Courted by Karma (The Adventures of Anabel Axelrod) (31 page)

I found myself holding my
thighs tightly clenched together over the throbbing need Luke’s husky words and kisses were causing in my cha-cha central.

‘Jesus H. Merciful Christ on a stick!
How can this man possibly get me this hot and crazy after just bringing me to a screaming orgasm not five minutes ago?’

That’s when I knew I was being
seriously drugged and pimped out.

‘
By my own body, no less!’

It wasn’t your run of the mill sexual infatuation chemicals set loose to do their dirty job.
I have been systematically shot up with hormones that may as well be heroin for the addiction it was causing. I was overdosing and need help.

‘My name is Anabel Axelrod and I am a junkie.
’

The
supportive voices in my head rushed to the meeting. They reassured me if admitting your addiction was half the battle then it stands to reason, with my strength of will, I’ll soon be on the road to recovery.

I cried out in confusion,
‘I actually asked a man to not chase another woman around in her undies!
’ I continued in the loudest internal wail,
“Worse yet, I don’t know if he agreed or not by his answer, but I still rode him like I owned him! I’m my fake boyfriend’s Sex Whore!’

The sex kitten voice spoke up vehemently and insisted we
need to fight fire with fire and get this dirty drug out of my system, permanently.

Equally vehement, I agreed.
It was okay to want to have some fun with Luke Drake once in a while, but this wild, passionate, delirious need? It may feel incredible to tingle from stem to stern with one hooded look from those knowing eyes, and to come so intensely when he touched me that I screamed with abandon and felt faint, but I was out of control over a man.

T
his sexual addiction was shameful, revolting, intolerable, and disgraceful.

‘
It must come to an end before coming ends ME!’
I screamed, visualizing a closetful of flat shoes and bedazzled T shirts.

Almost all
of the voices agreed with fervent nods, shaking power fists, and yells of agreement. Even my laconic detective voice spoke up and summed up my dire situation in one eloquent word;
‘Run!’

The conspicuously silent dissenter
was the mean mommy voice, but she’s always playing the devil’s advocate, so I was not too worried.

Trying to contain my
relief at the thought of this emotional torment coming to a close in the near future, I opened my eyes and agreed eagerly, “Yes, let’s do it, please! A total immersion weekend of sexual torture and me screaming nonstop is exactly what I need.” I looked around for my phone. “How does next week, December fourth through the sixth, work for you?” My brows snapped together. “Tell me the Nazi-Scheduler doesn’t have to approve your time off?”

“Always in such a hurry, aren’t you, Anabel?
Running off here or there and timing this or that.” Luke shook his head while running a long finger thoughtfully over his lips. His eyes were dark and slumberous to match his voice, and held me transfixed with their intensity. “I can see I’m going to have to teach you the hard way the benefits of slowing down.”

Shaking my head slightly
to break his tractor beam, I wasn’t fooled. I saw when those eyes had flared with interest at the words sexual torture. Now that I knew he’d like to tie me up in awkward positions, I’d have to watch Mr. Tricky closer than ever. The only cattle prod I was letting near my body was the one Father Nature gave him.

I also noticed
Luke didn’t answer me about next week or Svettie, but I was getting used to the way he operated. Unlike most men, I was now convinced Mr. Smooth Operator saw and heard all, but answered only when he was good and ready.

Spending a concentrated time with Luke
was precisely what I needed to do. Realistically, I was not expecting the man to be cool and seductive all the time. What I do need to see was Luke morphing into the big drag of a baby most men proved to be once they stopped trying to impress. I was counting on familiarity breeding contempt in no time. Luke has many interesting facets besides being hotter than hell, but nothing I couldn’t get over. Once he started making me yawn by wanting to do that dinner thing Mac mentioned, I would be released from his thrall. Luke could be neutered down to one of my best male friends by mid-December.

I laughed darkly at that wishful thinking. Luke w
ould never be neutered down, but maybe I could butch up enough to wean myself off his pipes. We could settle down to a nice booty call every two to three months.

Gathering up my
tattered reserves of willpower, I thought of foods that disgusted me to tamp down the throbbing tingles Luke caused in me. My mind firmly on purple slabs of raw liver and the stinky smell of cooked broccoli, I changed the subject.

Luke and I agreed to meet back here at five to go over the joint rescue mission. He didn’t show much reaction after I told him what little I knew of the details and what my
tentative plan was to save Blanca. More accurately, he didn’t say one word, but just gave me that long, fascinated stare.

I d
idn’t mind that look because my fake boyfriend looked very smart while he drummed his fingers on the office door and silently contemplated me. I got that sometimes it took men longer to process those types of plans than women. Shrugging it off, I admitted it was a wee bit disappointing Luke was a little slow on the uptake. I thought he’d uphold the power part of our pact a little more and show some enthusiasm. Maybe this was a good thing considering my pipe weaning plans.

After Luke left,
I hadn’t taken three steps from the door to peek at my new gun when I heard a commotion behind me in the store. It sounded all too familiar. Wincing at the noise, I stuck my head out of the office. Following the grating voice, I saw Svetlana with Stella up by the front display windows near the entrance to Bel’s. Svettie was raising some kind of ruckus.

Luke
swiftly approached the pair and said something to Svettie that caused her to stop her screeching immediately. She stepped close to my fake boyfriend and latched onto to his arm. John hurried over to join them, and with a man on each side, they ushered the animatedly gesturing Russian out of the store. At Bel’s doors, Luke looked my way with a quick, rueful shrug. I managed a small nod in return, but my hands were clenched. Looking down at my fists, I was slightly unsettled by the abnormal urge I had to fling Svettie’s hands off Luke’s bicep and fling her out of my store. The abnormal part came from the desire to fling her through the display window and not the front door.

‘Man, the sooner I got off the sex smack, the better!’
I vowed in determination.

I let out my breath and looked arou
nd. Nobody seemed to take much notice once they saw nothing of interest was going on. Svettie had merely been an older woman peculiarly outfitted from head to the toe in white fur while talking too loudly to Stella. This was not an unusual sight in a college town where parents routinely visited.

Stella
strode my way. When she was close enough to not be overheard, she said, “Svetlana’s nice, but she sure is hyper. I don’t know what she does for a living, but it’s a good thing she’s taking some time off to stay with her good friend Luke at his farm.”

Stella’s eyes narrowed suspiciously
on these words, but I kept my face neutral. I noted that like Anna, my niece also didn’t trust the Russian staying with Luke at his house.

She
commented with a small frown, “That’s one woman that needs to chill before she strokes out. Why would thinking you recognize someone driving by outside make you freak out like that?”

This must have been a rhetorical question
, since Stella blew out a huff of disbelief and stooped to reach for her purse in the deep counter drawer. She muttered absently, “At least she’s wearing faux fur, although that’s just a different kind of mean green. Most of that fur is manufactured from petroleum products,” she laughed bitterly, “and we all know
that’s
not a renewable resource! It makes me sick to think of the formaldehyde, sulfides, chromates, and ammonia entering our air and water systems to fabricate her clothes. Why can’t people get this contaminates us all and makes us sick? Plus, it’s butt ugly! The hat alone hurts me bad.” Stella slammed the drawer. “What is she thinking? She should never wear a hat that size with her narrow face!” Stella shook her head in despair. “It reminded me of one of those palace guards we saw in London,” she pointed a finger at me, “what were they called again--Steakeaters?”

I bit my cheek
and flicked at her finger. “Beefeaters?”

“Yeah, those dudes!”

“Not that I’m changing topics because you know I’m always thrilled to hear more about contamination and sickness, but Beefeater’s don’t actually guard Buckingham Palace. It’s the Foot Guard. They’re the ones wearing those goofy, hairy hats that are called bearskins.”

Stella giggled. “
You know the craziest facts, Auntie Bel. Foot Guard and Beefeaters? Those Brits are such a riot!”

“Yeah, I know the craziest stuff
,” I agreed dryly. “I’m told Svettie’s a linguist.”

Stella paused
in searching the caverns of her purse, and laughing blue eyes turned up to meet mine. “For real? She talks so funny!”

“I kid you not.”

Stella grinned. “That’s wild.” Hanging her bag on her shoulder, she said, “I’ll be ready to go in a few minutes.” Her voice lowered, “I have to pee like a racehorse constantly lately!”

I made a moue of disgust. “Please
Stella. Try to resist the need to describe your bodily functions over the next eight months. I’m much too sensitive for life’s harsh realities.” Over Stella’s rolling eyes and sniggers I whispered, “Oh, and let me be very clear, my dearest niece; you get to describe your personal gory details of giving birth one time to me, and one time only. Are we clear on this?”

“Describe the
gory details?” She walked down the aisle, throwing over her shoulder with a wicked, little laugh that reminded me of someone I couldn’t quite put my finger on, “you’ll get to see them front and center.”

“Not happening!” I
shot back with horror.

“Oh, yes it is!” She called back, laughing
louder.

“You can’t
legally make me!” I retorted, hoping this was true.

“Oh, yes I can!”

“Sorry, but I’m gone on vacation that week to help starving people in Africa, which I think is a little more important, Miss Selfish!”

“I haven’t even told you wh
at week it is yet!”

“Did I say week? I meant summer! Who travels to Africa for only a week?”

Despite Stella’s laughter, I felt confident that I’d laid some solid groundwork convincing my hard-headed niece she was very mistaken. Unless a petite, voluptuous body passed out on the floor for the medical professionals to trip over could be helpful in a delivery room, she could count on me for absolutely nothing. I won’t be setting these sapphire orbs on anything remotely childbirth oriented.

Sure,
I agreed birthing a child was a human miracle. In some conceptual fairyland, where I can also eat Danishes all day long and not gain an ounce; those miracles were all very sweet. My graphic, reality-based opinion was that no woman should ever have to see a relative’s vagina stretched to accommodate something emerging roughly the size of a ripe butternut squash.

As for your man being expected to watch this miracle of the hungry black hole? It’s not like he
still won’t believe you had his baby if he got to sit with his back to that end of the frightening spectacle of nature. It was also not like your vagina needed his cheering and encouragement to know what needed to be done. I say give the poor guy a break. Let him know it was perfectly fine to concentrate on your important half. Let him fend off your swinging fists and whisper sweet nothings to your contorted, sweating, swearing, but oh so beautiful face.

Why
do women ever want their man to see their cha-cha’s behaving in such a freakish manner? I agree; it made me shudder to think of the nightmares it could give some men, much less the ideas it could give some others.

Stella can expect my vow of one hundred and fifty percent
Great Auntie Bel support to begin in her private hospital room. Right after the cleaned-up mother placed the cleaned-up little tater tot, dressed in darling pink ruffles, into my adoring arms. Id coo softly at the miracle of her existence and decide on her name--just like Mother Nature intended.

Locking the office door behind me again, I unzipped the black bag on my desk a moment later.
Delighted, I recognized the cute pistol. It was a Ruger similar to my brother’s. This Ruger was stainless steel with a pretty wood grain grip. The word Hunter was inscribed on the side. Not having time right now to do much more than give it a little kiss, I welcomed Hunter into my life. Saying a quick prayer that I’d never need to use it except for fun at the target range, I placed the handgun back in the bag.