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  “I can’t do a damn thing. Believe me, I’ve already tried. That’s why I showed up at your place. I’m hoping you’ll be just what the doctor ordered. But prepare yourself. What you’re going to see won’t be pretty. And reaching Rhett at this point won’t be easy. Honestly, it might be impossible.”

  I reach over and pat his huge, bulking shoulder. “With enough love, Hawk, everything is possible.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Rhett Calder

  IT WAS OVER. THE blip of happiness. Of peace. Of hope. It all disappeared like a wisp of smog being burned off by the morning sun. Being with Violet. Loving her. Touching her. Teaching her. That split-second had been a dream. One that afforded me the gift of psychological silence. A reprieve from the chatter, chaos and compulsion to constantly bring order to that which was disorderly. My mind had finally quieted.

  Then everything imploded and exploded at the same time. The bomb was a graphic video. The detonator was a desperate female driven by jealousy and scorn. In the blink of an eye, my teaching career ended. But that didn’t matter to me. It was what this all meant for Violet.

  When I left the school, I didn’t go to her to house. I didn’t call her or text her. I didn’t look back. I drove like a maniac to the Hyatt. Once I was in Hawk’s hotel room, I raced to the bathroom, slammed the door and locked it behind me. I’m still here. I snapped. I’m still snapping.

  Clutching the cool porcelain sink, I stare in the mirror hanging above it. My ragged breath fogs the glass. The pain in my heart is agonizing. The fear of how far I’m falling is terrorizing. My bicep muscles tremble with the effort of locking my hands to the basin. I mentally command myself not to move. If my feet take a single step, they will never stop pacing.

  I can’t give in to the compulsion. I must not move. But even as I swear such an oath, I know I’m going to break it.

  I crossed a line with Violet. I knew it was wrong, but I sprinted over it because I wanted her. Needed her. Loved her. I still do, but it’s too late for us. When she sees the video, she’ll never want to see me again.

  Sucking in the stifling air of the tiny bathroom, I feel the familiar pull of phantom germs crawling over my skin. Since I’ve refused to pace, my mind is demanding a different form of repetition. Turning the faucets wide open, I tear open a tiny bar of hotel soap and lather my hands. Over and over, I wash. Rinse. Repeat. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. Until I reach the magic number twenty-eight. Not enough to make me bleed but plenty enough to make my skin dry and raw.

  Still, the need for complete cleanliness is being overridden by my need to count any and everything. The tiles on the floor. The oval patterns on the shower curtain. The Q-tips in the canister on the bathroom shelf. I fight the urges as long as I can before choosing the lesser of two evils. Counting everything in sight or going insane. I choose to count.

  I haven’t been this far gone since Hawk found me scrubbing my hands in the boy’s bathroom at our old high school. But I can’t stop, and he can’t stop me this time. My weakness turns my stomach sour.

  Once I’ve counted everything in sight multiple times over, I finally work up the courage to open the bathroom door. When I spot a jumbo box of matchsticks on a corner table, I feel like a kid in a candy store.

  Rushing across the room, I grab up my treasure and sit down at the table. Dumping the contents, I begin counting. I can smell the wooden stems while the bright red tips hypnotize me into a trance so deep it feels almost otherworldly. I’ve given in and given up. This is where I want to be. Right here, counting these matches. Forever counting. Never stopping. Never hurting. Never destroying. Always counting.

  MY NOSE TWITCHES, DISTURBING the tranquility of numbers running through my mind. It’s the scent of green apples. But I know it’s a lie. That smell is synonymous with Violet. But she’s gone. I destroyed her and her love for me. Now, it’s just me and my OCD.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Violet Driscoll

  HE SITS AT A table in the corner of Hawk’s hotel room, not seeing anything but the stacks of matches in front of him. Only hearing himself counting and not the sound of me and Hawk talking.

  “See what I mean, girl? He’s too fucking far gone.”

  I will admit the situation seems dire. If I said I wasn’t scared for Rhett, I would be lying. But I won’t give up on him. I will do as I have sworn to do in the past. I’m going to hold onto him with both hands. Fight for him and never let him go.

  I give Hawk a determined look and say, “I think I’ll have a better chance of reaching Rhett if you aren’t in the room.”

  I didn’t want to tell him my plan as it was far too personal to reveal.

  Hawk nods. “You’re right. I can’t do any good here. A few days ago, Rhett asked me to look into something for him. The best thing I can do to help him now is honor his request.”

  “You’re a good friend. Will you be back tonight?”

  “No. My investigation is leading me to Washington. But the room is paid up for another week. Should he come around, the two of you are welcome to it.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You got it,” he says, giving me a hug.

  Before he leaves, we exchange phone numbers so I can call and give him updates on Rhett.

  WITH HAWK GONE, I walk over to the man of my dreams and say, “I’m here, Rhett, even if you’re too far away to hear me right now.”

  Fighting back tears, I curse my age, my lack of expertise and my limited knowledge of my man’s illness. I have a plan but no clue if my methods will be helpful. I take several breaths to corral my courage. If I fail, admitting Rhett to a psychiatric ward might be my only option. I don’t want to do that. He deserves better.

  Leaning forward so my hair cascades over Rhett’s head and across his face, I wait. If his sense of hearing is being blocked by his brain, I figure I have to tap into his other senses if I have any hope of breaking him out of this episode.

  In mere seconds, his nose begins to twitch, and he makes a sniffing sound. Straightening up, I watch his facial expression closely. I can tell by the disgruntled look he is wearing the scent of my shampoo is registering on some level. I believe if he gains an awareness of my presence, he’ll be able to pull himself out of this mental mire.

  Feeling encouraged, I press on. Cashing in on the sense of touch, I run my fingers through his thick, dark hair. With each pass, I murmur, “You have the most beautiful locks, Rhett.”

  He grunts, jerking his head away from me.

  A smile tugs the corners of my mouth. My technique might not be textbook, but I’m slowly cracking his shell.

  Now, to tease his sense of hearing, I stand in front of him and slowly begin to undress. The sound of me kicking off my shoes, shimmying out of my jeans and shrugging away my shirt, elicits angry mumbles. He doesn’t like me disturbing his ritualistic counting. The more aware he becomes, the more irritable his reactions. All of this is a good sign.

  The big finale makes me nervous. It’s risky, but it has to work. I have to shock Rhett into seeing me. So in all of my nakedness, I climb up on the table and lie down on top of his beloved matches.

  When his hands reach for more of the wooden sticks, he grabs my ass instead. The instant his fingers sink into my flesh, his head snaps up. His eyes bug. His voice roars, “Damn it, Violet, I was counting those.”

  I can tell he is still dazed, so I tread carefully. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I thought perhaps you’d like to paint my portrait instead.”

  He furrows his brow. “Why would I want to do that?”

  I shrug my shoulders as sensuously as I know how. “Well, for starters, it would make a wonderful wedding gift.”

  His eyes grow brighter and more focused. “Who’s getting married?”

  “We are, silly. Don’t you want to immortalize your future wife on canvas?”

  He shakes his head, ridding himself of the last cobwebs clouding his mind. “Oh, God, woman! Are you real? You’re not just in my mind?”

  Grabbing his
trembling hand, I pull it to my chest, sandwiching it between my breasts and ask, “Do these big boobs not feel real to you?”

  He groans. “Hell, yes, they do. Oh, Violet. I’m so sorry for everything. I never meant to hurt you. To ruin your reputation or your senior year.”

  I cup his cheek and gaze deeply into his eyes. “Rhett, you haven’t ruined anything. You have become my entire world. My whole life. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Stripping off all his clothes, he sweeps me into his arms and carries me to the bed. Sitting down on the edge of the mattress with me cradled in his lap, he says, “I’ll make everything right for you. I’ll take you to the most beautiful cities in the world. We’ll paint all day, honing your craft, and make love all night. How does that sound?”

  “Glorious and tiring. Will we ever sleep?”

  He chuckles. “We can sleep when we’re dead.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” I whisper, kissing him on the check.

  Shifting me so that I’m now straddling him, he says, “When can I make you my wife?”

  “As soon as Hawk gets back. I figure you want him to be your best man.”

  “Where did the sod go? Off to a bar?”

  “Nope. Washington. He said he was looking into something for you, but he didn’t say what.”

  Rhett nods. “Good. I’m glad he kept his big mouth shut for once.”

  “Why? Is this thing such a big secret?”

  “For the moment. Eventually, I hope it will be a big surprise.”

  “For who?”

  “Maybe you if you stop asking me so many damn questions,” he says playfully, tweaking my nose.

  “I’m sorry. I guess I’m trying to keep you talking. You scared me earlier. I thought I had lost you. That you had slipped so deep into an episode you might not come back to me.”

  “I promise that won’t ever happen.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  He smiles sweetly. “Because my plunge down the rabbit hole happened as a direct result of me thinking I had destroyed you. I was convinced I had killed any feelings you had for me. That I had ruined any chance of us being together.”

  “And what do you think now, Mr. Calder?”

  “I think I see forever in your eyes. I think I can’t wait to be your husband. I think the rest of our lives is going to be the best of our lives. So what do you say we get the good times started right now?” he asks, flopping onto his back with me mounting him like I’m a cowgirl and he’s a mechanical bull.

  WITH THE SWELL OF Rhett’s cock levitating between us, his strong hands circle my waist, lifting me up in the air. I gasp at his strength and the hungry look in his eyes. Growling, he perfectly aligns my pussy to his penis before impaling me onto it.

  With the rhythm of a dirty dancer, he thrusts and grinds, rolling his hips in sensuous circles that pound my heart and blot my vision with stars. His invasion of my body is graceful and grueling, tender and torturous, sacred and sinful. His complexity entrances all of my senses.

  I will never get enough of him, but I have a feeling he is going to give me all I can take tonight.

  Flipping me onto my back, Rhett changes the view and perspective of our mating. I’m no longer on top, no longer in control. Not that I ever was. I love the missionary position, the exquisite sensation of being completely dominated.

  In a hurricane of seductive aggression, he slams his cock into me. His punishing, pleasuring pounding stretches me, fills me, making me burn with lust so overpowering it leaves me trembling.

  Lowering his head, he bruises my mouth with his kisses, pillaging, plundering and possessing until his very breath becomes mine. With him pulsing between my thighs and his tongue in my mouth, my hands sweep over his back and down to his buttocks.

  As I grab and knead those perfectly-rounded cheeks, they flex hard against my palms with each drive of his hips. In a testosterone-fueled frenzy, he ravages my breasts. Licking, sucking and biting until he leaves his mark. I relish every stubble-induced abrasion, every hickey, every bruise. All of them paint a picture of his love and desire.

  Lifting his head, his dark, stormy eyes lock onto mine. “You’re so fucking wet, Violet. So tight. So warm.”

  “And you’re so big. So hard. So demanding.”

  He smiles, and my heart fills with sunshine.

  “Do you know what I’m demanding now?”

  I shake my head.

  “That you come for me. I always need you to come.”

  Reaching a hand between us, his eyes never leave mine. Never stop searching and seeking my soul. When he clamps my clit between his forefinger and thumb, my spine bows and arches off the mattress. My inner thighs tremble as my core tightens.

  “That’s my good girl,” he says, pinching and releasing the nub of nerves in a tempo of four. Perfectly even sets of pulsating pleasure like no other.

  As he keeps up the count, his other hand wraps around my throat. And that act of domination sends me soaring. Fireworks fill me, sparkling and shimmering every cell in my body, igniting an orgasmic light show like I have never seen before.

  With his lips close to my ear, he huskily whispers, “I love you, Violet Driscoll. I’m going to spend the rest of my life showing you how much.”

  Even while declaring his love, he doesn’t lose the rhythm of his thrusts. His hand moves from my throat to cup my face. He pulls my mouth to his in a kiss full of fire and gentleness.

  I count the final, sensual stabs of his hips. With a guttural groan, he roars through his release on the eighteenth thrust. Suddenly, eighteen has become my favorite number.

  Epilogue

  Violet Driscoll

  TRUE TO HIS WORD, Rhett has been taking me to the most beautiful cities in the world. Our first stop was Rome. Of all the places we will visit, this one will always be the most special. Why? Because it’s where we tied the knot.

  I became Mrs. Rhettington Alexander Calder on the steps of the Pantheon with Hawk standing up as Rhett’s best man and Hazel standing up as my maid of honor.

  Instead of exchanging wedding vows, we exchanged portraits we had painted of each other. It wasn’t the traditional thing to do, but Rhett and I don’t stand on ceremony. Our nuptials were as unique as our love.

  And ya’ll will not believe the best part. My dad walked me down the aisle. Not in spirit but in the flesh. Hawk’s investigation was into the explosion we believed had killed my dad. As it turns out, our suspicions of foul play were dead-on. Only instead of sweeping a bad bomb under the rug, the captain of my dad’s unit swept him under a rug in Egypt. That’s right, they faked my dad’s death and held him hostage for two years in a bunker under one of the ancient pyramids.

  As it happened, my dad had stumbled onto a line of corruption extending from his unit all the way to the Pentagon. Thanks to some powerful connections, Hawk was able to locate and rescue my father just in time for him to give me away.

  Right now, my dad is on his way to Mexico to save my mom from a side street taco vendor named Gonzales Pedro Gonzales. I guess his parents were lazy and none too creative when naming him.

  Anyway, I asked Dad if he was upset with Mom. He said grief can make people do crazy things. He believes she deserves a second chance. If he can forgive her, so can I.

  As to Hazel, we left her in Rome. She hooked up with a 93-year-old pizza maker named Cesareno who is literally rolling in the dough. She called last week to tell me that all he cares about is goosy poosy and, since he has all of his natural teeth and a full prescription of Viagra, she is going to ride his Italian sausage like there is no tomorrow.

  Now that I have you up to speed, I’ve got to get going. Rhett is calling me to the bedroom of our presidential suite in Paris. His OCD is under control but will never be cured. The one thing that brings him the most peace and joy is making love. Given his need for even-numbered repetition, he has to have me four times a day. But you won’t hear any complaints out of me. Four times the fucking means four times the f
un and quadruple the chance of us getting pregnant. And I’m not ashamed to say I want a whole house full of Calder babies.

  His for the Trusting

  Chapter One

  Nora Adams

  SOME PEOPLE COME INTO this world with the luck of a four-leaf clover constantly spinning inside the happy housing of their hearts. Others are born with the misfortune of an anvil hanging over their heads and the threat of it falling with every step they take. I, Nora Adams, fit into the latter category and have all the lumps to prove it. I won’t bore you with the long list of disasters that have befallen me during my twenty-six years on this earth. Instead, I will start with the latest. It also happens to be the worst.

  Two months ago, I was out walking my precious Pomeranian puppy, Miss Bliss. The hour was near dusk on a balmy evening in August, but I didn’t let the hot, muggy temperatures or the impending darkness deter me. I had to get out of the house and away from my mom or go nut-cracking crazy. You see, she—Taney Adams—is a consummate hypochondriac. She took on that role the second my dad, Alton, walked out on us ten years ago. All of her contrived, concocted and cockamamie illnesses have not only metaphorically held her hostage but have literally kept me tied to her side for the last decade.

  I couldn’t really blame Dad for wanting out. Even before she jumped feet-first into hypochondria, Taney was and is a whiny, self-centered, narcissistic nightmare. However, I definitely blamed him for leaving me behind, especially since he chose to execute his abandonment on my sixteenth birthday. After all these years of dealing with her, I’ve been able to forgive him. Everybody has a breaking point. He apparently had reached his. Still, as a result of his selfish actions, I was left without a buffer. It was just me and Mom.

  I’m a strong believer in the fact that being the only child of a single parent has its drawbacks for any kid but, in my case, it was especially devastating. When Taney realized her fake sicknesses weren’t going to bring my dad running back to her bedside, she thrust the role of sole provider and caregiver onto my sixteen-year-old shoulders. Without my consent, she signed a consent form for me to drop out of high school so I could become her nurse, housekeeper, cook and chauffeur.