Eden's Charms (5 page)

“Want to wager my team can knock your balls out of the park?” Savanah glanced to his loins. She laughed as Ethan cocked his head to the side following her gaze.

“
Touché
, Pip.” Ethan licked his index finger and gestured one point for her.

“Hey, newlyweds, the lines moving. I’d like to get out of this place today?” The voice from reason yelled.

Both Savanah and Ethan turned, and at the same time yelled, “Shut up.” Then they looked at each other a bit stunned.

“I’ve got to go. You owe me an—”

“I’m sorry,” Ethan offered. “Want me to kiss them better?”

“You should be. You needn’t bother kiss my toes, but my a—?” Savanah turned away from Ethan and tapped her hand to her bottom, wearing a smile fit for the queen she should’ve been. With a delicate sway to her hips she walked back to her family.

He stood there both dumbfounded and mesmerized, his gaze glued to her sweet little
derriere
.
Oh, kiss it I shall, Pippy.

Chapter Three

Going through customs Ethan chuckled. “Do you have anything to declare?” the customs officers would ask him as they did every other person.

No, today he declared nothing.

So what if it was a slight white lie? The two caskets were loaded onto his 750 Cessna CJ1+ plane. Ethan ogled over his plane. He loved it more than anything in his life. Materialistic? Him? Yeah, but it was all he had. The plane was his ticket to freedom whenever, wherever he wanted to go. It was his escape from reality and his reality over the past few years had taken a ride on the wild side.

After he’d made contact with the tower for clearance, settled into his cockpit, gripped his joystick (the actual controls), he hit the runway. Destination, Saratoga County Airport.

Ethan was on a mission. Not from God, but the exact opposite. But who was Ethan to complain? He was getting paid generously to do what he loved, to fly and along his journeys meet a few women, like the one he’d just met. Shame, he thought. If I’d met her on the plane, we could have had some fun in the bathroom. Sure as hell would’ve beat getting puked on by the other lady.

He loved women and women loved pilots. Synchronicity! A match made in heaven, or damn close. He’d been told his light green eyes illuminated his face, but he always thought they were his second best feature. His first? The girls loved the one and only tattoo he owned.

Painted on the head of his penis, sat a hot air balloon that inflated, filled out rather nicely, he thought, and lifted up high to the heavens when the occasion rose. It hurt like hell when he had it put on, but the rewards after… The tattoo artist had kissed it better.

****

With his tiny bundle in his arms, Lucian looked toward the hospital room’s door when it swung inward. Duncan Thomas peeked into the room. Lucian gave him a nod. Duncan was his best mate and as close as a brother.

Duncan glanced at Serina. “Out cold?”

“She’s earned her sleep. A natural delivery with no medicine—ouch!”

Duncan tapped Lucian’s shoulder. “How’s it feel, Luce? Isn’t it the most wonderful feeling holding your baby? Look how she watches you with those dreamy oceans of blue. She recognizes you all ready.”

“Well I hope so. I’ve spoken, sang and read to her every night since I found out we carried her. It’s been so long, Duncan since I’ve held a child in my arms. Sydney was three when we adopted her. This is so different. So wonderful. Look at my wife, old man. Is she or isn’t she simply the most beautiful creature alive and to give me this gift.” Lucian turned away from Duncan, tears filling his eyes.

“You’re as bad as my wife, Luce. Don’t turn away on me. I’ve waited a lifetime to see this look on your face, and I want to cherish it. And I want to see it in about thirteen years when you’ve gone gray because that little lady is plucking away at your last nerve like you’re her personal fiddle.”

Lucian snorted. “Where’s Molly? Let me have this moment with my baby before we have her all grown and boys chasing her. God help them, Duncan. I’ll bite them all to keep track of them. Can I do that?” Lucian’s eyes smoldered at the idea of boys going anywhere near his daughter.

“And not get staked? Think not. Idle threats work though. You’re big enough and intimidating enough to keep the boys at bay. And if all else fails introduce them to Julian. Molly’s in Saratoga or did you forget you called me just as we arrived there today? She’s getting the house ready for everyone’s arrival home and picking everyone up at the airport pretty soon. I hate to change the mood, but have you done anything about the blood tests for Elyza and your wife? You know the risks we take being here.”

Lucian kissed Elyza’s forehead. “I love you, M’little lady.” He kissed the baby again. “My dear friend, you doubt me? I evanesced, walked into a lab full of white coats, computers and worked my magic better than my wife could have. Don’t tell her I said that though!”

Duncan laughed. “That’s not hard to do. Serina messes up every spell she does!”

Lucian’s eyes grew. “Shhhh! Don’t let her hear that. There is no record of Elyza’s genetic gifts. It’s all good.”

“Splendid.” Duncan turned to Serina and gave her a light kiss on her forehead, to which she never stirred. “See you in the morning. Get some rest Luce, because once the bills catch up to the insurance you’re gonna get bounced out of here and life as you know it, is over.”

****

Upon arrival in Saratoga at his North Broadway residence, Ethan specked out the place, and made certain everything had been taken care of for his two companions before going to the carriage house. The Maestro told him there was a gift waiting. Inside, resting on an old-fashioned turnstile, once used for washing horses and carriages in the late nineteenth century, sat a sporty little convertible, two-door, black on black leather, six speed with a thank you note and a big blue bow. The card read, “No more running around town unless you take this. Xier.” The car had two miles on it and a full tank of gas. As Ethan slid his hands over the paint job, his groin grew rock hard. Couldn’t help it—guy-car thing. He loved his new car almost as much as his plane. He plunged his nose deep into the leather seats and inhaled that
new car smell.
For the briefest moment a giant moue worked its way onto his face. What if—once he found the Maestro’s grandson, it had a leaky diaper or spit up on—or god forbid, inside his new car? His heart raced. What had he gotten himself into and why couldn’t he just say no? No to the Maestro? Then he remembered who he was dealing with. A crazy man. No, a crazy vamp. One that had him strung up better than a puppeteer with his marionette playing a game of Twister. After he slipped behind the wheel of his car, he stroked the steering wheel. She needed to be treated with kid gloves, worked up to a slow pace then taken for the ride of her life. He pulled out of the driveway and trolled North Broadway, swerving to avoid potholes.

Saratoga had grown since he’d last been here. New buildings, homes and businesses seemed to have sprouted overnight better than Chia pets could grow green fuzz, but the town retained an attractive quaintness. The over-flowing flower baskets that hung from the old-fashioned streetlights and beds of colorful flowers that spilled out onto the sidewalks reminded him of home and his mother. A pang of longing struck a distant chord. Home was no longer where the heart was or a place for him to hang his baseball hat.

All along Broadway, musicians played their hearts out to couples hand in hand that strolled by. He actually thought he might like to settle here, but that would require a woman and he wasn’t ready to commit to one woman yet, if ever… Unless Pippy became part of the package. Random, no ridiculous.

Shaking her long, leggy image from his thoughts, Ethan focused on finding a spot in the parking lot in between Lillian’s and Professor Moriarity’s. He scoped out the area. His new car had to be safe. He parked her in between a Mercedes and a Jaguar. Three times he went back to the lot to check on her before he actually made it inside and to the restaurant. The term OCD crossed his mind on more than one occasion, but he scoffed the phrase, telling himself. “I’m not obsessive or compulsive. Diseased definitely,” he chided as he hopped over the cracks in the sidewalk and scooped up a head’s-up penny.

The aromas from Lillian’s Restaurant found Ethan’s nose an easy target. He hungered for food and companionship, and at the same time, jet lag followed him better than his shadow. The stress from this job seemed to hover over him like a nasty case of herpes. Not that he knew what they were personally.

Kidnapper? Me? No way. The Maestro’s bonkers.
He tried to push aside his gut instincts that this was a
really stupid
idea. No, it was worse than stupid. Catastrophic worked. His little voice of reason told him a woman’s flesh would sate his needs. Sex: his cure-all, tell-all, and end-all answer to every problem he ever had. And in some cases the beginning. He knew better than to listen to it, his little nagging voice of nonsense. Thinking back, his anniversary for turning into a werewolf happened just over two years ago. He’d met a little woman who stood all of five feet tall, dark brown hair and sky-blue eyes. Spry little creature, and she liked things rough. Ethan found out the hard way why. During the full moon she lost control, and shortly thereafter, her life. July of ’04 was a bitch. Not once, but twice the blue moon initiated him with a vengeance, almost skinned him alive. Ethan tried very hard not to relive that, but…like a dog with his bone, the more he tried to bury the hurtful memories, the more they resurfaced. No family. Nothing to lose. Except himself. Hearing his father, his best friend, mentor, example of a man who lived for his family say to the doctor, “Then pull the plug and be done with this,” came very close to really killing him. Ethan met Xier the same day. It was his fate so it seemed.

What Ethan needed was a woman who could take the proverbial licking and keep on ticking. Then his head, the one that wasn’t visible, wondered,
Where’s Pippy? I could lick her all right and make her tick.
He groaned. If only.

How did she do that? Get inside his head or heart? Why couldn’t he shake the vision of her deep blue eyes or still smell her scent on his soul? This had never happened. Jet lag. It had to be. Didn’t it?

Inside the restaurant’s bar, he scoped out the best seat to see who sauntered in, to see if he would indeed get lucky here tonight or have to search elsewhere. He settled easily into his chair and made idle chitchat with the barkeep, until a woman wearing tarantula eyelashes that looked ready to crawl off her bounced in with a much-too-perky set of breasts he could happily smother within. She shoved the gelatinous knockers in his face and winked. He actually had to back up to see her.

Things
were
looking up.

“Penny for your thoughts.”

He gave the brassy brunette his best-practiced transparent grin knowing he could do better, but what the heck? Ethan dug deep into his pocket and fished out the penny he’d found from the sidewalk then handed her the coin and kept his thoughts to himself.

The tall, buxom woman flashed him yellow, stained teeth. They screamed for the underappreciated skills of a dentist with his drills, chisels and happy gas. Would he need happy gas to get through this night with her? Couldn’t hurt! Ethan did his best to ignore her mouth, paying complete attention to her, roughly eight inches southward. He now understood the phrase silicon valley.

The girl’s panties are probably one steamy mess
. He wasn’t being arrogant—all right, maybe a bit, but he had that effect on woman all the time. He’d come to trust his instincts that he could and would get any woman he ever wanted.

After two drinks and appetizers, Ethan looped his arm through Trixie’s. Then he worried her name referenced her profession? Turning tricks? Diseased came to mind, but it didn’t stop him. His visible head was no longer calling the shots. With Ethan’s free arm he grabbed their dinners and headed toward the exit. About to say something to the possible tart
,
Ethan took a sudden vow of silence. He’d been
very
hasty in his choice of women.

A vision, no a goddess, breezed into the restaurant with black curls blowing around her face as she came in from the windy street. Sun beams cast a golden haze around her and left her to look like a life-sized angel.

His!

The tailored, white two-piece silk suit graciously clung to her body and revealed every finite point Ethan wanted to trace with his tongue. She wore nothing under the jacket and that suited him just fine. Her breasts were full, voluptuous,
all-natural
and in serious need of his uninterrupted raptness. He decided it must have been cooler in the restaurant because her nipples pressed tightly into the silk. He wanted them pressed between his teeth. When she took off her sunglasses, he stepped backwards. Her deep-blue, flaming eyes warmed the room. All that was missing was the fireplace and the bear skin rug with them entangled in one another’s body parts. She stood his height, if not a tad bit taller, five-eleven or even six-foot in flip-flops. No pretense. He liked that. She wore what God gave her proudly. Her hips were slim and her legs long. Doing his once-over, he had trouble picking out which spot to stare at. Her lush lips had a perfect pout that needed to be kissed off her face. Black lace eyelashes covered her cheeks. Suddenly, all he wanted covering her was him. “Holy mother of God,” he said, his eyes drawn back to the flip-flops and blinding-pink nail polish. “It can’t be.”

And then there were her two bodyguards. Ethan stepped backward again, took in their sizes and gulped down the salmon appetizer attempting to swim upstream.

His palms turned sweaty, his pulse picked up and he wet his lips just like a woman when she realized she had a man’s attentions. One of the men had to have been cloned from Goliath. He stood six-foot-four or better, muscles spread across him like concrete road maps. A stream of professions went through Ethan’s head, from bodyguard to pro-wrestler to hit man to center-fold for
Play Girl Magazine
, he was that freakin’ pretty. Jet-black curls flowed freely down his back and accented his deep-blue almost black eyes. And he had the same pouty lips as Pippy. Shit, Ethan mused, if he swung both ways he would’ve tried for them both.