Courted by Karma (The Adventures of Anabel Axelrod) Read online

  Unconcerned with the miserable state of disrepair of the lane, I could hear his crunching steps as he sure-footedly jogged towards me. I scooped up the bag and zipped it closed while I watched the bobbing beam from the flashlight fast approaching.

  In a second, he was standing right in front of me. I could feel the heat radiating from his body to surround me like the warmth from an open fire. I stepped closer to him, shivering as a blast of cold air blew swirls of loose, icy pellets of snow around us.

  Luke’s wearing a ski jacket over sweat pants and running shoes. His head was bare and his hair was spiky. The flashlight was now directing its powerful beam of light down towards our feet, so I only got a brief flash of gleaming eyes and white teeth. Hearing the questioning humor rich in his voice over the blowing wind was no problem.

  “So why is this pygmy foot soldier hoofing down my lane the wrong way, and howling like a wild animal calling its pack?”

  His head moved and I heard a snort. He was taking in Crookie’s steam punk head gear, the long coat, clodhopping boots, and the backpack in my hand.

  Poking him in the chest to get his eyes back on my face, I challenged, “Hey Dog, try and guess why I am here!”

  It was an effort to speak clearly. I think I was developing lockjaw from a combination of the face slap and frozen muscle hinges in my mouth. Another violent shiver wracked my freezing body uncontrollably.

  Luke swore under his breath and said, “Here, hold this.”

  Without another word, he deposited the flashlight onto my bent arm. Bending slightly, he picked me up with an arm under my knees and the other around my shoulders. Surprised, I still didn’t make a protest when he held me high against his chest and moved swiftly back down the drive towards his house. I wrapped my free arm around his neck and leaned in close, grateful for his warmth.

  Our faces were only an inch apart. His full lips twitched as I met his eyes. I smiled back and then laid my head down in the crook of his neck. I smelled the faint tang of salt and soap on his warm skin near my lips and knew his hair was spiky from a recent workout. It was a good smell, clean and very masculine. Relaxing in his arms, I was getting aroused by his nearness.

  ‘Heaven help me, but those pheromones are a deadly chemical weapon. No one man should be allowed to have them in such abundance.’

  Luke interrupted my thoughts by prompting, “I give, Anabel. Tell me why you’re here.”

  Before answering, I couldn’t resist pressing an open kiss softly against his neck and licking a little to get a taste of his skin. Luke’s arms tightened around me at my touch. I moved my hand up to his ear. My hand didn’t cut off his ability to hear, he wouldn’t like that, but I covered his exposed ear enough to protect it from the cold.

  I shivered a third time. This was more of a wiggle-shimmy of anticipation and not a quivering from the cold. “Why, I’m here for Your Turn with a Cherry on the Top, Luke.”

  Luke’s response to my words was a slight hesitation in his step. Then he picked up speed and silently carried me faster through the night.

  The sex kitten voice stretched and purred in my head, ‘Oh goodie, now it’s finally time to rock his world!’

  The frigid wind was whistling “Dixie” up my bare legs and numbing my ass. I’d also been slapped in the face by a half-naked, Russian woman staying at Luke’s house, which I’ve never seen the inside of yet. However, nobody promised me the road to fulfilling sexual fantasies would be easy. Being humped along like a wounded civilian in the warmth of my Army Hero’s strong arms, this pygmy soldier knew she’d made the right decision to come to Luke’s haunted farmstead tonight. Curling my toes to prevent the heavy boots from slipping off my bouncing feet, I nuzzled my face in Luke’s neck. I grinned at the mean mommy’s begrudging salute of respect.

  ‘The plan for His Turn was proceeding right on schedule.’

  Chapter III

  “Lil’ Red Riding Hood” by Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs

  Wednesday 11/21/12

  1:15 AM

  Luke didn’t head towards his house, but continued carrying me towards the cluster of outbuildings in the back. They formed a boundary along the back wedge of the spacious yard before the property turned into woods and fields. His loping stride seemed tireless and ate up the distance in no time. The snowplowed, circular drive is level around the house and outbuildings area, so the walking here is not death defying like that on the lane.

  Content for the moment to be riding quietly in his arms, my mind touched on the disgraceful state of Luke’s entrance lane. An odd thought occurred. Maybe it actually was Luke’s way of keeping visitors extremely slowed down when approaching his house. The ruts and potholes have grown into valleys and craters since last Saturday night. I realized my friends and family were on the wrong track thinking Luke was Superman or Secret Agent Man. It was perfectly obvious he’s Batman. I bet Mr. Tricky has another impeccably maintained route off his acres that connects to a side road, millionaire Bruce Wayne style.

  My suspicious mind was not sure why he needed these precautions out on an isolated farm but if my stroke of intuition is correct, I needed to know the reasons. This was my world and my baby brother lives across the road.

  ‘Who is my Dark Knight exactly?’ Pondering this question, I snuggled my face closer into the warmth of his neck and out of the wind.

  The more time I spend with Luke, the more my mind wraps around the scope of his continually expanding repertoire of talents and his expertise in manipulation. It makes sense. His many skills were probably developed and finely-tuned from his years in the Army, and then from living dangerously.

  Not for the first time, recognizing similar traits and tendencies in Luke’s behavior to that of my own made me jittery and excited.

  The jitters come from knowing his mysterious talents are being used against me in some way. I know this to be true since I, of course, use my own humble powers against him every chance I get.

  The excitement comes from knowing smart was my idea of sexy, and Luke Drake was proving very, very intelligent.

  He was so different and challenging from anything I’ve ever experienced with a male. He’s elusive, and yet he didn’t seem to want to hold himself back from me. Another thought tumbled to the forefront of my consciousness. Luke would never offer up deep, dark info on his secret self, any more than I would. It was my lack of obvious curiosity that was the problem here. I rarely asked Luke a question about his past or his life outside of Northfield. At first, this was because he didn’t want to share. Lately, it’s because I don’t want to share. Sharing means caring, and caring means…I’m not sure what caring means to a man like Luke, but to me it means all sorts of trouble.

  Does a sane woman go out looking for trouble?

  I don’t think so, either.

  Uneasiness flared in my stomach whenever my mind goes down this path and dims the flutters of excitement. This time, I did not stop myself from examining the emotions I was experiencing.

  Since meeting Luke Drake, I’ve been so busy wallowing and loving every minute of his intense sexuality, I haven’t given too much thought to his motivations. If there is one thing I have come to understand, Luke does nothing casually without intent, not even casual sex. His mind was always at work. It was another jolt to wonder if I have met my match, if maybe Luke Drake could out-clever me.

  Following down this garden path of self-scrutiny, I finally acknowledged the other questions clamoring in the back of my mind. Is what we’re doing here ultimately only a game between two people that live for a challenge? Will one of us get bored when the other one cries “Uncle!”? Or when we run out of sexual fantasies?

  I snorted to myself the minute I thought those questions. ‘Good god! What could possibly be more “Uncle” to Luke, anyway? I’ve already told the guy he’s the biggest stud on two legs AND the hottest man I’ve ever met. I told him that he’s brainy, fun, and totally steamy in all his demonic ways. How much more damn “Uncle” could a girl be expected t
o cry to an experienced man like Luke before he got bored?’

  Thinking about running out of sex fantasies, I actually giggled a little out loud against Luke’s neck. This caused Luke to give me an answering squeeze, but not slow down.

  My own list of sexual fantasies was very long and very simple. But I’m not a foolish girl. Luke knows I’m hardly some exotic, hard-core sex chick that a jaded man has to search high and low for to assuage his darkest urges. In this crazy world, I’m sure there are special places for men with extremely kinky appetites or fetishes like that, but it wasn’t in my bedroom in Northfield, Minnesota. No, I was a plain Jane, girl-next-door bookseller whose name should have been Clare. I have my feet planted firmly on the ground. It’s Luke’s fancy footwork I’m not sure about.

  Whatever Luke’s intentions, getting me to give up the goodies was obviously not his only objective or our first date would have been the last. My conclusion tonight was the best course of action with Luke was to be skeptical, diligent, and ditch this self-scrutiny. My intentions towards Luke were to continue playing, as long as I was having fun. Now that my eyes are opened, Mr. Secretive wasn’t getting away with pulling anything over on me that I didn’t want. Not that I haven’t welcomed everything he has pulled so far.

  ‘Except for the not telling you things for your own good,’ dryly added the accountant voice.

  ‘And the not using a condom,’ chided the mean mommy voice.

  ‘Don’t forget him getting your best friend roaring drunk to get info on your past!’ reminded the sex kitten voice indignantly.

  Throwing up an imaginary hand, I gave all my smart-ass voices the finger.

  Luke chose this opportune moment to hug me even closer to his chest. I settled myself down in his arms, amazingly comfortable for the ride. I have never been carried by a man anywhere before. Probably my dad did when I was a very little girl, but I couldn’t recall any clear memories. I could get used to it under the right circumstances. It would be great at malls.

  We approached a huge, hulking building and walked up a wide ramp to a door. He carried me in and closed the door behind us with a kick of his leg. The clunking sound when the latch clicked in place was very loud and final. It was immediately warmer out of the cold wind. The darkness was black and impenetrable. The building smelled of old straw, freshly cut lumber, and an earthy, pleasant smell reminding me of rich soil in a garden. Luke’s arm around my shoulders jiggled me for a second, and then a light came on.

  I glanced around with curiosity. We were in a large area paneled in slats of weathered barn wood with a spotlessly white, cement floor that appeared newly poured. In front of us were two closed metal gates anchored and suspended from a massive overhead beam. The gates were each easily the size of a single garage door. I couldn’t see anything through the gate’s diamond-patterned grillwork except more darkness.

  Luke had mentioned in one of our long phone calls that he was spending time on the farm outfitting some outbuildings to suit his needs, so this must be one of his projects. Adding to the growing list of questions, I was beginning to wonder what these “needs” were he spoke of so casually.

  He proceeded to carry me to a Dutch door off to the left. The top portion hung ajar while the bottom half of the door is closed. I guessed the door to be original to the structure. These types of doors were so cool and I was glad to see Luke hasn’t replaced it with something modern.

  Luke’s hooded eyes have been on me as I check out the surroundings. He’s still wearing that small smile flirting on his lips.

  “Anabel, Anabel, this is a surprise.”

  When his eyes look at me the way they do and he speaks in his low voice, I have to tamp down the flare of heat his seductive way of saying my name twice ignites in my cha-cha region.

  I responded tartly, “Good, it’s supposed to be a surprise. But yours not mine.” I don’t care if my cha-cha was on fire; there was one question on the top of the list that was going to be clarified pronto or this girl wasn’t hanging around. I raised my brows. “So, who is the delightful creature answering your front door?”

  Luke’s single dimple flashed in his lean cheek. He said evasively, “I just got home an hour ago and thought it was too late to get together.” He sobered up and looked at me closely. “Hey, what happened to your face? Your cheek is really red on the one side. Did you fall down out there?”

  The Artful Dodger then reached in and switched on a light in the adjoining room. He unlatched the bottom half of the Dutch door and carried me inside.

  I brushed his question off with a careless wave. I’d take care of the communist myself, if I ever ran into her again.

  We stood in the center of a small, square office. I was thawing rapidly from the warmth of the heated building and the strong arms still holding me close. Awareness was mounting in me that we were truly alone for the first time in several days.

  The light from the fixture above cast Luke’s obscenely long eyelashes into curving shadows on his cheeks. Our faces were still only a few inches apart and we locked glances.

  The color of Luke’s eyes was as deep green as the shard of sea glass I once discovered in a Mexican sea. I believed then my ocean treasure was a piece of a common bottle thrown over the side of a passing cruise ship, but tonight this hue was strikingly unique in Luke’s face.

  His pupils dilated in response to my realization of our isolation.

  I lowered the backpack and let it drop to the floor without looking or caring where it landed.

  “It wasn’t too late to text me, though?” I pulled on a spike of his short, black hair and taunted him in a playful tone, “Not too late for you to work out?” The flashlight followed and landed safely on top of the pack. “Not too late for you to have the presence of mind to carry me off to the…” I saw blueprints pinned up to a large bulletin board. My quick appraisal verified they were drawings of an enormous barn “…barn, instead of your house? What am I, someone to be hidden away in an outbuilding like Anabel the Cow?” I stopped curling my toes and the heavy boots fell off my bare feet with two loud thuds on the cement floor. I lay back in his arms, not breaking my eyes from the hold of his glittering stare the entire time. “Luke, am I your dirty, local secret?”

  A grin slashed briefly across his face and it looked piratical with his dark swarthiness and bold nose. Put a hoop in his ear and a cutlass in his hand, and he could be a marauding scourge of the seas from two hundred years ago.

  Then the grin disappeared and his voice was smooth, but edged with underlying steel. “Are you finished questioning me,” without a beat he went on, “because when you’re done, I would like to answer.”

  Carrying me over to a large desk that was completely cleared of any papers or clutter, he pushed the chair aside with a foot. He set me down on top, right in the middle. Luke stood in front of me and looked down at my upturned face. His face was no longer smiling, but his eyes were sparkling as they traveled over my features. In this hushed mood of quiet, I met his gaze but didn’t answer his rude response. My pulse was starting to pound faster while I waited to hear what he’d say next.

  He reached out and tugged off Crookie’s big hat from my head. He held it up with an amused shake of his head before tossing it aside. My freed hair tumbled down in curling waves past my shoulders and fell near to my waist. Luke ran his long fingers through my hair along the sides of my head. He was watching the blonde strands fall through his hands when I lowered my lids to enjoy his stroking.

  “After I answer, then I would like to ask you a question. Make it two questions.”

  Luke’s mood was strange and one I’ve never seen before. He appeared playful, yet arrogant. Or maybe it was just his nose. I hadn’t really noticed much before tonight, but his bold nose gave a decidedly arrogant cast to his strong, rugged face.

  Feeling drugged from the rhythmic scalp massage, my eyes reluctantly opened when he continued speaking, “Then Anabel, after your answer to the second question, I want to hear more about,” one
black brow arched slowly, “my turn with a cherry on the top?”

  A soft moan was my answer to that look; it got me every time and woke me right up. It has been two whole days since I’ve seen it last. Sometimes when Luke’s away, I was amazed that I forgot how his incredible charisma affected me--until the vitality of his person slammed into me again when I see him next. I know the fiending flaring up inside me from being close to him again was my body’s chemical reaction in anticipation of that “trust drug” oxytocin. I no longer bother trying to understand or explain this reaction.

  I only try to hide it.

  The extreme reaction my Dark Knight caused inside me when getting busy with his special blend of orgasmic biological warfare was still intolerable to my independent nature, but self-respect may be overrated.

  Squirming a little on the desk, I nodded a response that he’d said the name of His Turn correctly.

  Luke stepped back and unzipped his jacket, the little knowing smile back on his delicious lips. Slipping it off, he threw it onto a nearby straight chair. Underneath he wore a plain gray T-shirt that hugged the rippling muscles of his chest, shoulders, and arms. Whatever exercise he had been doing earlier had pumped him up and every muscle grouping was taut with definition. The knowing smile widened and his eyes were full of wicked glee when he saw me unconsciously lick my lips.

  The man knows I think he’s the most sexually attractive beast that I’ve ever come across in my life. Most likely he’s aware of this fact since I feel the urgent need to tell him how smokin’ hot he is every time we get naked. Over and over, since men never get things the first few times a woman says something. With males, repetition was everything.

  He hooked a foot around the desk chair and sat down before me. Regarding me while sprawled out at his leisure, my Dark Knight’s hands are laced over his flat stomach while his powerful thighs relax against either side of my hanging legs. The trench coat is buttoned down below my knees, and my legs are primly together and crossed at the ankles.