What She's Looking For (4 page)

Laying it on a little thick
aren’t you, Parker?

He dropped his phone on the dining
room table, shaking his head at the astoundingly small amount of table space
that wasn’t covered in metal parts. Drake was rebuilding the transmission on
his old Dodge, and for some reason he eschewed the nice, big workbench in the
garage for … the dining room table.

Parker knew it was risky to call
her the next morning. It might seem presumptuous, pushy — or just plain
desperate. He didn’t even know what he was going to say as he dialed her
number. But he knew one thing.

He didn’t want her to get away.

Parker had a pretty good idea Drake
was on to her too. Though figuring out what Drake was thinking was about as
easy as finding water in a desert with a divining rod, he thought he picked up
keen interest there. Something he’d never seen him exhibit with Kimber.

Sure, Drake’s girlfriend Kimber was
beautiful and intelligent, but she was missing something. To Parker it was as
obvious as a smack in the mouth what that something was. But sometimes Drake,
for all his powers of observation, tried especially hard not to see certain
things when he didn’t want to.

Parker only wished Drake hadn’t
taken the better part of a year to push the issue with Kimber. Life was short —
and too often he’d seen it cut shorter for those who didn’t deserve it to be.
He just wanted his friend to be happy.

Happiness meant being who you were.
Raw, without filters, veneers, or facades. Just you. A person able to reach
that state can ask for nothing more — unless it’s to reach it with the woman he
loves. Drake thought he’d found it, and Parker was still looking. Erik was too
young and dumb to really know what
it
was — but he was learning.

As Parker spoke to Ashley yesterday,
looking down into those pretty hazel eyes of hers, he saw a depth in them. He
wanted to dive in, explore — claim.

Her.

He knew it was crazy, but looking
at how she stood there, motionless (the only part of her moving was her eyes)
stirred something in him, roused the predator. Maybe it was that way for all
men when they were attracted to a woman. Maybe his was just a slightly
different bent than others’. His was the urge to possess, control — conquer.

Her.

Parker disliked the terms thrown
about for what he was: Dominant, Top, Sadist — whatever. He might be all of
those things, and none of them. He didn’t really care. His was not an urge to
front, to pose, to convince all of his control, his power. The only one he
cared to make sure understood his power and control was one person.

Her.

Maybe Ashley was that girl.

Maybe you’re just in a long dry
spell, Parker.

He stepped out into the crisp late
September morning air. The mornings were the best times to run, when it was
cold and quiet, nobody around. A time to think, or just enjoy being alive. He
and Drake had developed a path that followed the lot lines of Parker’s
property, and it was the perfect mix of hills and flats, open brush and forest.
His land encompassed the better part of fifty acres, so he never had to deal
with anyone else. Just him.

But during the run, he kept coming
back to the same subject.

Ashley.

He was being an idiot, that was for
sure, but he kept picturing those beautiful big eyes looking up into his as she
knelt, naked at his feet, waiting, wanting.

Obeying.

He’d explored his sexuality with
other women of course, but in the most recent years of his life, he’d become
more comfortable with himself. Gone were the days as a young teenager wondering
if he were irretrievably broken, a sicko. The military helped him a lot in that
regard, first and foremost by getting him out of his own damn head. When all
you’re concerned about is saving your own ass, and the asses of your buddies, there’s
little time to be worried about your psycho-sexual development.

Once he’d retired though — such an
odd term for a man not yet even forty years old — he’d had time to figure out
who the hell he was. What he was. And soon he realized he didn’t care about the
what
anymore. He just decided to be Parker. He stopped being afraid of
scaring off girlfriends and started being honest about what he wanted. A few
broke it off, and a few (shockingly, to him) were quite
non-disturbed
by
his revelations. He’d even had one tell him, “That’s called being a man. We
women generally like that.” That had been Sandra, and for a time, he’d
considered marrying her. But soon, they’d drifted apart, not bitterly so, just
in the way people sometimes do, gravitating toward different paths in life.
They’d parted amicably, her last gift to him the name and address for a place
in Seattle. It was called Sanctum.

A rather banal name, he’d thought
at first, assuming it was nothing more than a dance club. It turned out to be quite
a bit more than that, however, and there he’d lost himself in the temporary
pleasures, the blissful distractions of a BDSM club. Then one night he’d
recognized the bruiser of a man working as head of security at Sanctum.

He was a man who’d once saved
Parker’s life. His name was Drake Woodson.

Parker stopped to catch his breath
at the highest point of his property. It was a rocky precipice that overlooked
the breathtaking expanse of Lake Chelan, far below the ridge. He stooped, hands
on his knees as he breathed deeply, the scent of sagebrush and scotch broom
mixed with the pines that dotted the hillside and most of his land. He would
always love that smell, the memories of his childhood in this part of Washington. He was glad he’d come back after his discharge, and he knew he’d never leave it
again.

He started back on the return leg
that skirted the western edge of his land, snaking through the thick Lodgepole
pine and Douglas fir that made it all but impassable for anything larger than
an elk. The darkness of the tree stand lent an even stronger blanket of quiet
and calm to the cold morning air. His lungs burned from the harshness of the
cold, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. Burning lungs meant you were
alive, could feel. There was a time he wasn’t sure about either one.

Trudging back up the steps of the
front porch, he dropped down onto the top step, his long hands hanging loosely
over his bent knees. The pleasant exhaustion following a good run was the best
part. To be wrung out, spent, looking forward to a long hot shower.

(Always better with your little
Ashley)

It was fortunate he was sitting,
for the thought had him almost instantly erect. Another side effect of running;
not the perverted mind of course — that was congenital — but the physical … responsiveness.
The runner’s high was more than a mental state for him. It had a physical
manifestation too.

Sandra had known about the effect
running sometimes had on him, and occasionally she took advantage of it. One
morning as he walked back into his bedroom, peeling off his sweat soaked
t-shirt, he’d been stopped in his tracks by the bewitching sight of a naked
Sandra bent over the foot of his bed, her shapely little bottom in the air.
Beside her on the mattress was her paddle and two condoms. He’d used the
condoms last.

As he stepped into the shower, the
hot water cascading over his erection, he thought of Ashley. How he’d love to
have her in that shower with him, helpless, his to toy with as he pleased.

“Soon,” he rumbled, his hand
closing around his cock.

Chapter Five

S
he was almost ready to drop it. The box
that held all of her glassware. She had decided that not one, not two, but
three boxes would be just the thing to have in her arms as she fiddled with the
keys, trying to get the front door unlocked.

“Let me help you,” a voice said
behind her. It was deep, even deeper than Parker’s. It rattled her nerves and
made her warm all at once.

She looked back to see the imposing
figure of Mr. Dark. She flashed a nervous smile around the boxes stacked in her
arms. “Oh, that’s not—”

“Here. This is too much for you.”
He grabbed the top two boxes off of the stack, his fingers brushing her breast.
Whether the touch was intentional, or not, she couldn’t tell. Her suddenly
erect nipples cared not a whit.

He set the boxes down on the porch,
and held out his hand to her. His eyes were intent, deep green pools fixated on
her. His size dwarfed her but she wasn’t threatened by it, entranced as she was
for a moment by that gaze.

Oh dear, dear Ashley. You must
have made somebody very happy upstairs.

She stared at his hand a moment,
wondering at the strength that was obvious in the thick fingers, the veined
brawn of just his hands evoking decidedly unclean thoughts about what they were
capable of.

She was losing her mind. She’d fled
from an abusive asshole, only to be confronted seemingly everywhere she turned
by beautiful men. Why couldn’t these dudes have shown up about, oh, ten years
ago? Terry would never have happened.

Better late than never.

For a moment, she thought Mr. Dark
wanted to shake hands.

“Keys.” He wagged his finger at
her, his brow rising ever so slightly at her bemused look.

She placed them in his big hand,
and his fingers clasped over hers a moment. The gentleness of his touch belied
the steel-shredding strength of that hand, and a surge of electricity raced
down her spine to earth in her belly. His gaze didn’t leave hers as he took the
keys from her.

He had the door open in moments,
depositing the two boxes on the entryway floor before grabbing the third box
from her arms and setting it atop the other two.

“I’m sorry.” She held out her hand
to him. “I saw you the other day, when I came to see the house. You and … Erik?”

“I’m Drake.” His calloused mitt engulfed
her delicate hand. It felt wonderful. Normally, she wouldn’t even have registered
it, but she felt so …
feminine
in his hands. Even just shaking his hand,
she felt his power, his maleness. She felt a little surge of moisture between the
lips of her sex.

What the fuck is going on with
you, Ash?

Apparently her body was taking Tara’s advice to “heart” — whether her mind wanted to or not.

“Parker said you’d be moving in.
You should have taken him up on his offer to help.”

He stood there in the entryway, her
hand still in his. His eyes dropped momentarily from her face to the white tank
she’d decided to wear that morning. She knew she’d be hot from moving boxes, so
she made sure to wear something light.

Now she regretted it, seeing
Drake’s frank appraisal of the hard points of her nipples, obvious through the
thin cotton of her top. She stood a moment longer, fighting the urge to bring
an arm over her breasts, knowing it would just confirm what they both knew he’d
already seen.

“Ashley.” She pulled her hand from
his. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m gonna go grab some more boxes.”

She turned to head back out to the
car, trying to ignore the feel of his eyes following the sway of her hips as
she walked. Did it really bother her though?

He helped her bring in the rest of
the boxes from the Honda. He said not a word, as if he had no concept of the
idea that she wouldn’t
want
his help.

By the time they’d emptied the car,
the sun had been covered by clouds, and she was surprised at how quickly the
air chilled without its presence. She shivered a little as she closed the trunk
lid with a thunk. The light sheen of sweat she’d built up was now decidedly
counterproductive, and she wished she’d brought her coat — and not just to
cover up her traitorous nipples.

“I’m going to start you a fire. You
look cold.” Drake’s lips curved in a half smile.

“You don’t need to.” Her cheeks
warmed at his comment. “I need to figure out how to use that thing myself.
Besides, I’m going back to get another load.”

He glanced back at her from the
doorway. “I’ll get it going while you’re gone, then. Will be toasty warm by the
time you get back. Now, go.”

Then he disappeared inside, closing
the door behind him as if he owned the place.

So, Mr. Dark is a little rough
around the edges, Ash. You’re wondering what those edges feel like aren’t you?
Slut.

“Dammit,” she muttered, opening her
car door.

* * *

Drake really wasn’t sure what to
make of her. He did know one thing though: he wanted her around long enough for
him to figure out.

Sure, it probably was too soon
after the disaster that was Kimber, but it didn’t seem to matter to the part of
him that really ruled. His lust said it was the perfect time for another, the
perfect time to wash the taint of her, the pain of her, away. The best cure for
an old love was a new one.

He should have told Kimber what he
wanted from the beginning. He had such hopes for her, that she’d be the one.
He’d learned from earlier loves. You have to stop assuming they know what you
want, what you
are
. But you also have to take it slow. Too much, too
fast and you frighten them off like skittish rabbits.

He’d spanked her one drunken night,
and she’d reacted quite well, all things considered. They’d fucked afterward,
with an abandon, a savagery, they’d never had with each other before. Maybe it
was just the booze, rather than any submissive inclinations on her part.
Whatever it was, it was gone the next morning, as if it never happened. She
wouldn’t even talk about it. Deleted from the memory banks.

But it bothered him more and more
as time went on. Sure, she’d been drawn to his dominance in the same way many
women appreciated men. But he thought she enjoyed it more because it simply got
things done, rather than on some deeper, visceral level. He really had no way
of knowing. That was another thing that was wrong between he and Kimber — they
were too damned much
alike
.

He didn’t speak until he was sure
there was a need to, sure there was something that needed to be said. She was,
well, she was too similar — except in her case, she just didn’t have that much
to say. She relied on Drake to figure things out, work the problem, solve it.
She apparently thought looking pretty — which she excelled at — was all she
needed to do.

Well, big tits and a pretty face
will take a girl far, but not far enough when it comes to love. Real love. The
kind Drake was looking for. She just … wasn’t. Wasn’t looking for love, wasn’t
looking for something deeper. She just wasn’t looking, period.

Drake thought it was a shame,
because he still wondered about her, even after it was over and done with. The
arguments, screaming, the recriminations, the hurt. There
was
something,
deep down. Down where she didn’t even want to examine it, feel it. But she just
closed herself off to it, and she closed
him
off in the process. Trying
to salvage it was a lost cause, and ending it was merciful — to both of them.

He really knew nothing about Ashley,
but seeing the look in her eyes as he helped her with the boxes intrigued him.
It was the same glimpse into the primitive female he’d seen that drunken,
wonderful night with Kimber.

And that body. Holy shit! Seeing
those impudent nipples of hers peeking through that tight tank top just about
had him drooling. He wondered what those nipples would feel like on his tongue,
what kind of moans he could wrest from her as he squeezed them between cruel
fingers.

She definitely knew how to dress to
show off that body. But it was alluring, rather than slutty. Just well enough
put together to speak to the male, hint to him, about what might be under the
surface — and under those clothes.

Parker had been holding out on him,
and he’d have to have a word with him about that.

Thinking about Ashley helped him,
really. It helped to distract him from the festering wound that was the break
up with Kimber. He’d rather be drawn and quartered then let Parker or Erik know
it, but Kimber had gotten to him. He’d gotten close to her — even loved her. It
hurt more than he wanted to think about right now. The aching feeling of loss,
whether or not it was for the best, was hard to bear. Even Superman had a
weakness, and Drake’s was a deep-seated need for a connection with that one special
woman. Someone he could be the real Drake with — someone who wasn’t afraid of
all that he was.

Maybe that someone didn’t really
exist. The thought made him sick.