We Were One Once Book 1 (25 page)

Anderson Valley: Simon
Lamb

“You’re beautiful,
sweetheart.” I kiss Red’s hand, walking with her down the curved
stairs. She’s in a long red dress. It’s not as flashy as the one I
first saw her in, but it’s just as form fitting, showing off all of
her body. The low neckline doesn’t leave any doubt that she still
prefers to go without undergarments, but the high back hides the
marks from my favorite whip. She knows I prefer those to be for my
eyes only.

“My cousin will want to
fuck you.” She smiles wickedly at that. I slap her ass hard, and
she laughs her deep throat filling laugh she knows I love. I kiss
her neck before she stops, growling against her, “Behave, or I’ll
have Grace take your place tonight.”

She pouts, pushing her red
lip out as an invitation to bite. When I don’t take the bait, she
shrugs, moving away from me and over to the drinks set on a table.
“You promised. You said I would be better company around your
cousin.”

“I
said
you’d have more fun with Cary
than Grace would.” She turns to face me again and smiles like I
just agreed with her. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll let you fuck him.
Or any other man, Red.” This reminds me. “One last thing. For
tonight…your name is Scarlet.” She raises her eyebrows for a
second, then shrugs once more.

This also reminds me to try
to get her real name out of her again. The frustration is starting
to wear on me, but I return her smile, just watching her move. I’ve
spent every minute of every day around her for four weeks now, and
Grace has only given me a few details about herself, nothing from
before her arrival in San Francisco. Red has been even more
tight-lipped.

Watching the sway of her
hips under the dress, I can’t blame myself for being distracted
though. Sex has been insane. Ha, that’s an understatement. It’s
almost like a threesome at times, switching between what Grace
likes and what Red craves, with only the barest pause between the
two. All of my own needs have been met, more than I ever thought
possible.

I’ve joked that they almost
seem to fight over me in bed. That joke didn’t go over well with
either of them. I rub my chin absentmindedly, still feeling where
Red’s head hit me when she tried to indignantly jump out of bed a
few days ago. She laughed and said I deserved worse for bringing up
Grace while with her. I laughed too since it had been Grace in my
bed only a second before.

And I’m still shocked at
how calmly I’ve accepted all of this. I’ve gotten so used to the
switching back and forth that I don’t even notice it. I’m able to
anticipate her changes, and she’s able to anticipate my
needs.

Her past is still a mystery
to me, but
she
no
longer is. None of her five versions are.

Grace is all soft and
yielding. I hold my breath more when I’m with her, like the
slightest shift in atmosphere could cause her pain. No. Not pain,
she doesn’t feel any. More like she’s so sensitive to everything
and everyone around her that I want to bubble wrap her against the
world. I feel more protective of her than I do even for the version
that draws all over my breakfast table each morning.

I chuckle thinking about
the raised brows from my staff when I only laughed at the first
artistic alterations to my furniture. That table has been in my
family for longer than I’ve been alive. I don’t give a shit. My
first thought when I looked down at the scribbles and scrawl marks
on the inlaid surface was how like a winemaker my Little Grace is.
She took something hard and unmoving and brought it to life—remade
it into something to be used and enjoyed, not just admired or
preserved.

She’s done that with
everything, twisted it all around so I can’t remember what it was
like to not have her here.

The version of her I think
of as Miss Smartypants Grace has made herself at home in my office,
surrounded by books and computer programs. She makes me wait in the
dining room each night for her to come down with her daily
predictions for me. Most of it is a rundown of the day’s events,
but every once in a while, she throws in a prediction for some
future date. She said last night’s was about today. It had
something to do with unfamiliar waters and important
choices.
There’s
another understatement.

The doorbell rings, and I
walk into my foyer to meet Cary just as the door is opened. I was
surprised when I got his call yesterday. I’ve not avoided him, but
I’ve turned down all of his requests to visit me in San Francisco
lately. I haven’t mentioned Grace either.

When he said that he wanted
to come here, I couldn’t think of a reason to say no; I could think
of five reasons. I laugh to myself, but I may as well get it over
with. I have no idea how long this thing with Grace will last, but
I know that I want her to meet my family.

And that’s batshit crazy
coming from me. Talk about unfamiliar waters.

We hug and I pull Cary
towards the grand hall quickly. “I want you to meet someone.” He
raises his brows. I stop him with a hand to his chest. “No. Not
like that. She’s not a product.” He raises his brows even higher,
but I ignore this.

We walk past a table with a
big vase of fresh cut roses. I smirk at these, just another example
of Grace exasperating my staff of late. This time it was the
version I think of as Hellcat Grace. I found her out in the garden
yesterday, chopping at the roses in a fit. I just stood and watched
as she grunted and went at the petal heads like they were royal
lineage in Robespierre’s France. She exhausted herself quickly, the
clippers tossed with a loud clang to the bricked
pathway.

Still, I just watched to see
what she would do next. Try to clean up and hide what she’d done?
Kick the petals around? Start speaking in tongues and spew green
soup? I didn’t know, but it came as no shock to me by then that
I
wanted
to know.
I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’m obsessed with knowing
every part of her.

Hellcat just turned to me
like she knew I was there the whole time. She sort of grinned at
me. At least, I think she did. She was gone too quickly for me to
be sure. Grace replaced her, and the tears she started to shed for
all the lost flowers was enough to have me pulling her into my arms
before my feet even stopped moving toward her. I shushed and held
her until Grace finally believed that I didn’t care about silly
flowers. I only cared about her.

I didn’t let Grace pick up
the severed blooms; her hands would’ve been a bloody mess from all
the thorns. Instead, I let her arrange them in the vase when the
gardening staff brought them in. She smelled like roses when we
went to bed.

I’m brought out of my
thoughts by Cary whistling when we enter my main sitting room. Red
turns around to smile at him. “You must be Cary, the sweet cousin
that Simon thinks will try to charm the panties off me.” Cary
laughs. I don’t. I give her a warning look, but she ignores me,
walking forward to shake hands with him.

“I’ll certainly do my
best.”

Red leans into him a little
more. “Good thing for you, I don’t wear any.” They laugh together
like old friends. I can see my cousin eye fucking her, looking her
up and down and not letting go of her hand.

The irrational kind of
anger that I don’t normally feel chokes me. Hell, I never feel this
way except around her. I have a desire to order her back upstairs,
to lock her in my room. Fuck that. Lock her in the cave.

But I haven’t shown her
that yet. I haven’t wanted to scare her, not that anything scares
Red. It might scare Grace, though, or the others.

This thought calms me a
little. I clear my throat, and Cary finally lets her hand go. She
walks over to the drinks and grabs one for each of us. She brings
mine over to me with her most wicked grin. I give her another
warning look. She puts her arm in mine and smiles more sweetly, not
Grace’s sweet smile but a sarcastic version of it.

I lean over to whisper in
her ear. “Behave yourself, Red. I’ve not had to give you a
punishment whipping yet, but you’re well on your way to earning one
tonight.”

She smiles brighter.
“Promises, promises.”

“So, how did you two meet?”
Cary interrupts us, stepping closer and giving me a strange look. I
know I won’t hear the end of his questions until he has every
detail. Well, every detail that I’m willing to give him
anyway.

I’m saved by the bell this
time though. My doorbell chime has Cary putting down his drink and
moving towards the foyer again. I frown at him. “Expecting
someone?”

Cary sheepishly smiles at
me. “Yes, I’ll explain in a second, cuz.” He disappears towards the
foyer. Red shrugs and heads to the drink she left on the table. I
turn to the door just as Cary walks in with a tall, dark haired
man. He’s about my age, thin but muscular, expensively
dressed.

Cary starts talking fast,
introducing the guy before they’ve even reached me. “I didn’t get a
chance to tell my cousin about your interest in a particular
product he might be able to obtain for you.” Cary nods to me, doing
a poor job of trying to act like he’s not talking in code while he
obviously is. “I’m sure you can better describe your needs
anyway.”

The man smiles at me, but I
can see that his eyes are on Red behind me, obviously looking her
up and down. That pit of anger is back, and I shoot a glare at
Cary. He pushes himself in closer to us. “Simon, meet Miles
Vanderson.”

Thank you for reading “we
were one once, book 1.”

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The story concludes with
book 2, available for download now: