Take Me Back (10 page)

You make a snorting sound, holding in a laugh.

“For now,” Beck says. “She’s not so bad.”

“For the devil,” I say, and wink at him.

“The devil you know…,” he says, laughing.

“Better than the devil you don’t,” you say, finishing for him.

I roll my eyes. “Great reason to stay in a relationship.”

You nudge my hip. “You might be a little biased in this conversation.”

I purse my lips. “Possibly.”

“Well, come down here. I’ll drive us back to the hotel. The Nelsons want to share a drink with the two of you before I take them to the airport.”

*

“To the happy couple,” you say, standing and holding up a champagne flute in a toast. “May the next fifty years be as wonderful as the last.” The clink of our glasses harmonizes with the tinkling of the fountain behind us.

Mr. Nelson lets out a deep, throaty laugh as we drink. “The last were a chore.” He kisses Mrs. Nelson on the cheek. “Worth every second, but I’ll tell you”—he nods to his wife—“and she’ll agree, marriage is no easy task.”

You take your seat beside me and thread your fingers with mine under the table.

“No,” Mrs. Nelson says, “not easy at all. With raising kids and financial worries, then when you get older, the health problems start.” She gazes at her husband with a concerned expression that leads me to believe he’s not a healthy man.

Mr. Nelson leans forward and sets his fist on the table, a determined focus fills his hazy blue eyes. “Hold on to what brought you together. Never lose it. That’s what gets you through the hard times.”

You and I look at each other. There’s no one else for me. I know you feel the same. There’s so much I want to say, but it’ll keep until we’re alone.

“And never doubt,” Mrs. Nelson says. “Hold on to what you know to be true. Listen to your heart. It knows.”

MJ and Maddie stop outside the patio gate. “What’s going on?” MJ says. “Are we interrupting?”

“Do we look that serious, son?” Mr. Nelson says and waves them in. “Just giving this young couple some advice.”

“Are we too late?” Maddie asks.

“I think you’ve already learned this lesson,” I tell her. “You two are old pros by now.”

MJ wraps his arms around Maddie from behind. “Yeah, we might not have fifty years under our belts yet, but Mads will always be my best friend first.”

Mrs. Nelson points a finger at MJ. “Exactly. Smart boy.”

Even MJ and Maddie have this relationship thing down better than us. We keep tripping and stumbling along, but the important part is we stumble along together. “I’ll never give up,” I whisper, leaning my head on your shoulder.

You kiss the top of my head. “You’ll never need to.”

“There’s been nothing,” Maddie says, sitting on Ingrid’s steam trunk in the lounge.

It’s been three weeks since we brought the silver cup to Turtle Tear, and nobody has had any strange experiences with Ingrid’s spirit at the Weston Plantation.

“I think she’s here,” she says, patting the top of the trunk. “She just wanted her belongings back here at the hotel.”

I glance at the cup gleaming from its prominent spot on the mantel. I feel her here, but I’m not going to say it out loud. I know how crazy it would sound. She’s home, though. Her energy is spread throughout the island, woven among the trees and tall grass. It blows with the breeze.

She’s at peace.

“We have a package,” you say, strolling down the hallway into the lounge with a plate of key lime pie propped on top of a brown box. You plop down on the couch next to me. “From The Nelsons.”

“Open it.” I scoot closer, relieving you of your pie and watch you break through the packing tape and open the box while savoring a tart bite.

Inside there’s a letter and, wrapped in tissue paper, a fat off-white candle with lavender lace encircling the bottom. You hand me the candle. It’s old and has been lit before, the wick black and splayed, the hard wax bowed and dripping down one side.

You unfold the letter and begin to read:

I look up from the page and realize Maddie has snuck out of the room. I’m glad, because I need to be alone with you right now. I need to hold you and feel your arms wrapped around me.

You set the letter aside and take the candle and pie plate out of my hands, placing them on the coffee table. “Come here,” you say, pulling me onto your lap. “We’ll put that candle in the bedroom of the tree house, and I promise you I will talk to you and I will listen with an open heart and mind and believe whatever you tell me.”

I hold your face between my hands and caress your cheeks with my thumbs. “I want fifty years.”

You lips curve into a relieved smile. “That’s not long enough.” I laugh as you dip me back on the couch and press your lips to mine. “Promises have to be sealed with kisses,” you say.

My heart is full to the point of bursting. “Then I’ll be kissing you forever, because that’s what I’m promising.”

You gaze down at me with a somber, almost reverent expression. “Rachael, I will strive to earn forever with you. It’s more than I can ever ask you for, and it’s all I ever think about.” You stroke the ring finger on my left hand. “Someday,” you whisper, sealing the promise with a kiss.

USA Today bestselling author of Taken and its sequel, the novella No Takebacks, Kelli Maine watches entirely too much reality TV, which led to her compulsion to write dramatic romance novels. Blessed with a unique ability to bond with difficult people, she’s convinced she could win Big Brother. Her deathly fear of heights would keep her from completing half of the detours on The Amazing Race, and she’s shocked nobody has ever penned The Survivor Diet Plan: Eat One Cup of Rice for Thirty-Nine Days and Lose Fifty Pounds! 

Kelli loves hearing from readers! Find her on Twitter @KelliMaine, on her blog: www.kellimaine.blogspot.com, and on Facebook and Goodreads. Kelli loves hearing from readers! Find her on Twitter @KelliMaine, on her blog:
www.kellimaine.blogspot.com
, and on Facebook and Goodreads.

Read the book that started

the erotic journey of a lifetime…

See the next page for an excerpt from

Taken

Three months later…

T
he club is packed. Bodies grind together on the dance floor. There’s barely room to move. You catch my eye.

You’re alone.

Bass pounds through my body, rushes from my head to my toes, takes the same path your eyes follow. Your dark-eyed stare is flutter-soft on my skin. It raises goose bumps. Makes me flush. My vodka and cranberry-soaked blood runs hot with need.

You smile. Dimples pierce your cheeks. Your eyes flash. I can’t resist.

“Rach!” Shannon grabs my arm. She’s sweaty from dancing and pulls her blonde hair up off her shoulders. “I’m going.” She tilts her head toward Shawn or Shane or Seth—I’m not sure—the guy she met two hours ago.

“How am I supposed to get home?” She drove.

Shannon shoves her car keys in my hand. “See you in the morning.” She winks and pushes back through the crowd toward the guy whose name starts with an S.

When I turn from watching Shannon go, you’re standing right in front of me. “Hi,” you say. Familiarity strikes, but I don’t think I’d ever forget meeting you.

“Hi.” I fall into your dark eyes and can’t get out. They’re serious and focused on mine. Looking away would be a crime.

You run a hand through your wavy black-brown hair. Are you nervous? I can’t tell. “What were you drinking?” You tap my glass, empty except for melting ice.

“Vodka and cranberry.” I take in a thick, damp breath. Dancing bodies fog up the air, make it heavy to breathe.

You shake your beer bottle, indicating its emptiness. “I’m headed to the bar. Would you like another?”

I have to drive Shannon’s car home, but I don’t want to stop talking to you. I nod. “Please.” I’ll drink slowly. I’ll drive even slower.

I follow behind you, taking in the view of your incredible backside in jeans. A black long-sleeved shirt shifts with your strong, wide shoulders and hugs your narrow waist. You work out.
A lot.
The body I’m staring at didn’t come from luck and a good gene pool.

You glance back to make sure I’m following. When a group of people push between us, you reach out and take my hand. My fingers curl around yours like they’re possessed.

We reach the bar. You squeeze between two men. I stand back to wait while you order. I watch you reach into your pocket. A second later, you turn to me and hand me a glass.

“Thanks.” I take a deep drink, ignoring my self-promise to sip and make it last. Looking at you, I need all the courage this vodka is offering.

You sip your beer, watching me. An intense magnetism pulls between us. I’m sweating. I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand. The vodka is kicking in fast. I stumble sideways. You grip my arm.

“Feeling okay?” you ask.

The room spins and tilts. Black spots swim through my vision. “No. I need to sit.” My drink slips through my fingers and splatters on my bare leg.

“I’ve got you.” You put an arm around me and lead me toward the door. “You need some air.”

I’m blacking out and coming to, over and over again. This has never happened from three and a half vodka and cranberries before. “I need to get home.”

“I’ll take you,” you say.

“No. I…” The words won’t come. They buzz around in the darkness inside my mind searching for the light. I watch them break apart and fade.

You usher me through the parking lot. Open the door of a black car. Put me inside. “We’ll be home soon,” you say, buckling a seatbelt around my waist.

I try to grip the door handle to get out. My arm won’t move. My head lulls on my shoulder. The blackness narrows, leaving a small tunnel focused on the dashboard. Then it closes completely.

No more words.

No more light.

No more sound.

Just like that—I’m taken.

The erotic adventure takes its most turbulent turn…

See the next page for an excerpt from

Taken by Storm

T
he soles of MJ’s boots echoing off the concrete driveway sounded like drum beats in his head. A raging, metal death band soundtrack to his shit life. He reached his car—a black ’68 Camaro convertible bought with blood money from his grandfather—and tossed his duffel bag in the backseat.

“Don’t tell me you’re running away again.”

Her voice sparked chills up his back. MJ turned and looked, but could only see a cloud of cigarette smoke lingering under the garage light. “Stay out of my business,” he said into the darkness.

Her deep, sultry chuckle sank inside his ears and made him close his eyes. That laugh. So many nights… that laugh in the dark, under the sheets. God, how he’d ached for her when she left.

“I thought you quit smoking,” he said, despite himself. Why could he never walk away from her?

Maddie slipped around the corner from the side of the garage and leaned against the door. He could just make out the faint red shine of her lips. Her dark hair loose around her shoulders. The predatory gleam in her eye. “Old habits die hard.”

MJ let out a sharp laugh. “Not all of them.” He opened
the car door and got behind the wheel. There was no way he’d stay and get lured into her bed again. No way he’d go through that kind of torture when she took off on him.

Never again.

Maddie had been his addiction, his drug, and he intended to stay clean. Clean, but not sober. The only place he wanted to be was at the bottom of a bottle of Jack Daniel’s.

He fumbled with his keys, giving her one too many seconds to cross the driveway and reach his car. “The first time you ran away,” she said, laying her hands on top of his car door, “you got as far as Coach’s house. That time it was my fault because I spent two weeks of our summer at sleep-away camp and abandoned you here alone. Is it my fault this time too?”

Jesus, she was wearing that perfume—the one that smelled like vanilla and spice.

He remembered that summer. Two whole weeks without Maddie. She was the only bright spot in his life back then. His best friend, before she became even more.

His grandfather, Enzo Rocha, The Puppet Master, had kept MJ under his care and his thumb since he was born. MJ had been shipped from nanny to private boarding school, then another boarding school and another when he got kicked out for fighting, but he was never wanted under
this
roof—his grandfather’s roof—this fucking mansion of a house where his grandfather would never even have had to see his face if he didn’t want to. MJ’s stays had been limited to short visits during summer and winter breaks.

And Maddie had always been there. The house manager’s
daughter. Four years older and wiser. Four years more experienced—a college girl when he was in high school. It was Maddie who had taken his virginity and his heart. It was Maddie who had destroyed his trust and ruined him for any other girl.