Hunting April (6 page)

Chapter Five

Saturday

For two people accustomed to living alone, April thought that she and Glennon actually shared the apartment comfortably. They both preferred to eat light, except for the occasional pizza. They took turns cooking. April's head injury and abrasions healed quickly, and the slash over her ribs had closed well. She'd carry a nasty reminder for the rest of her life, but the new scar tissue looked healthy. Glennon apparently had extensive experience with wounds, and said she was healing cleanly.

April missed her books, but found a fairly well stocked bookcase in the living room. She preferred to read, rarely watched TV. That left the kitchen as the only room that she and Glennon really shared. A tall, muscular man, he nevertheless moved easily around the space without making her feel trapped. When they happened to brush against each other, the feeling was nice, warm. She liked the sensation. As often as she daydreamed about what might happen if Glennon knocked on her door at night to share her bed, she also appreciated the feeling of secure privacy he gave her.
So far, the
man's kept his word
.

Saturday shook out as a stand-down day for everyone. Assignments closed out on Friday, nothing new scheduled until the following week. A real rest day for the entire GMG crew. April showered, then pulled on a simple tank top and drawstring capris. She liked her new wash-and-wear coiffure. A dab of mousse after she toweled her hair dry, then a quick finger combing. The stylist, a true genius, had whipped up a shade of bronzed auburn close to her own, and promised her own mane would grow back in time, as healthy as it had been, pre-dye job.

Glennon flipped the French toast as she reached the kitchen. His hair also damp, he looked deliciously casual in a gold Hawaiian shirt and denim shorts.

"Wow, nice shirt. You look familiar. Don't I know you?
Hmm
, maybe an actor, maybe a blonde P.I. Without the mustache."

He grinned. "And without the Ferrari, sad to say. My buddies and I were in Hawaii, bought up a batch of Magnum P.I. shirts in different colors as a reminder not to take ourselves too seriously. If you'll grab the juice, breakfast is ready."

Glennon turned as April tried to slip by. Without intending to, his body pressed her against the counter. She laid her palms against his broad chest—not to push him away, but to touch him. Her pulse launched into hyper drive, and breathing came hard.

Feeling inadequate, she tried to turn away. "Sorry—"

He leaned into her and his mouth came down on hers, cutting off further words.

Warm. Gentle. Tentative. Not demanding. His tongue slowly outlined her lips, and his arms reached around and pulled her to him. Not pushy, not forceful. He kissed the tip of her nose, then each eyelid, before he returned his attention to her lips. He pulled her lower lip into his mouth, gently sucking. He enveloped her mouth with a long, passionate kiss, warm and deep.

She felt such longing, such desire, in that kiss. She'd thought his mouth looked tight, firm, even hard, but his lips felt incredibly soft and attentive.

Her knees almost buckled with the lust his actions stirred between her thighs.

April slid her hands to the back of his neck, then ran her fingers through his hair.
Nice,
silky
. She enjoyed the feel of his big hands as they moved up her sides, then slowly slid down to her hips, to her buttocks, pulling her forward. She went willingly, unconsciously pressing her sex against his muscled thigh. His response immediate, his erection grew, barely contained in his shorts.

She whispered to him. "
Mmm
, you feel so good."

A moan resonated in her throat. It had been a long time since she'd been close to a man.

As she slid her hand down his broad chest on its journey toward his cock, April's brain suddenly downshifted from overdrive.
Whoa, what's happening here? What am I
doing? What the hell is wrong with me?
She pulled her hand back as if it was scorched, and disengaged her mouth from his. "Omigod, I'm . . . so . . . sorry. I don't know what I was thinking, what came over me."

Pulling in a deep breath, Glennon rested his chin on her hair and continued to hold her. "Don't be sorry. There's nothing wrong with your thinking. I hope at least mutual attraction overcame you."

He kissed her hair. "Perhaps more." He backed up enough to give her room to move. "Juice?"

April took a long moment to gather her wits and focus on the simple word. She trembled, but managed a nod. Coherent thought was not possible. With shaking hands, she brought the container to the table.

He took over and poured the juice. "Sit, eat, before everything gets cold."

No words were spoken during breakfast, as the pair avoided any reference to what had happened a few short moments earlier.

Fidgety, her body still jazzed, April straightened the kitchen and loaded the dishwater. Glennon searched through the sports channels he watched when time allowed.

She returned from her room with book in hand, targeted a comfortable chair with good lighting, away from the wide flat-screen TV. She tried to fold herself into the chair several times, and finally felt like a dog circling to get cozy.

Glennon patted the sofa cushion next to him. "Come here. Read by me."

Still edgy, feeling a bit apprehensive, April approached him, then sat.

"Scooch down, get comfortable." He reached across the end table and clicked on the floor lamp, turning the light toward her. He patted his thigh, then motioned for her to settle.

She laid her head on his lap and found her bookmarked page. He adjusted the lamp for the best lighting, placed his hand on her shoulder. He lowered the sound on the TV so it didn't blast. He shifted his body.

April gave reading her best effort, but their positions were too intimate for her over-stimulated brain. He smelled so good, his thigh felt so hard and muscular, and if she turned her head just so . . . .
Omigod, I'm doing it again. He's not only a Good
Samaritan, now he's my freakin' boss!

* * * * *

Glennon ignored the sports action flying across the big screen, lost all interest in the clash and crash of the football players, was deafened to the roar of the crowd.
What
was I thinking? This is stupid. Really stupid
. Every cell in his body focused on how close April's lovely mouth was to his cock. He fought the urge to slide his ass forward and present his groin, hoped her fingers would crawl over his thigh to fondle him, caress him, that her mouth would open for him, suckle him. Instead, he kept as still as Michelangelo's marble David, afraid he would spook her if he shifted even the smallest muscle.

The tableau lasted for long moments, until April finally sat up, gazed at Glennon with hazel-green eyes gone soft gold. "If you'll excuse me, I think I'll go to my room."

She rose with book in hand, then stepped away gracefully. She didn't look back.

Was that a hint, a come-hither plea? Am I supposed to respond? Does she want me?
His hand slid to his cock, which was bursting at the seams and anxious to escape. He didn't read women well—and the last mistake had cost him dearly.

He'd been home on leave. Lisa rushed around, preparing for a crucial meeting the next
morning. She'd worked her way up through the ranks to advertising exec, and her ad campaigns
outsold everyone in her department—definitely a rising star. Her presentation was prepared, her
favorite black suit with red pinstripes laid out in the bedroom. Suddenly, after dinner, she'd
asked Glennon if he'd fueled her car. His worst habit was leaving the tank nearly empty. He'd
turned on the charm, grinned at her. "Of course not. But you love me anyway, right?"

Usually she laughed and forgave him—but this time he'd totally pissed her off. "Damn
it, Glennon, when are you going to take my career seriously? This isn't a joke." Before he could
apologize, before he realized her intention, she'd grabbed her purse and keys, then stormed out of
the house.

He called after her from the front steps, "Lise, I'll get it."She'd already backed out of the
driveway, jerked the car into drive, and slammed on the accelerator. Tires squealed.

With nothing else to do until his angry wife returned, he'd parked himself in front of the
television, flicked aimlessly through channels. She'd been gone for quite a while, when he caught
the end of a local news flash.

"—our man on the scene, reporting live . . . a brazen hold-up at an all-night gas station
and convenience store, brightly lit with camera surveillance . . . again, two people dead, and two
suspects killed by police after an exchange of gunfire . . . the names of the female customer and
the male store attendant are being withheld until their families are notified . . . once again—"

Before the detective's car pulled up in front of their off-base housing, Glennon knew.

What he had not known until later—because his wife wasn't sure enough to tell him—was that
Lisa had been pregnant.

* * * * *

Glennon didn't come to her. April swung between disappointment and relief.

She tried to read, books usually providing her personal panacea, but the effort proved futile. Eventually she nodded off, falling deeper than just a doze.

Darkness surrounded her when she awoke. Disoriented, she checked the LED

clock face.
Wow, I slept right through dinner!
She peeked out of her room, but the only illumination appeared to be from the television.
Odd that Glennon didn't call me for
supper
. There might have been faint movement in the living room, but she wasn't sure.

April took the time, made the effort, tried to look as sexy and as alluring as she could manage. A hint of perfume, a new cleavage-popping, ruby-red nightgown—

courtesy of Internet shopping. She trembled with indecision, her breathing forced.
All
right, I can handle this. It's like riding a bicycle, right?

She left her bedroom door open, stepped into the hallway. Then she pulled up short.

Glennon stood less than two arm's-lengths away. The faint glow of the television barely outlined his body. He didn't say a word. Didn't move.

"Glennon?" She stepped closer.

Silent for an uncomfortably long moment, he finally shook his head. He took a step back, then another. "I can't do this with you."

"Put this on." Martone had dragged her into his secret playroom, then locked the door
from the inside. He'd thrown a sheer, crotchless teddy at her, the fabric a bilious lime green. He
saw her about to protest. "Don't open your mouth. I said, put it on. Pin your hair up, or this
time I'll cut it all off. And be quick about it. I'm not waiting all night."

Then he'd shoved her toward the private bathroom attached to the room.

When April had walked hesitantly from the bathroom, every light in his private dungeon
had been switched on. Fear and horror built in her gut as she tried to look away from the strange
sexual paraphernalia scattered around the room. Bondage fixtures swung from ceiling chains;
more hung bolted to the walls. The St. Andrew's Cross stood in the corner, an X-shaped saltire,
affixed with wide leather straps to secure a person's hands and feet. A four-poster bed with
leather straps and cuffs. She'd tried to cover her exposed sex, but there was no hope for it. She
stood in the middle of the room and fearfully awaited instructions.

Angelo heaved his burgeoning bulk out of the overstuffed chair in the center of the room,
adjusted the belt of his robe and circled her, examining her like a race horse he might consider
buying. "What a waste. You couldn't even star in a good porn movie." He dropped into the chair
again. "Kneel before me, useless bitch."

April froze, her eyes wide, as he uncoiled a new flogger from the deep pocket of his robe.

Brutal chrome arrowheads tipped the long, slender, braided leather tails, and, in his cruel fist, the
carved wooden handle resembled a large, black-enameled phallus. She'd never seen it before—he
usually punished her with his favorite mini-flogger, which sported short latigo strips that
protruded from an intricately braided handle. She knew there were even more brutal sex toys in
the fancy closet built into the far wall.

"I . . . told . . . you . . . to . . . come . . . here. You know what happens when you disobey. I
own you—unless your want your precious parents to learn what their princess is really like.

Now . . . kneel." Agitated, Angelo lifted the flogger up and to the side, like he was handling a
bullwhip, then slapped the side of the leather chair with the tails. The pointed metal tips split the
expensive cowhide. A second strike shredded the tough leather. He'd never used that flogger on
her, but there was always a first time—there was no doubt that the cruel plaything could strip
flesh from bone.

She'd dropped to her knees, her arms limp at her sides, the gorge in her throat rising with
the level of her fear.

Angelo stared at her, dark piggish eyes brimming with malevolence. "Never mind, I
don't want you, useless whore. You might be interesting if another broad was here, but you're
worthless alone."

He rose and walked by, leaving her on her knees, her head bowed. "I'm going to bed. Stay
out of my sight, don't bother me."

As he passed, she'd caught a faint odor, almost masked by his overpowering European
cologne. The scent of another woman's perfume. Too sweet, too floral. The combination was
nauseating. A snarl passed Angelo Martone's lips as he left the room. "I can't do this with you."

April stared at Glennon without seeing him, suddenly chilled to the bone.
I can't
do this with you
. "I thought—"