Second Touch (Emma's Arabian Nights, #2) (16 page)

“If you feel comfortable taking him. He really isn’t that drunk.” The officer leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Between you and me he’s lucky if he gets four hours of sleep a night. The man is exhausted, but he can’t outrun his nightmares.”

A headache began to form behind her eyes as her heart ached for Callahan. “Okay, I’ll take him, but, Officer,” she looked down at his badge. “Phelps, since you're family, you should know, I’ve got a couple of conditions of my own.”

He gave her a solemn nod. “Call me Gary.”

“Gary,” she said with the sweet smile that had always made her troops flinch, “I'm going to want Callahan to sign a contract to stay with me for a month. Think of it as a personal rehab.”

“Uh, Doc, I don’t think I can do that. It’s not legal.”

“I’m not asking you to force him and I won’t approach him with it until he’s sobered up. If he doesn’t sign I take him home for one night to sleep it off, then he goes on his merry way. If he does sign…” she smiled in a way that made Officer Phelps swallow hard, “I guarantee in one month’s time you will have a changed man. But I’ll need you to keep the rest of his family away. He needs to decide for himself that he wants to live, not for his mother, not for his sister, but for himself.”

Tilting his head to the side, Officer Phelps studied her. “You were a Marine, too, weren’t you?”

“No, I was a Navy doc. We were the ones who got to patch the Marines up.”

They were interrupted by the female officer escorting Callahan. As Michelle looked closer at him she saw the telltale physical signs of exhaustion. He looked much older than his thirty-six years, and there was a darkness in his gaze, something worn and guarded that hadn’t been there before. She remembered him as being brash, larger than life, her rock, someone she could always rely on. Now, he just seemed so…lost.

“Ready, Callahan?”

“Sure thing, Doc.”

After his cuffs were removed she motioned to him, “Let’s go.”

He looked at his brother-in-law and rubbed his face. “Man, I’m
really
sorry.”

Phelps shook his head. “Wyatt, just get some help.”

Callahan glanced over at Michelle. “I’m trying to.”

She turned away and started walking, swinging her keys, leaving Callahan the choice to follow. Or not. Letting him see her empathy and compassion for him would not be helpful at this point. During the majority of their time together, she’d outranked him and that feeling carried over now as he walked escort behind her down the hallway. A flashback of him shadowing her in Afghanistan, always watching her back, made her dizzy for a moment.

They left the brightly lit hallway of the small police station and she continued on to her car, not saying a word to him. It scared her to the bone to think about him sitting at Winters’ grave, drunk, carrying a knife while mourning the best friend who'd lost his battle with PTSD and killed himself six months ago.

Clicking the alarm on her keychain, the Corvette chirped to life. One of the many nice things about living in a snowless part of the state was that she could drive around with the top down on her car pretty much any time of the year. Right now she needed the wind in her face to help clear her head.

Callahan made a low whistle and circled around the back of the car. “Nice ride, Doc.”

She traced her finger along the curve of the driver's side front quarter-panel, the deep sapphire blue custom paint glimmering faintly in the parking lot lights. “You puke on her, you even sweat on her and I will hang you from my rafters and beat you like a piñata.”

He laughed and slid into the passenger side with a sigh. “Just take me back to my place and I’ll be out of your hair.”

She entered the car and adjusted her mirror as she turned the key. The deep, throaty purr of the big engine always made her happy. “No can do. They released you to my custody for the night. You are staying at my place in Austin.”

He tensed and turned to look at her. “Doc, take me home.”

Ignoring him, she turned out onto the main road leading to the highway. The scent of the desert whipped through the car and she took a deep breath, purging her lungs. Next to her Callahan leaned his head back with his eyes closed, but every muscle on his body stood out in sharp relief. He was so wound up he looked in danger of snapping.

She turned on her stereo and pressed the button to play her Enigma CD. The smooth, almost luscious beats soon blended with the wind. The combination of the music and the soft desert air began to relax them both. Callahan took a deep breath and let it out, his body almost deflating. She wondered what had set him off tonight. Flashback? Panic attack? Whatever it was, she would find out later, but right now Callahan needed to sleep.

They pulled out onto I-35 N and began the drive that would take them north of Austin, then west to her ranch. After retiring from the Navy she wanted to go someplace warm, someplace where she didn’t have to deal with six months of winters so cold it felt like hell had really frozen over, and snow deep enough to bury a one-story house. She’d had enough of that growing up near Chicago.

Callahan kept looking at her, stealing glances out of the corner of his eye. He would look like he was about to say something, then reconsider. For now, she had to try to distract herself, to keep her desire to own him under control. God, how he’d haunted her thoughts over the last year. She was honest enough with herself to admit that Callahan living near Austin had led to her taking a job at the charity sponsored hospital. The work gave her a sense of purpose and she loved Austin.

Keeping her eyes on the road and off of Wyatt was much more difficult than she’d anticipated. Even in his sorry, worn down, and altogether sad state he still made her pulse race. She had to get her hormones under control and get her mind off what his ass would look like after she’d given him a couple dozen good spankings. Despite her resolve, her mind lingered on how she imagined his butt would flex beneath her blows, all rock solid and masculine. Biting into his ass would be like biting into a crisp apple with the slight crunch of his skin breaking beneath her teeth. Callahan shifted next to her and her gaze was drawn away from the road and down to his long, strong legs encased in velvety soft, worn jeans.

Good lord, this man was going to drive her insane.

She wanted to laugh, but she needed to be in the right headspace for the big ass headache in front of her. With Callahan that meant not letting him get away with anything. He was the kind of guy that if a woman gave an inch, he'd have her under him, give her a series of life-altering orgasms, and all while whispering the things women wanted to hear from their men. Then he’d leave her smiling and barely able to walk the next morning, with a vague promise to call her sometime, leaving her craving his touch for the rest of her life.

Callahan turned down the radio. “What are you thinking about?”

Could he somehow sense that she’d been having wicked thoughts about him? “I was thinking that if you keep pushing your luck I’ll chain you to the foot of my bed and make you sleep on the floor with only a pillow and a blanket for company as punishment.”

“That doesn’t really sound like too terrible of a punishment.”

She knew that his response to her answer would tell her everything she needed to know. “Oh, yes, it is. You will be allowed to look at my body but not touch. You will be allowed to attend to me, see to my comforts, and make me feel good…but that’s it. And only I will decide when, or even
if
you’ve earned the right to kiss me, to bend to my will, to make me come.”

His stunned expression sent a bolt of satisfaction through her and confirmed she was on the right track. Half of her hoped he would push it, while the other half was telling her she was treading dangerous waters.

What she knew about Callahan personally was gleaned from observation. She didn’t know shit about Callahan sexually. On very rare occasions, their interactions had tread dangerously close to flirtation. But neither of them was willing to break the strict military code outlining permissible and non-permissible conduct between male and female military personnel, especially between commissioned and noncommissioned officers. And even the idea of sexual relations between superior officers and their subordinates? Um, no. They had risked one kiss since they both got out, but that had been…different.

“Doc, can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead.”

“Why are you taking me to your house?”

“Because you need to get away from the bullshit excuses you’ve surrounded yourself with and pull your head out of your ass.” He started to talk and she held up her hand. “I just picked you up from jail at three in the morning drunk off your ass, Wyatt. Think about it.” She didn’t mention the fact that he’d been playing with a knife in a graveyard. He wasn’t ready for that type of confrontation, yet.

He didn’t answer, just turned to look out the window and eventually his head rested against the seat, his eyes half closed. Slowly, he stretched his legs out and laced his hands over his stomach as he looked out the window with barely open eyes. Michelle felt a sense of relief as his eyes closed and his even breathing indicated he finally slept.

Out Now from Fated Desires Publishing

From Ann Mayburn’s Submissive’s Wish series:

Male Dom BDSM Romance

Chapter One

Gia Lopez stood in a staging area for the submissive auction with a line of women covered in sheer black robes. Her long, light brown hair was twisted back into an intricate braid that was a work of art, but she desperately wished she’d gotten plastic surgery to take care of her big nose before agreeing to this. The other women scheduled to be sold off with her were beautiful, each perfect and lovely in their own way.

She felt like a sparrow surrounded by peacocks.

While Gia possessed enough self-worth to admit she was cute with her dimples and big brown eyes, she’d never be breathtaking like the auburn haired sex-bomb submissive next to her. Gia had a slender figure from her daily jogging, but with her small breasts she felt like a boy when compared with the curvy submissive.

Why couldn’t Gia have gone after someone who wasn’t a pinup girl?

Mistress Alice, a tall, blonde Domme, walked down the line of submissives. They were gathered in what looked like parlor with all the furniture moved out. Elegant watercolors still graced the walls and a tasteful chandelier bathed the room in a low, golden light. The door to the room where the auction would take place was currently closed, but from her orientation earlier, Gia knew that on the other side there was a curtained area to hide them from the audience. Then, the scariest of all, a stage where she would be sold to the highest bidder.

Mistress Alice paused now and again to point out something she wanted changed with a submissive’s hair or makeup and took a moment to speak with each woman. Up at the front of the line, a few men in brown leather loincloths presented a nice visual treat as they were oiled up by a trio of giggling submissives.

Mistress Alice stopped before Gia and slowly inspected her from head to toe. When she spotted the gold barbells piercing Gia’s nipples through the sheer cloth of the gown, she smiled. “Lovely touch against your nicely tanned skin. The gold works much better than silver.”

“Thank you, Mistress Alice.” Gia curtsied as she’d been trained and Mistress Alice’s gaze warmed.

The Domme tilted her head and studied Gia’s face. “You’re Mistress Viola and Master Mark’s girl from South Carolina, Gia.”

“Yes, Ma’am. Mistress Viola and Master Mark were my trainers.”

“Lovely couple. I met them once at a Domme convention in Las Vegas. They told me to keep an eye on you, that you have quite a temper and are very high spirited.”

Gia flushed and dropped her gaze. “I’m working on that, Mistress Alice.”

“Well don’t work on it too hard.” She leaned closer and whispered, “Some of us like a subs with fire in their veins. We like the challenge and the constant battle for your submission.”

Gia started as the other woman gently bit her earlobe before leaning back. “Am I understood?”

A soft rush of desire went through Gia and she licked her lower lip. “Yes, Mistress.”

The desire unfurled gently in her belly as she relived her training and how she owed her trainers a debt she could never repay. It had been a unique experience to work with Mistress Viola and Master Mark. Together they’d helped her start her transformation into the kind of submissive she yearned to be. They’d also given her glorious orgasms that swept the world away and left her existing as a being of pure pleasure. Not only did they train her physically, they helped her learn how to love herself just the way she was.

Mistress Viola was a plump, curvy, delicious armful of woman. By today’s standards she was considered overweight, but back in the 1950’s she would have been the ultimate in female beauty. Gia had yet to see a man who didn’t gravitate to Mistress Viola in a room, no matter how many other women were there. The fact that her husband, the more traditionally handsome Master Mark, loved her beyond reason helped more than anything else to make Gia believe that maybe there was a man out there that could love her just as she was and give her the confidence to become the woman she wanted to be.

Beautiful, elegant, and loved.

Well, she wasn’t loved yet, but she would be. She had faith her Master was out there, looking for her. The thought of him being here tonight, maybe waiting for her in the audience, sent an ache of longing through her. The practical part of her mind scoffed at the idea of soul mates and fate, but the romantic side of her nature insisted anything was possible.

A petite mahogany-skinned woman who reminded Gia of a pixie came up to Mistress Alice and knelt at her feet. “Mistress, Master Martin wishes me to inform you we have fifteen minutes until we begin.”

Mistress Alice nodded. “Thank you, Tilly.” She smiled at Gia, “Have fun, sweet girl. Whoever gets you is going to have their hands full.”