The Seraphina Donavan Collection: Contemporary (5 page)

She chuckled. “Yoda isn't exactly romantic.”

“I'm tired of pretending I don't want you, and I'm tired of trying and failing to keep my distance. I can't resist you, and I don't want to anymore.”

She let out a deep shuddering breath, her eyes going misty with unshed tears. “Now that
was
romantic.”

Sliding his hand into her hair, he tugged her head back. “Good. Cause I'm all out of romance now...Now, I just want to fuck you again, until neither of us can walk.”

“On one condition...You have to be naked too. No secrets and no hiding.”

Morgan rose from the bed and with some trepidation shucked his jeans.

~*~*~

Lexi stared at him for the longest time, trying desperately to school her face into an expression that didn't show how horrified she felt. The word 'scarred' didn’t do justice to what’d been done to him. There were sections of muscle that were simply missing, the skin stretched so taut over them that it hurt to look at it. There were scars from the injuries themselves and they were too numerous to count. Layered over them were surgical scars. From his hip down there wasn't a single part of his leg that wasn't effected.

“I can't imagine how much pain you're in—This isn't the kind of injury that you just recover from. You have to hurt every day.” Even as she said it, she was fighting tears.

He climbed back into the bed with her, pulling her close. Feeling his strong arms around her, how tightly he held her, she snuggled up against him.

“That's why I didn't want you to see...I used to feel guilty. I'd complain about hurting, then I'd tell myself that at least I was alive to feel it, to suck it up and stop whining.”

“Oh, Morgan!”

“I know. Well, I do now. I'm okay with this. I just need to know that it doesn't change how you see me.”

Touching his face gently, feeling the rasp of his whiskered cheek beneath her palm, she kissed him deeply then pulled her lips away. “It does change the way I see you. It makes me realize just how strong you are.”

He touched her face gently, tracing the tears that fell before kissing her forehead in a sweet, tender gesture. “I hurt you. I didn't mean to. You're beautiful and anyone who can't see that is a fucking idiot.”

Lexi placed her hands flat on his chest, pushing him back onto the bed. Leaning over him, she kissed his mouth, sliding her tongue between his lips. The earlier desperation had abated. The kiss now became slow, languorous. The crisp hair on his chest teased her nipples, still tender from his earlier attentions.

Leaving his lips, she kissed his jaw, his neck, moving down the hard planes of his chest and stomach. His cock jutted upward, thick and hard. Stroking one finger along the underside, she traced the thick vein from the tip, down to the base, and then over velvety skin of his sac, before gently cupping the tight spheres.

He let out a harsh breath in response. “Lexi, you're killing me.”

“Well, we can't have that, now can we?” Before he could even register what she'd said, Lexi closed her mouth over the plum shaped head, swirling her tongue over him, tasting the salty essence of him.

His hands came up, his fingers threading through her hair, tugging gently but firmly, urging her to take him deeper.

Lexi complied eagerly, savoring the taste of him, the feel of his hard length sliding over her tongue.

His hips moved off the bed, his cock thrusting between her lips.

Forcing her jaw to relax, Lexi took as much of him as she could, sucking deeply. Wrapping her hand around the base, marveling at how thick he was, she continued working her mouth over him, massaging him with her lips and tongue, and occasionally nipping gently with her teeth.

“No more! Jesus Christ,” he uttered hoarsely.

Allowing his cock to slip from her lips with a loud pop, she grinned at his harsh groan. “You don't like it?” she teased.

“I fucking love it—but if you don't stop, this is going to end very quickly.”

“I want to taste you,” she urged before swirling her tongue over the engorged head of him again.

His cock leapt and pulsed against her lips as he shook his head. “One day very soon, I'm gonna take you up on that. For now, I want to be inside you again.”

Lexi wasn't prepared for his next move. Somehow, she wound up on the bed, face down and he was kneeling behind her. “How the hell did you do that?”

He leaned over her, whispering hotly against her ear, “No more talking...unless you're screaming my name.” His hands closed over hers, moving them to the wrought iron headboard, wrapping her fingers around the slender spindles at the center. “Stay just like that.”

Lexi grasped the intricate wrought iron until her knuckles were white. She shivered in anticipation, feeling him move behind her, the head of his cock nudging her entrance. Then he was guiding his cock into her, his fingers digging into her hips. The feeling was so intense, the penetration so deep, she pressed her face against the pillow, a harsh moan escaping her.

It wasn't lovemaking. It was too primal for that. He wasn't gentle, but to her surprise, Lexi didn't want him to be. While he pounded into her, each stroke more forceful than the last, she did scream his name. The tension was building inside her, coiling deep, her body trembling with the climb. She hovered there for a moment, poised on the brink of intense pleasure. When his palm connected sharply with her behind, heat bloomed on her tender flesh, spreading to the place where their bodies joined.

Lexi gasped with both shock and pleasure. When he repeated the gesture, she was, if not prepared, at least eagerly anticipating the infusion of heat. He thrust into her, deep, hard, and held her there until the tension finally broke. Her body shook with the force of her orgasm, her sheath clamping tightly around his rigid length as he pulsed inside her.

Collapsing onto the bed, Lexi tried to control the shivers that still wracked her body with the aftershocks of her climax.

Morgan held onto her, wrapping his arms around her, holding her close to him.

It felt so perfect and so right that it terrified her. “If you tell me this was a mistake, I swear to God, I'll let Ashley murder you,” she whispered.

He chuckled, the sound still breathless and ragged. “Could we not talk about your sister at a time like this?”

Lexi smiled, savoring the feel of his large hands coasting over her back, her hip, before gently massaging her stinging bottom. She'd never understood the allure of spanking, but he'd certainly opened her eyes to that. “Fine. No more talk of she who shall not be named.” She then felt his lips on her neck, just below her ear and he kissed her there.

After the kiss, he s aid softly, “I don't care if it's a mistake. I'm not letting you go again.”

Snuggling deeper into his embrace, she smiled. “Ditto.”

EPILOGUE

Six Months Later

M
organ entered the shop quietly. Lexi was in the middle of a cake consultation and he'd learned the hard way that the term bridezilla was not to be taken lightly.

She smiled at him from the small table where she conducted those stress fueled meetings. Her smile for the bride and disinterested groom was genuine, as was her interest when the bride continued to say that she would know what she wanted when she saw it.

He listened intently as Lexi asked the woman a series of questions about the theme of the wedding, all the while doodling on a small sketchpad. By the time the conversation was finished, the cake design done, the bride was ecstatic and the groom looked relieved to be getting home in time for the playoffs.

Waiting until they vacated the shop, he crossed to her, pressing a soft kiss to her lips, then asked,, “How the hell do you do that?” It never ceased to amaze him that he could just kiss her whenever he wanted. He could come in from his job every day, kiss the woman of his dreams and sit back in relative comfort.

“I just listen,” she answered with a smile. “You're in a good mood today.”

He was. It had started with slow, lazy morning sex and Lexi moaning his name as she came apart for him. Days didn't get any better than that, or at least not often. Feeling the small velvet box in his pocket, he decided it was time. He'd been carrying it around for a week, waiting for the right moment. “You know I was so uncomfortable the first time I came in here—I felt like a bull in a china shop.”

“You got over that pretty quickly. Now you're stealing cookies and cupcakes on a regular basis.”

He grinned. “You should at least pretend, for the sake of my ego, that you didn’t know about it...I was special ops, for the love of god.”

“You don't exactly conceal your crimes,” she quipped. “I can taste the frosting when you kiss me.”

“About that...I have some interesting ideas for alternative uses of your frosting.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him. “I'm listening.”

He settled his hands on her waist, pulling her close to him, letting her feel what simply being near her did to him. “It's more of a demonstration...But first, I've got a very important question to ask you.”

She leaned against him with her hands pressed against his chest. “What's that?”

Morgan pulled the ring box from his pocket, and moving carefully, got down on one knee. “Marry me?”

Lexi stared down at him for the longest moment, her face a mask of shock.

As the moment stretched on, the quiet became deafening and fear twisted his gut. “Say something, Lex. Yes, no, go to hell—something.”

“Yes.”

It came out as a mere whisper, barely audible, but he took it anyway. Removing the ring from the box, the diamond wasn't overly large, but the vintage setting made him think of her. “That was a yes. You're going to marry me and make pretty red-headed babies.”

She laughed. “So, how soon were you thinking about babies?”

“After we get married...after the house is finished.” He'd begun building the house whenever he wasn't working on anything else. It was slow going, but he'd have it done in another month or so.

“In that case, you better speed up the building. By my calculations, we've got until August.”

Morgan stared at her in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

She laughed. “We've been having sex for months without using any kind of protection. What do you think I'm talking about?”

It took him a moment to process what she'd just said. Then he laughed. There were no words to describe the joy and elation that filled him. Lexi was having his baby. “Uncle Jess and Aunt Margo had their hearts set on a huge wedding, but I think a baby shower might distract them.” Morgan kissed her again, pulling her close.

When he'd come back to Falls Creek, all he'd thought about was the life and career he'd left behind. He never would’ve believed that he was only making room for new and better things. “I love you, Lexi Flynn
soon to be Donnelly.”

“I love you, Morgan Donnelly, even if you were almost my brother-in-law.”

He winced, prompting a laugh from her. That soft musical sound never failed to stir him. “Go upstairs and get naked. I'll lock the door.”

Lexi walked towards the kitchen and the staircase that originally brought them together. “Morgan?”

“Yes?” he asked, turning the closed sign around on the front door before glancing over his shoulder at her.

“Don't forget the frosting,” she reminded him with a wink and then sauntered off.

Morgan stood where he was for a moment, a million erotic scenarios flitting through his mind, before he followed her into the kitchen. He stopped only long enough to grab one of the plastic piping bags filled with butter cream frosting. Whatever forces that aligned to spare his life and bring him home, he was thankful.

THE END

Good Luck Charm

By

Seraphina Donavan

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places, businesses, and incidents are from the author’s imagination, or they are used fictitiously and are definitely fictionalized. Any trademarks or pictures herein are not authorized by the trademark owners and do not in any way mean the work is sponsored by or associated with the trademark owners. Any trademarks or pictures used are specifically in a descriptive capacity.

©August 2014, Seraphina Donavan

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form (electronic or print) without permission from the author. Except for excerpts embodied in reviews.

CHAPTER ONE

D
ixie Claiborne eased the protesting behemoth of a car toward the shoulder of the deserted highway and refused to give into the tears or the tantrum that threatened. The two women in the backseat were still bickering, and while it wasn’t necessarily good natured, their squabbles never lasted long.

“I told you we should have taken the Camry!” Her grandmother said sharply. Irma Claiborne was nothing if not direct.

Her sister, Frances
“Frankie” Doyle, scoffed in protest. “Who drives a Camry to Graceland? This Cadillac was given to me by Elvis himself!”

No. It hadn’t been. Gladys, the Caddy, had actually been bought by Frankie with her disability settlement. But Frankie liked to think that Elvis had given it to her and in terms of most of her delusions, this one did the least harm. She also liked to think lining her windows with tin foil would keep the government from spying on her. Frankie was, and always had been, bat shit crazy.

Irma snorted in derision, the sound almost lost between the chugging coughs of the engine. As if on cue, the engine let out an ominous groan and a puff of dark smoke. Dixie
’
s answering sigh was equal parts exasperation and exhaustion. They were somewhere northwest of Tupelo and somewhere southeast of Tunica, but in terms of desolation, it might as well have been the moon.

The only lights were miles away with nothing in between but dark stretches of highway and the eerie sensation of being watched by the glowing eyes of local wildlife. Fishing her cellphone out of her bag, she stared at the signal, or the lack of one.
Of course. Trapped in B.F.E. with a blind septuagenarian and a woman who thinks the Kennedy assassination involved a UFO. Great. Fantastic.

Looking down at her very new and very expensive shoes, it was not going to be a kind journey. “Okay, you two wait here and I
’
ll go see if I can find help.”

“
NO! You can
’
t go out there all alone!” The protest had come from Irma.

Frankie clearly had no concerns about it as long as she didn’t have to go.

Ignoring them both, Dixie got out of the car. “
I don’
t have a choice. I can see lights in the distance. There must be a town there. I can at least maybe get cell service there and call for a tow truck.”

From the trunk, she retrieved her flashlight and freed her small thing of mace from the keychain. She was less concerned about rapists than rabid possums given their present location, but mace would work for both, she hoped.

Setting out, Dixie was about a hundred yards from the car when the doubt crept in. It was so dark. Every sound made her jump. A moth flew into her, fluttering around her face for a moment. She yelped like a scalded dog, dancing and flailing around like a fool.

A loud roar in the distance and the growing arc of approaching headlights brought a strange mixture of comfort and fear. Yes, there were people. But could they be trusted?

From the sound of the engine, whatever it was had to be huge. Maybe a semi? Or sweet lord above, a tow truck?

Apprehensive and hopeful, she lifted the flashlight and began to wave her arms in the air, drawing the driver
’
s attention.

The vehicle slowed as it approached. Not a tow truck, just a truck, an old one, with no muffler and what appeared to be antlers of some sort attached to the front of it. The window rolled down, and the driver let out a low “
woo-hoo"
followed immediately by, “
Damn baby
!”
, before tossing out his beer can and driving on
.

“Fuck,” Dixie whispered into the darkness. Even though her grandmother was yards back, Dixie still wouldn’t say that word in front of her.

It was only moments later that another set of lights, these blue and flashing approached. The cop slowed down, sped up, slowed down again and then put the cruiser into reverse, backing up until the passenger window was next to her. “Lady, what the hell are you doing out here?”

“My car broke down and I don
’
t have cell service—I was trying to walk into town to get a tow truck.”

The cop sighed heavily. “I
’
ve gotta catch that drunken yahoo that just went by here...But you get on back to your car and I
’
ll send a tow for you.”

If it weren
’
t for the fact that he was closer to Irma
’
s age than hers, with a handlebar mustache that Wilford Brimley would’ve envied, Dixie might’ve kissed him. “Thank you. You have no idea how much I appreciate this!”

“Just get to your car,” he said, then drove off, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake.

*~*~*

Three hours later, Dixie was rethinking her kind words to the cop for the fifteenth time . But those thoughts fled as the tow truck finally appeared, manned by a large hulking beast who probably didn
’
t need the truck to tow the damned Caddy.

After introducing himself as Ernie and apologizing profusely for leaving them out there for so long, he moved with surprising agility and loaded the vehicle onto the flatbed. He even helped hoist the two elderly ladies into the truck, and while he wasn
’
t supposed to allow more than three people in the cab, he couldn
’
t very well just leave Dixie alone in the dark.

It only took another hour before Ernie deposited the Caddy at his father in law
’
s garage and dropped them at the only hotel with availability within a hundred miles of Memphis. The derelict Viva Tupelo on the outskirts of Tunica. From the missing letters on the burned out neon sign and the fact that the only entertainment being offered were impersonators, it was clearly not doing so hot.

“Well, this isn
’
t so bad!
” Frankie exclaimed. “There
’
s an Elvis Tribute Review!”

Dixie was hot, tired, and she wreaked of road dust and sweat. She
’
d been without cell service for nearly seven hours. Not that it mattered and not that he would have texted anyway, but that wasn
’
t the point. She hadn
’
t wanted to come on the damn trip to begin with, but her grandmother and requisite nutball sidekick had insisted she
’
d been obsessing. And while they weren
’
t wrong, it was hardly the place of a woman whose relationship with reality was loose at best to point it out!

Raising both her eyebrows and her voice, Dixie pinned Frankie with a glare.
“Not that bad? Really? Your car just died...epically. Died. Heavenly hosts came down and retrieved it!”

Irma favored her with a cautioning look. “Dixie-Ann, you are overwrought! Calm yourself!”

“I am not overwrought! I am mad as hell! I could have been at home, sleeping peacefully in my bed, in my comfy pj
’
s!”

“Overdosed on Ben & Jerry
’
s, no doubt!” Irma scoffed, but then her tone softened. “He wasn
’
t going to call, baby. I love you, child, more than the breath in my body, but that man did a number on you and you need to let it go...That
’
s why you
’
re here. Now, get us a room and let
’
s get some sleep before we all say things we
’
ll regret!
”

Dixie took the credit card her grandmother thrust at her and moved toward the registration desk. She knew Irma was right. He wasn
’
t calling. It had been over two weeks. All the obsessive phone and email checking in the world wouldn
’
t make that any different. And yes, she
’
d been drowning her sorrows in pints of ice cream and classic movies. But crying into her rocky road while tearfully watching Casablanca had only served to make her jeans tighter and to make her more depressed.

Forcing herself to be polite, even as the bored desk clerk looked at her as if she were something gross on the bottom of his shoe, she completed the lengthy registration process and took the card keys. Turning around to face Irma and Frankie, who were squabbling
again
, probably over her, her breath caught in her throat.

It wasn
’
t possible. But possible or not, she couldn’t deny the truth of what she was seeing with her very own eyes.

He stood there, only twenty feet from her, but dressed in a way she
’
d never imagined. Her mild mannered computer tech guy was dressed in a studded black jumpsuit with his once shaggy dark hair combed back in an all too familiar pompadour. The sideburns were new. The gold, rhinestone encrusted aviator glasses dangling from his ring bedecked fingers were new too. What the hell was going on?

“You son of a bitch!” The words were out, an automatic response, before she could even fully process the fact that the man she
’
d been obsessing about, the man who’d ditched her without a backward glance, without so much as a text or even a,
‘It
’
s not you baby, it
’
s me’
phone call was standing right there, dressed like Elvis.