that relationships are hard and that in order for them to work, both people need to have the same focus, which is all about: her.

We were watching videos at night on her Samsung tablet or my company iPad. She showed me the Silvano Agosti 1983 Italian interview with a little Italian boy called “D'Amore si vive, We Live of Love.” The boy was so cute, and his thoughts seemed similar to mine and Martina's. I was so deeply in love with her. The boy on the interview was just like what our own child would be, and we agreed and laughed. “We Live of Love.” What a coincidence! Living. By: Love. I knew the interview from before and she was surprised at how I knew about it. I showed her on my Instagram a picture of the boy I had recently taken a screenshot of and posted. With the subtitle at the right moment under his face: “Descubrir a la vida.” To discover life. Together. With his one and only girlfriend, as the boy explains. I told her multiple times that I was still unsure if she was real, or if it was all a dream; if I had only dreamed of her one night in the dark; if Pinto and I had invented her in my mind. She was a big fan of space, but I thought she liked the mystery behind the endless space with all its questions and secrets for us humans. I thought she liked the sky and space because she recently flew from Argentina to land in my arms. Martina and I were obsessed with Chris Rock and Eddie Murphy; we both knew all their stand-up comedies by heart. We kept replaying the best moments or faces that Chris or Eddie made. We had so much fun watching the same videos over and over that I couldn't believe it. Nobody else ever found the same moments or the same stand-ups as funny as Martina and I did. Nobody before or after found it so amusing. If I showed it to someone, they didn't understand why I was so excited about it or why racist jokes were so funny for an hour from one black comedian to the next. We were obsessed the way Eddie spoke about the „Zebra-Bitch of his dreams, his dream-wife who doesn’t know the concept of money”, saying “she should have an afro, like Angela Davis goes 'God damn it.'“ We were laughing so much. Sometimes I tickled her flat belly or her ribs and she was laughing so sweetly and so much that she couldn't stop. She was begging me to stop tickling her when I barely touched her. She said “No, no, no, no” so many times so quickly and cutely that I had to stop and kiss her; I couldn't resist her lips or her person, I had to kiss and hug her. We laughed so much at particular parts of Chris Rock's stand-up comedies that we could barely stop, almost as if we were tickling each other. We were laughing when Chris Rock was mocking Bone-Thugs-n-Harmony for singing ‘Welfare chariots’ such as „The First of the Month” or when he explained that the government hates rappers, but „only the good rappers get gunned down. They could find Saddam Hussein in a cave in Iraq but couldn't arrest anyone related to Tupac Shakur’s assassination, which didn't happen in a cave in Iraq but in Las Vegas, on the Strip, not one of those side streets, but in front of Circus Circus, after a Mike Tyson fight. Now how many witnesses do you need, to arrest somebody?” We were fascinated with Eddie Murphy, Charlie Murphy, and Chris Rock, but when I showed her Richard Prior, Doug Stanhope, Aries Spears, or George Carlin, she was no longer so impressed for some reason. Her favorite part perhaps was when Chris Rock talked about love and relationships. He said that „you never really been in love unless you have contemplated murder; unless you have practiced your alibi in front of the mirror, staring at a can of rat poison for 45 minutes straight, you haven't been in love. And the only thing preventing you from killing your significant other was an episode of CSI.” He said that relationships are hard and that in order for them to work, both people need to have the same focus, which is all about: her.

for the rest of the night. Other than to refuel with holiday leftovers. “Would you still love me if I told you I didn’t know what tasted better, Christmas leftovers or you?” Jana cocked her eyebrow with a sexy smile on her face. Damn, she was beautiful. “No but I will be mad unless you do some very thorough research and come up with a satisfying answer…” I grinned. This Christmas was unlike any of the others Jana and I had spent together. This time we had two little boys, a bigger family and we’d faced our biggest threat yet and come out on top. “If it’s for the sake of research, consider me in babe.” And I spent the rest of the night doing science. Between the gorgeous legs of my beautiful wife. I was pretty sure in that moment, life for the Reckless Bastard’s couldn’t get any better. Merry friggin’ Christmas to us! * * * * If you think the Reckless Bastards are spicy bad boys, they’re nothing compared to the steam in my next series Reckless MC Opey, TX Chapter where Gunnar and Maisie move to Texas! There’s also a sneak peek on the next page.   Don’t wait — grab your copy today!  Copyright © 2019 KB Winters and BookBoyfriends Publishing Inc Published By: BookBoyfriends Publishing Inc Chapter One Gunnar “We’re gonna be cowboys!” Maisie had been singing that song since we got on the interstate and left Nevada and the only family we’d had in the world behind. For good. Cross was my oldest friend, and I’d miss him the most, even though I knew we’d never lose touch. I’d miss Jag too, even Golden Boy and Max. The prospects were cool, but I had no attachment to them. Though I gave him a lot of shit, I knew I’d even miss Stitch. A little. It didn’t matter that the last year had been filled with more shit than gold, or that I was leaving Vegas in the dust, we were all closer for the hell we’d been through. But still, I was leaving. Maisie and I’d been on the road for a couple of days. Traveling with a small child took a long damn time. Between bathroom breaks and snack times we’d be lucky to make it to Opey by the end of the month. Lucky for me, Maisie had her mind set on us becoming cowboys, complete with ten gallon hats, spurs and chaps, so she hadn’t shed one tear, yet. It wasn’t something I’d been hoping for but I was waiting patiently for reality to sink in and the uncontrollable sobs that had a way of breaking a grown man’s heart. “You’re not a boy,” I told her and smiled through the rear view mirror. “Hard to be a cowboy if you’re not even a boy.” Maisie grinned, a full row of bright white baby teeth shining back at me right along with sapphire blue eyes and hair so black it looked to be painted on with ink. “I’m gonna be a cowgirl then! A cowgirl!” She went on and on for what felt like forever, in only the way that a four year old could, about all the cool cowgirl stuff she’d have. “Boots and a pony too!” “A pony? You can’t even tie your shoes or clean up your toys and you want a pony?” She nodded in that exaggerated way little kids did. “I’ll learn,” she said with the certainty of a know it all teenager, a thought that terrified the hell out of me. “You’ll help me, Gunny!” Her words brought a smile to my face even though I hated that fucking nickname she’d picked up from a woman I refused to think about ever again. I’d help Maisie because that’s what family did. Hell, she was the reason I’d uprooted my entire fucking life and headed to the great unknown wilds of Texas. To give Maisie a normal life or as close to normal as I was capable of giving her. “I’ll always help you, Squirt.” “I know. Love you Gunny!” “Love you too, Cowgirl.” I winked in the mirror and her face lit up with happiness. It was the pure joy on her face, putting a bloom in her cheeks that convinced me this was the right thing to do. I didn’t want to move to Texas, and I didn’t want to live on a goddamn ranch, but that was my future. The property was already bought and paid for with my name

Stop this, Kevin! Cease what you are doing and end this madness! Yeah, that. Unfortunately, the logical side of his brain no longer functioned as it should have. Thoughts of decency, propriety, and waiting until he felt comfortable with Lilian vanished, and all that remained was his desire to experience all that Lilian had to offer. To please and be pleased in return. He wanted to— “Damn, that’s hot.” —Like a mountain of ice cold water being dumped on them, the young couple became painfully aware of the third presence in the room. Lilian and Kevin slowly craned their heads toward the new voice. Eric stood in the doorway, hands on the handle. If his flushed cheeks and bleeding nose didn’t tell Kevin what the boy was looking at, then the dark eyes planted firmly on Lilian did. “Kya!” “ERIC!” In that moment, two things happened; Lilian ducked underneath the water’s surface, covering her body as best she could, while Kevin roared and jumped out of the bathtub. In a display of aerial acrobatics that should have been impossible without shonen manga mechanics involved, Kevin leapt into the air, his body twisting like a corkscrew until he was parallel with the ground, his feet pointing directly at Eric. “Stop-ogling-my-mate-you-pervert Kick!” The loud bang! of Kevin’s feet impacting against Eric’s chest rang out abnormally loudly due to the bathroom’s acoustics. Seconds after being hit, Eric flew backwards with the speed of a cannonball. He blew right out the door and into the hall, crashing into the wall before crumpling onto his backside with a heavy thud. “Ow.” He got back up, surprisingly. “Oi! What the hell was that for, you―” was about as far as he got. “Finishing move! Combustion of Manly Souls Uppercut!” Eric’s head jerked upwards, his teeth clacking together and his face scrunching up in stunned agony. His feet left the ground by at least a foot. Meanwhile, his spine curved painfully, traveling in the direction that the momentum of Kevin’s fist took him. Seconds later, Eric Corrompere lay on the ground, dead to the world around him. Standing above the prone pervert’s form, Kevin took several heavy breaths, his right fist still raised above his head. “Whoo! Now that’s what I like to see! Take it off!” With movements that were almost mechanical, Kevin turned to see four sexy vixens standing several yards down the hall, each one wearing a vastly different expression. Kotohime looked

I heard you have a date with Oliver, and from the looks of it, you definitely do. You’re sweating like a whore in church!” Rob says as soon as he sees me. I punch him in the shoulder. “No I’m not! Oh God, am I?” I head toward the bathroom and look at myself, realizing that he was exaggerating. But, damn. I am nervous. “Why am I so nervous about this? And where is Meep?” “She’s in the shower, and you’re nervous because this is your first date together. I mean, real date. Shenanigans don’t count.” He raises a blonde eyebrow and laughs when I glare at him. “I need a drink,” I announce, heading to the kitchen. “No, you don’t. You need to sit and relax and be still. You’re going to give me a heart attack!” “Stop being a pest,” I mutter, plopping down on the couch. “Okay, but on your date, do not sit like that. Nothing is more gross than a careless sitter in a dress.” My eyes widen, and I cross my legs, sitting upright. “Damn you. Maybe I should have worn jeans.” Robert laughs, throwing his head back. He looks so much like Mia when he does that. “I was joking! Geez, you really are nervous.” “Who’s nervous?” Mia asks, walking over to us. “Jitterbug over here is acting like a virgin going to prom,” Rob says, earning a laugh from me, and a look from Mia. “Way to lay it all out there,” I say. “She looks fine,” Mia says walking over to me. “It’s just Bean.” “Exactly. It’s just Bean . . . do I look okay?” Mia gives me a once-over and nods. “You look beautiful, like you do every other day, when you wear make-up and brush your hair and dress up.” “Meaning not like every other day?” “Well, you have to save beauty for special occasions, Chicken.” “Bitch,” I say, laughing until the knock on the door swallows my smile. “Ohh here he comes,” Rob starts singing like he was singing Man Eater, and I want to crawl into a hole and die. Mia swings the door open and whistles loudly. “Looks like somebody wants to get laid tonight,” she announces. And this time, for real, I want to crawl into a hole and die. I can feel my face burning as I walk to the door and tell Mia and Robert to shut up. Oliver is wearing dark jeans, black shoes, a gray button-down, and a fedora on his head. It’s simple and hot, and it matches the gray dress I’m wearing, so I have to laugh. “It’s like they’re meant to be!” Rob states loudly. “They match! This is too fucking cute! Mia! Get the camera!” “I hate you.” I say, looking at him. “I hate you.” I say, turning to Mia’s face, red from laughing. “I don’t hate you . . . yet.” I say, turning to Oliver, who gives me a slow, cocky half grin that makes me melt a little. “Please have her home by midnight, and make sure she lays off the vodka,” As Mia starts rattling off her list, she stops to look at my blushing face and bursts out laughing. “Awww . . . I’m sorry, Elle, this is so cute though. You haven’t been this nervous since you lost your virginity to Hunter Grayson.” She stops laughing and turns to Oliver with a serious face. “All jokes aside, if you hurt her again, I will fucking murder you, and I’m not talking about a nice quiet murder, I’m talking dick cut off, internal organs everywhere kind of murder. So please, be mindful of that.

Bud Light?” she asks in a distasteful tone. “Did you think you would be getting a microbrew? It’s a college house.” “Still”—she takes a sip and cringes—“I thought you’d have a little more class.” “You’re giving me too much credit.” I nod my head toward the corner of the loft where there are less people. When she doesn’t initially follow me, I turn back around, grab her hand like I had to in class, and pull her across the loft until we’re settled in the corner. I lean against the wall and prop one leg behind me. She eyes me, giving me a full once-over. I do the same. She’s damn hot, and I’m regretting my actions last Saturday, passing out mid grope. Finally she says, “You seem to have lost your shirt.” She motions with her finger over my bare chest. I look down at her legs and reply, “Must be where the other half of your skirt is.” “Think they’re making out in a laundromat somewhere?” She takes a sip of her beer and cringes again. A few more sips and she’ll get used to it; always happens for me. “If they are, I hope they use the gentle cycle.” Her brow pulls together. “Not sure if that makes sense.” “Oh, because half of a skirt and a shirt making out in a laundromat does?” “In children’s books, sure.” “What kind of perverted children’s books did you read growing up?” I counter. “You know, the classics,” she answers causally. “One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish and Skirt and Shirt, Lovers for Life.” “Ah, yes, I forgot about that passionate yet eye-opening youth literature that took the New York Times by storm.” “I have five signed first-edition copies in a box in my parents’ attic. Banking on them to clear out my student loans.” She sips her beer, flips her hair behind her shoulder, glances at my chest again. “Five?” I answer sarcastically. “Damn, forget college loans, you’re set for life.” “You think?” She glances around. “What the hell am I doing here then?” “To see me of course,” I answer with a smile. She rolls her eyes. “More like dragged to this party because my roommate has a crush on one of your freshmen.” “Yeah, which one?” I look over her head, eyeing all the partygoers. “No idea, but apparently he has amazing blue eyes.” “Amazing, huh? Has to be Gunner. I was even stunned by his eyes when he was recruited.” No joke, the dude won the lottery for irises. I’m even jealous with how . . . aqua they are. “Not ashamed to admit that?” she asks, shifting on her heels. “Not even a little.

Don Wallace found himself floating in the air, his scattergun on the ground below. The flames died as suddenly as they had begun, but his arm was a mass of charred flesh. Still screaming, he struggled with his one good hand to pull his revolver out of his shoulder holster. He was horrified when it seemed to take on a life of its own and slowly pointed itself at him. His own finger found the trigger and compulsively settled over it. Shea made a sound in her throat. This was a scene from a horror film, yet she couldn’t look away. A huge black wolf burst from the underbrush, running flat out. It leapt into the air, its gleaming jaws closing around Wallace’s leg. Bones snapped like twigs as the wolf pulled the man to the ground and thrust its fangs at his exposed throat. Shea was released from the mind hold and scrambled to her feet, rushing at the wolf tearing at the struggling man. “Jacques! No! You can’t do this!” For one bizarre moment the wolf turned its head to look at her, and time stood still. She recognized Jacques’ icy eyes and felt his triumph raging in her mind. Gregori yanked her arm as he emerged from the woods running, still half wolf, half man, changing as he ran. “Come on, we have no time. Damn it, Shea, I need you. You are a doctor, a healer. Come with me.” He did not release her arm, and she was forced to sprint with him up the steps into the cabin. Gregori shoved Slovensky’s body out of the way with a boot. “Listen to me, Shea. We will have to do this together. Raven has shut down her body as much as she dared. Mikhail is keeping her and the child alive, but she is very weak, and the child is in trouble. You have to repair the damage done to Raven, and I will save the child.

OK, Angel? You’re thinking about something awful hard,” Liam said, stepping closer to me and wrapping his free arm around my waist, his eyes meeting mine. I relaxed as I looked into those sky-blue pools, eyes that I’d happily stare into for the rest of my life. “I’m fine,” I lied, forcing a smile. His trademark smirk made an appearance then as his eyes travelled the length of me, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip. “Yes you are. Mighty damn fine.” Liam was still a damn flirt, even after all the years we’d been together. He looked at me like I was a snack most of the time, it made me feel incredibly sexy and confident.