“Please tell me you’re wearing your blindfold too,” I tell him, feeling so vulnerable and out of sorts in the blackness. “Or this is ridiculous.”
A hand goes on my shoulder, the other around my waist. It’s awkward, like he’s unsure, but confident at the same time.
“I can’t see shit,” he says. “And I turned out the lights just in case. Don’t worry, I’m taking your whole don’t see the bride before the wedding bullshit seriously.”
“It’s not bullshit,” I tell him and now his lips are on my neck and his hands skim my breasts, my hips, my thighs.
“I can already tell you look beautiful and this dress is amazing,” he says, voice rough and low in the blackness.
I grin. I had my wedding dress custom-made actually: halter neck, fitted through the hips and then flaring out mermaid style. It’s white but the ends are hot pink, ombre, like it’s been dipped in color. I’ll be the first to admit I was totally inspired by Gwen Stefani’s wedding gown way back when.
“You’ll see it soon enough,” I promise him. “Now why are we meeting like this again?”
“Because I can’t go twenty-fours without being inside you,” he murmurs, his mouth finding my neck and sucking on my sweet spot.
I moan slightly, succumbing to his lips and tongue. “Right. I thought maybe you were nervous and needed to be reminded of what you were getting married to.”
“That too,” he says bringing his mouth up to mine. “That too.” He kisses me, so open, warm, and strong. His kisses claim me, call me as his, and though I feel I’ve always been his, in heart and soul, in the next hour I’ll be his legally, as his married wife.
Wife. Husband. After the pact, after so many years, it’s finally happening. I still can’t believe it and some ways I don’t want to believe it. I like waking up each morning in his arms and thinking I’m in a dream. Now I’m going to be married in one. I’m one lucky bitch.
As usual, his kisses leave me yearning for more. He holds me by the waist and turns me around, so good at physically moving my body with such ease, such raw masculinity. My hands fly forward, grabbing onto the pole where all the coats are hanging. It reminds me of the times we had sex in the storeroom of my old shop. Now that the Fog & Cloth is completely online, I no longer have the physical store but the good news is that business is up and my work hours are down. There’s still a learning curve in the dot-com world, but I’m finding my niche in the industry and using it to my advantage.
My thing now? Everything skulls. Rubber boots with skulls, scarves with skulls, skirts with skulls, hats with skulls, lamps with skulls, frying pans in the shape of skulls. Sometimes I think I should change my store name to the Fog & Skull but it hasn’t come to that yet. We’ll see.
Linden groans in hunger and his reaches down, his hands traveling up my legs, hiking my dress as he goes. They pause at the garter belt around one thigh.
“That’s the something blue,” I explain to him as he snaps the lacy fabric against my thigh. “Your mother gave it to me, which is kind of weird. But she said it’s in your tartan from Deeside or whatever. Red and blue.”
“Aye,” he says, sounding extra Scottish. “That fucking turns me on.”
“That your mother gave it to me?”
“Don’t mention my mum for the next while,” he warns. “I mean the tartan. The fact that you’re wearing it means a lot to me. I know our name is spelled without the A nowadays, but we’re still the MacGregors.”
My heart melts a bit. “You mean a lot to me. And I’ll take any name you choose.”
I can feel his hot breath on my neck. “Are we seriously going to get emotional here in the closet or are we going to fuck?”
“Man, you’re pushy,” I tell him.
I hear his pants unzip and, after a moment, he presses his warm cock against my thighs. “Oh, I’ll show you pushy.”
He puts a hand between my shoulder blades and pushes me forward. I’m grateful that my hair is groomed back and shellacked with hairspray, completely out of the way, but even so I arch my neck so it won’t get ruined. And if it does, so fucking what.
He can ruin me all he wants.
Linden teases me with his finger, soft and gentle and needy, before he eases himself into me. In the dark, with my sight gone, my other senses are heightened. I can feel every inch of him as he pushes in, slowly, until his whole length is deep inside me. Then I feel every inch as he teasingly pulls out. His breath is hot in the dark, and loud, and the occasionally groan is borderline animalistic. I feel like I’m being fucked by a stranger but a stranger that I love.
Because I love Linden more than I can say.
When we’re all done, my cries muffled into our guests’ coats, he slides out of me. There’s a tiny part of me that hopes his seed is still in me – after all, he fucked himself so hard and deep, I felt he’d never come out. Not that I want children right away but I do want them someday. We both do.
“I guess you can’t tell me if I look okay,” I say, catching my breath as the afterglow warms through me. I still pat half-heartedly around my updo, making sure no hairs are wildly out of place.
“You look beautiful,” he says, kissing my cheeks delicately. “I don’t need light to see that.” He grabs my hand. “Well, baby blue. Are you ready to become husband and wife?”
“Yes, cowboy, I am,” I tell him. “And if I knew where to kiss you, I would.”
“You can always find me,” he says and with gentle fingers on my jaw, he leads my mouth toward his where he gently places his lips on mine. “Even in the dark.”
I return his kiss slowly, not wanting it to end. But time is running out on this stage of our relationship and if I know the crowd at all, they are getting restless. I sigh. “So…”
“I guess I should go first,” he says, sounding resigned.
“Just another hour,” I tell him, “then we’ll be together.” The hardest part of this whole wedding has not been the dress or the venue or the seating chart, but not being able to see Linden for a day or two. Considering he’s not only my betrothed but my best friend, it’s hard not to be able to have him with me every single step of the way. That’s why I knew meeting him in the closet, blindfolded, was more out of reassurance than anything else. Besides, we do plenty of kinky shit at home.
I can hear Linden smile in the dark. He kisses my forehead, squeezes my hand and leaves. I feel the air withdraw from the small room and the door shut behind him. I wait a few minutes, enough time for him to disappear, before I take off my blindfold and step outside.
Someone, I think one of my older cousins on my dad’s side, sees me from the end of the hallway. She looks puzzled at where I’ve come out of. I shrug. “This isn’t the bathroom,” I say to her, gesturing to the cloakroom in fake confusion. She looks vaguely horrified and moves on.
I sigh and then go to the actual bathroom on that floor, making sure that I look as perfect as my hair and makeup artist intended. The reflection staring back at me is a bit flushed but she is glowing. She is happy.
Before Linden proposed to me, I felt like everything in my life was just hanging in the balance. Leaving him in New York and going back to my normal, empty life was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, but for the sake of paying bills, and protecting my heart, I didn’t really have a choice. Of course, I had left Linden a few texts checking up on him but knowing he was in the hospital, I wasn’t surprised that he didn’t respond.
Bram responded though. He filled me in on Linden’s progress but he never once hinted that Linden was moving back here or that he was even helping him. I was totally in the dark until I saw Linden enter The Burgundy Lion, all beat up and bruised and on crutches.
Ironically, I was out with Owen. It was our second date, something I didn’t even want but I felt so bad about bailing on the first one. I guess the second one didn’t go too well either. Not many dates end with an accepted marriage proposal – to someone else. Let’s just chalk it up to Owen’s karma.
/> But the minute I saw my battered, broken Linden come toward me and plead his heart out, I knew that he was finally fighting. He was fighting for me. And I believed and trusted in his love. It was real, raw and true. I’m sure some might have considered it a risk after what had happened between us, but I knew the reward would be too sweet not to risk it.
The reward is sweet. I’m going to marry him. I’m going to marry my best friend, my lover, and so much more. I’m going to marry my Linden and there’s nothing I’ve ever wanted more. So far, this year with him has been better than my dreams, and now that we’re taking the next step, I know my dreams will keep on expanding. It’s not always easy – my job has growing pains and when the tourist sector dips, Linden’s not flying so much out here. Sometimes families are a pain in the ass, sometimes friends are. Sometimes I want to smack Linden in the face.
But through it all I’m learning to appreciate all the grey between the black and white. And just like the Bay Area fog, grey can be absolutely beautiful.
The ceremony ends up being short and sweet, just the way we wanted it; cut the sentimental crap, let’s go straight to the bar. My father gives me away, Nicola and Kayla are my bridesmaids and James and Bram are Linden’s best men. Our officiant is a man that Linden used to work with and he cracks jokes like you wouldn’t believe. Some of them are incredibly lame but at least they make people laugh and let us relax.
Even my ex, Aaron, is here. There were never any hard feelings between us – not like with Owen – and by the end of the evening, when everyone is drunk and breaking glasses and dancing to bad eighties music, I spy Aaron hitting on Nicola, who is once again single. I’m not sure what will come of their connection but I know he’s a good guy and she deserves someone like that…even if his idea of fun is going paintballing.
That said, I know Linden and I aren’t much better on the maturity level. As we slow dance the night away, swaying past James and Penny, his parents, my mom and dad, I know that even though we’re over thirty now, we’re still not as adult as we’d hoped to be. I don’t know if wearing a ring and signing a certificate will change that. But that’s okay. Because as the days go on, I realize life isn’t a linear journey. Sometimes it’s one step backwards, two step forwards and then a jump out to the side. It’s kind of like the “Time Warp,” when you think about it.
Life follows many directions and hopefully, eventually, your mind and body and life and love, all catch up with each other.
I know that I’ll be fine going any direction life takes me – but especially if Linden is by my side.
As the stars come out over the bay, I hold my husband tighter and smile. With Linden by my side, my soul is at peace and the rest of my life…well the rest of my life is just beginning.
Acknowledgements
There was never supposed to be a “Pact.” Meaning, in my super-packed writing schedule, this book was never on my radar. I had other books to write, books that had been in the line-up for quite some time. But on November 19th, my husband and I were waiting for our plane for our annual vacation to Kauai. I was just flipping through a Glamor magazine – one of the few times I buy magazines is when I’m flying somewhere – and saw an article that made me think. Now, I couldn’t tell you what it was that made me stop and read it, after all it was just the usual “Dating dos and don’ts” and “When to have the talk” and all that kind of stuff geared to people on the dating scene.
It did make me realize how far removed from that shit I am. I’m married now and I sometimes forget that there are people out there going on dates, trying to find the right girl or guy, getting to know people every weekend. I loved being single when I was single, so it made me reflect on what a fun, exciting time in your life it is. Then I started to think about being single in your thirties and why there aren’t really any books that deal with “that” time of your life. It’s always “new adult” now, which is great, but what about “adult?” Don’t adults deal with dating woes too?
Granted, being in your thirties means shit because I don’t feel old and I certainly don’t act old and I’m sure you can gather that from the characters I write. But it gave me an idea anyway about writing about thirty-somethings in an urban setting, dating and dealing with what life throws your way. Then I started thinking about how many friends “jokingly” make a marriage pact when they are younger, how thirty seems to be the magic age for that, and suddenly – a plot was born.
I put the magazine in my carry-on and started writing when I got on the plane to Lihue. My husband and I wrote every single day that we were on vacation in Hawaii (he’s writing something else, don’t worry). We had three weeks so we had plenty of time to surf and have fun in the sun, but still I used up the “free” time that I had to get this book out there. Once I started writing Linden and Stephanie, it all came so easily, I just couldn’t stop. It was a hell of a lot of fun.
I knew it would be a departure for me because people usually expect grittiness in my books. I knew that it would be a hard sell because people want to either have their mind fucked and twisted or their heart ripped up, crying buckets for days because of the emotional upheaval. I knew this book wouldn’t have that – it was going to be sexy and fun, a quick but (hopefully) enjoyable little read. I wanted people to close the book (or shut off their Kindle) and smile and enjoy the last five hours they spent reading it.
I wanted to leave people happy.
So, I hope you’re happy with The Pact! If you’re smiling right now, then it means I’ve done my job.
As usual, there is some big thanks that have to go out, especially since this book was put together on SUCH a short notice. Scott, for encouraging me to write while on vacation (in some ways, those writing sessions on the lanai with ahi poke and Kona longboards are some of the best memories for me). Laura, Shawna, Amanda, Kelly, Stephanie, I couldn’t have done it without you. Hang Le, I couldn’t have had this much interest without your stunning, amazing cover, so thank you! Danielle Sanchez for her insistence on promoting this thing :D Thank you to Mollie Caselli, Marc Paschke, Mike Patton (ha!), Bill Gould, Tami McColgan, Helen Gordon for all your San Francisco love. It still remains one of my most favorite cities in the world and I’m a lucky bitch that I get to travel there so often. And to Nadine Colling, who is nothing at all like Nadine in this book.
Please keep reading for an excerpt from my upcoming romantic suspense thriller, Dirty Deeds, coming February 2015.
Dirty Deeds
An Excerpt
The call came at 6:30 a.m. from a voice I recognized but couldn’t place. The fact that it sounded familiar was surprising, though. The turnover rate for these guys was exceedingly high. They were shuffled around to different sicarios like a game of musical chairs. Sometimes I wondered if the ones giving me the orders – the narcos just underneath the bosses – ever lasted more than a few weeks. Did they go on to have long careers doing the dirty work of the patrons? Or were they so good at getting the job done, that they were held on to for a long time, even promoted, just like any assistant manager at McDonalds?
It didn’t really matter. I took these calls, I carried out the orders, and I got paid. I was at the bottom of their food chain but as long as I wasn’t tied to just one cartel, then I didn’t have to worry about long-term security. You didn’t want long-term security when working for the narcos. You wanted to stay as distant – freelance – as possible. You wanted a way out, in case you ever had a change of heart.
That was unlikely for me. But I was still a bit of a commitment-phobe. Freedom meant everything, and in this game, freedom meant safety.
The girl next to me in bed moaned at the early intrusion, pulling the pillow over her head. She looked ridiculous considering she was completely naked on top of the sheets. Was it Sarah? Kara? I couldn’t recall. She was so drunk last night I was amazed she even made it to my hotel room. Then again, that’s why I was in Cancun. I could pretend to be like everyone else, just another dumb tourist on the beach.
I t
ook the phone into the bathroom and closed the door.
“Yes,” I answered, keeping my voice low.
“I have a job for you,” the man on the other line said. His English was pretty much perfect but relaxed, almost jovial. Sometimes they gave me orders in Spanish, sometimes in English. I felt like this man was trying to extend a courtesy.
“I assume I’ve worked for you before,” I said.
“For me?” the man asked. “No. For my boss? Yes. Many times. But this has nothing to do with him. Let’s just say this is coming from a whole new place.”
None of that concerned me. “Tell me about payment.”
He chuckled. “Don’t you want to hear the job?”
“It doesn’t matter. The price does.”
“One hundred thousand dollars, US, all cash. Fifty now, fifty upon completion.”
That made me pause. My heart kicked up. “That’s a lot of money.”
“It’s an important job,” the man said simply.
“And what is the job?”
“It’s a woman,” he said. “In Puerto Vallarta. She should be very easy to find for someone like you.”
“I need a name and I need her photo,” I told him. Though the price was quite higher than normal, the man was ignoring the basics. It made me wonder if he had ever done this before. It made me wonder a lot of things.
“I have the first, not the second. As I said, she should be easy to find. You might even be able to Facebook her.”
I waited for him to go on.
He cleared his throat. “Her name is Alana Bernal. Twenty-six. Flight Attendant for Aeromexico. I want a bullet in her head and I want it front page news.”
It was a common name, which is probably why it sounded familiar. I had wondered what she had done, if anything. Usually when I was sent to kill women, it was because they had been involved with a narco and had overstayed their welcome. They knew too much. They had loose lips in more ways than one.