Heroes Are My Weakness

  “You practically gave Wade Carter a heart attack.”

  “He was skulking around behind the cottage,” she retorted. “What was I supposed to do?”

  “Don’t you think jumping him was a bit extreme?”

  “Not if he was getting ready to break in, and seriously, Theo, how well do you know him?”

  “Well enough to know that his wife didn’t fracture her arm just so he’d have an excuse to break into the cottage.” He dropped his car keys on the table and headed for the kitchen. “He’s lucky you didn’t give him a concussion.”

  Annie was more than a little proud of herself. Yes, she was glad she hadn’t actually hurt the man, but after feeling beat down for so long, she liked knowing she wasn’t afraid to act. “Next time he’ll knock on the door,” she said, following him.

  He opened the flaps on the box of wine bottles he’d brought back inside. “We have new locks. And he did knock, remember?”

  But Theo hadn’t answered, so Carter had circled the cottage, trying to figure out if anyone was inside. Annie hadn’t known that. “From now on, no more loud music when you work,” she said. “Anybody could sneak up on you, and you wouldn’t know until it was too late.”

  “Why should I worry, with Wonder Woman on the job?”

  She grinned. “I was pretty awesome.”

  His laugh was still tarnished at the edges. “At least the word’s out that you’re not an easy mark.”

  She considered asking him about the fairy house, but talking about it would destroy the magic. Besides, that was between him and Livia. “How did the bone setting go?”

  “I stabilized her arm. Wade promised he’d take her over to the mainland tomorrow.” He examined the label on the wine bottle. “Then Lisa McKinley saw my car and asked me to look at her youngest daughter.”

  “Alyssa.”

  “Yes, well, Alyssa shoved something up her nose and it won’t come out. Ask me what I know about extracting a jelly bean from a kid’s nose.” He located the corkscrew. “I tell them all the same thing. I’m an EMT, not a doctor, but they act as if I have a medical degree from Harvard.”

  “Did you get it out?”

  “No, and Lisa’s really pissed at me.” Unlike the jelly bean, the wine cork came out with a soft pop. “I don’t carry around a nasal speculum, and I could do serious damage if I started poking at it. She’s going to the mainland with the Carters.” He pulled down two wine goblets.

  “No wine for me,” she said quickly. “I’m having tea. Chamomile.”

  The familiar hard grooves had reappeared at the corners of his unsmiling mouth. “You haven’t gotten your period.”

  “No, I haven’t.” Her rejection of the wine wasn’t only about a possible pregnancy, but also about his decision to bring the wine back into the cottage. If she shared, it would no longer be a gift.

  He set both glasses hard on the counter. “Stop screwing with me and tell me when you’re supposed to get your period?”

  She couldn’t play games any longer. “Next week, but I feel fine. I’m sure I’m not . . . You know.”

  “You’re not sure of anything.” He turned away to fill his own glass, not looking at her. “If you are pregnant, I’ll see a lawyer, set up a trust. I’ll make sure you have whatever you . . . you and the kid need.”

  No mention of getting rid of “the kid.” “I’m not talking about this,” she said.

  He turned back to her, cupping the bowl of the wineglass. “It’s not my favorite topic, either, but you need to know—”

  “Stop talking about it!” She gestured toward the stove. “I made dinner. It won’t be as good as yours, but it’s food.”

  “Target practice first.”

  This time he was all-business.

  THEIR GLOOMY MOODS DIDN’T LIFT until dinner. The weekly supply boat had brought groceries for Moonraker Cottage, most of which Theo had ordered, and she’d stuck with what she did well—meatballs and homemade spaghetti sauce. It wasn’t haute cuisine, but his enjoyment was obvious. “Why didn’t you make this for me when you were helping Jaycie with dinner?”

  “I wanted you to suffer,” she said.

  “Mission accomplished.”

  He put down his fork. “So how do you want this to play out? More Post-it notes on the bedroom door, or are we going to act like adults and do what we both want?”

  Leave it to Theo to get to the point. “I told you. I’m not good at emotionally detaching from sex,” she said. “I know that makes me old-fashioned, but that’s who I am.”

  “I have news for you, Annie. You’re not good at emotionally detaching from anything.”

  “Yes, well, there’s that.”

  He lifted his glass to her. “Have I remembered to say thank you?”

  “For me being a sex goddess?”

  “That, too. But . . .” He set the glass down and abruptly pushed back from the table. “Hell, I don’t know. My writing’s gone to hell, I have no idea how to protect you from whatever crap is happening here, and pretty soon somebody’s going to ask me to do a fucking heart transplant. But . . . The thing is, I’m not exactly unhappy.”

  “Gee. With that kind of progress, you’ll have your own special on Comedy Central in no time.”

  “Sensitively put.” He almost smiled. “Now how about it? Are you done with Post-it notes or not?”

  Was she? She carried her dirty plate into the kitchen and thought about what was right for her. Not him. Only her. She moved to the kitchen doorway. “Okay, this is what I want. Sex and lots of it.”

  “My world just got so much brighter.”

  “But impersonal. No cuddling afterward. And absolutely no sleeping in the same bed.” She came back toward the table. “As soon as you’ve satisfied me, we’re done. No cozy little chats. Sleep in your own bed.”

  He tilted his chair back. “Harsh, but I can live with that.”

  “Totally impersonal,” she insisted. “Like you’re a male prostitute.”

  He lifted one of those imperious eyebrows. “Don’t you think that’s a little . . . degrading?”

  “Not my problem.” The fantasy was delicious . . . and perfect for the message she wanted to deliver. “You’re a male prostitute working in a brothel designed for an exclusive female clientele.” She wandered toward the bookcases, letting the fantasy unfold, not caring how he felt about it or whether he was judging her. “The place is sparse, but luxurious. All white walls and black leather chairs. Not the overstuffed ones,” she added. “Those sleek ones with chrome frames.”

  “Something tells me you’ve thought about this before,” he said drily.

  “All you men are sitting around in various stages of dishabille. And no one is saying a word.”

  “Dishabille?”

  “Look it up.”

  “I know what it means. I’m just—”

  “Each man is more beautiful than the last,” she said. “I walk around the room.” She walked around the room. “Everything is absolutely silent. I’m taking my time.” She stopped. “There’s a round platform in the exact center of the room. The platform is set six inches off the floor . . .”

  Again his eyebrow went up. “You really have thought this through.”

  She ignored him. “That’s where the men go. To be inspected.”

  All four legs of his chair hit the ground. “Okay, I’m getting seriously turned on.”

  “I choose the three I’m most aroused by. One by one, I gesture them to the platform.”

  “That would be the round platform set exactly six inches from the floor?”

  “I carefully inspect them. I run my hands over their bodies, check them for flaws—”

  “Look at their teeth?”

  “—assess them for strength and, most important, endurance.”

  “Ah.”

  “But I already know who I want. And I bring him up last.”

  “I’ve never been so turned on and so horrified at the same time.”

  “This man is ma
gnificent. Exactly what I need. Thick, dark hair; a chiseled profile; hard muscles. Best of all, I can see by the intelligence in his eyes that he’s more than a stud. I select him.”

  He rose from his chair and gave her a mocking nod. “Thank you.”

  “No, not you.” She dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “Unfortunately, the man I’ve chosen is already booked for the night. Then I take you.” She gave him a triumphant smile. “You’re not as expensive, and who can resist a bargain?”

  “Apparently, not you.” The slight hoarseness in his voice ruined his attempt at humor.

  She felt like Scheherazade. She lowered her pitch, taking it to the border of sultry but not quite crossing over. “I’m wearing a filmy piece of black lace. And all I have on underneath is a tiny pair of scarlet panties.”

  “Bedroom!” he ordered. “Right now.” It was a command, but she pretended to think it over—for about three seconds until he grabbed her by the arm and hauled her there.

  After he’d pulled her through the door, she planted her feet, not yet ready to give up her control. “The room has a large bed with fur-lined shackles dangling from the head and foot boards.”

  “Just when you think you know someone . . .”

  “And a wall of glass-fronted cabinets displaying every sex toy imaginable.”

  “I am way out of my league here.” But the smoke mingling with the amusement in his eyes said that wasn’t quite true.

  “Except for those creepy gag-things,” she said quickly. “You know the ones.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t.”

  “Well, they’re disgusting.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  She gestured toward the imaginary display cabinets. “Everything is tastefully arranged.”

  “And why not? It’s a first-rate establishment.”

  She took a few steps away from him. “We open the glass doors and examine each item together.”

  “Taking our time . . .”

  “You pull several out,” she said.

  “Which ones?”

  “The ones you’ve noticed I’ve looked at the longest.”

  “Which would be . . .”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “I gesture toward the display of whips.”

  “I am not whipping you!”

  She ignored his outrage, which might or might not be phony. “You get the whip I’ve selected and bring it to me.” She pulled at her bottom lip with her teeth. “I take it from you.”

  “Like hell you do!” The devil inside him took over. “Unknown to you,” he said, closing the distance between them, “I am not just any highly paid male prostitute. I am the king of male prostitutes. And now I’m taking over.”

  She wasn’t certain how she felt about that.

  He twisted a long strand of her hair around his fingers. “I yank one strip of leather free from the whip.”

  She stopped breathing.

  “I use it to tie up your hair . . .”

  Goose bumps skittered down her spine. “I’m not sure I like where this is going.” She loved where this was going.

  He brushed the nape of her neck with his lips, then lightly nipped the flesh. “Oh, you like it. You like it a lot.” He released her hair. “Especially when I use the butt of the whip to open your legs.”

  Her clothes were burning her up. She had to get them off. Right now.

  “I run it up your calf . . .” He moved his fingers along the inseam of her jeans. “Then up the inside of your thigh . . .”

  “Take off your clothes!” She yanked her sweater over her head.

  He crossed his arms over his chest and she did the same, then locked his eyes with hers. “I make you take off your clothes.”

  “You cad.”

  She was undressed first, which gave her time to drink in the sight of his body. The muscle and tendon, ridges and hollows. He was perfect, and if she wasn’t, she didn’t care. Apparently, neither did he.

  “What happened to that whip?” she inquired. Just in case he’d forgotten . . .

  “I’m glad you asked.” He tilted his head. “You. On the bed.”

  It was only a game, but she’d never felt more desirable. She sauntered over, Sex Queen of the World, and knelt on the mattress to watch him approach.

  In all his magnificent glory . . .

  She sat back on her heels. The gleam in his eyes told her he was enjoying this as much as she. But was he enjoying it too much? This was, after all, a man who’d built a career on sadism.

  He pushed her to her back. As he explored her body, he whispered all the perverted, crude . . . and absolutely thrilling things he intended to do to her.

  She struggled to find enough air to whisper back, “And I say nothing. I let you do whatever you want, touch whatever you want. I’m completely submissive.” She dug her fingernails hard into his buttocks. “Until I’m not.”

  And the Sex Queen of the World took over.

  It was glorious.

  Their role-playing liberated them. Stripped away their seriousness. Let them snarl and play and threaten and tussle. They had no scruples and every scruple. The blankets tangled around them as their threats grew more dire, their caresses more thrilling.

  Outside the window of their erotic cave, fresh snow began to fall. Inside, they were lost in the wildness they’d unleashed.

  THEO HAD NEVER BEEN so foolish with a woman. As he lay back in the pillows, he tried on the unfamiliar notion that sex could be fun. A sharp elbow jabbed him in the ribs. “I’m done with you,” she said. “Out.”

  Kenley could never get enough of him. She’d wanted him with her every second. And all he’d wanted was to get away. “I’m too tired to move,” he murmured.

  “Fine.” She flipped out of bed and flounced from the room. She’d meant what she said about not sleeping together. He should have been a gentleman and done what she’d asked, but he was feeling ill used, and he stayed where he was.

  Much later, when he still hadn’t fallen back asleep, he found her curled in his bed in the studio. He resisted the urge to crawl in with her and got his laptop instead. He carried it out into the living room and settled down to write. But he kept thinking about Diggity Swift. He’d killed off the kid on the page, but not in his head, and he didn’t like that. Disgusted with himself, he set the laptop aside, stared out the window, and watched the snow fall.

  AFTER ANNIE HAD SHOWERED AND dressed for the day in jeans and her green sweater, she found Theo in the kitchen.

  “Would you like another cup of coffee?” he asked.

  “No, thank you. But thank you for offering.”

  “My pleasure.”

  He’d showered before her, and he, too, was fully dressed. They had their best manners on display, making up for last night’s debauchery with Old World courtesy, as if they needed to reclaim their dignity and prove they were, indeed, civilized.

  As he retired to the table with his coffee, she found an old sheet, located a can of black paint in the storage closet, and carried it all into the studio where there were enough splatters on the floor not to make a difference. Half an hour later, Theo stood in the fresh snow and gazed at the banner she’d hung on the front of the cottage.

  TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT ON SIGHT.

  NO QUESTIONS ASKED.

  She climbed down from the ladder and scowled at him, daring him to make fun of her, but he merely shrugged. “Works for me.”

  OVER THE COURSE OF THE next few days, Annie came to a decision. Not about Theo. Her relationship with him was as clear-cut as she could wish. She loved being Sex Queen of the World, and insisting on separate beds kept her from becoming a chump. Instead, her decision involved the legacy. She’d found nothing, and it was time to face reality. Mariah had been on so many painkillers that she hadn’t known what she was saying. There was no legacy, and Annie could either fall apart because her money problems weren’t going to magically disappear, or she could keep moving forward, one step at a time.

 
The interisland ferry was due to arrive on the first of March, only a few days away, and she began packing up everything in the cottage that had value to ship to the mainland. She arranged for a van to meet the ferry and take it all to Manhattan. Her mother’s name was still worth something, and her things were going to the best resale shop in the city.

  Annie had sent photos of everything to the owner, including the paintings, lithographs, art books, the Louis XIV “Pile Driver” chest, and barbed-wire bowl. He’d agreed to advance the money for transportation against future sales.

  The centerpiece of the collection and the item the dealer was certain would fetch the most money was one she’d nearly overlooked. The cottage guest book. Some of the autographs were of well-known artists, and a few signatures had small doodles next to the names. The dealer hoped to get as much as two thousand dollars for it, but he took a 40 percent commission. Even if everything sold, Annie wouldn’t be able to settle her debts, but she’d put a dent in them. She was also healthy again. When her sixty days were up, she’d try to get her old jobs back and start all over again. A depressing thought.

  Then something happened on the last day of February that cheered her up.

  Theo had been out riding longer than usual, and she kept dashing to the windows at Harp House looking for him. It was nearly dusk when she spotted him riding up the drive. She hurried out the side door, grabbing her coat on the way but not bothering with her hat and gloves.

  He reined up as he saw her running toward him. “What’s wrong?”

  “Not a thing. Put your happy face on. I got my period!”

  He nodded. “That’s a relief.”

  No big smile. No high fives or “Thank Gods.” She regarded him curiously. “Somehow I expected a little more enthusiasm.”

  “Trust me. I couldn’t be more enthusiastic.”

  “You don’t look it.”

  “Unlike you, I’m not in the habit of jumping up and down like a twelve-year-old.” He rode off toward the stable.

  “You should try it sometime,” she called after him.

  As he disappeared she shook her head in disgust. One more reminder that the only connection between them was physical. Did he let anybody see what was going on inside his head?