Erin Sinclair

Cupid's heavy breathing jarred his lungs. He'd been on the run for the last hour. Every time his pursuers caught up, a feint here, a dodge there, enabled his escape.

The smell of the wharf assailed his senses as the evening's drizzling rain muted the normal odors of the natural and unnatural. A foghorn from a distant ship on the bay beckoned to the land bound. Shadows leapt forward, vicious creatures seeking to impede his progress. He tamed them, utilized the surreal gloom to his advantage.

A painful throb to his side caused him to bend over where he placed his hands on soaked knees. He fingered the torn right leg of cloth, pulled it back to reveal a battered kneecap. Shit, this is--was my favorite suit. The cold night air inflamed the injury, caused the open wound to sting. A grimace twitched his lips as he recalled its cause. He slipped on a forgotten dead fish in an alley on his last run from the group.

Far off voices and the echo of heavy footsteps forced Cupid to recede into a cavity created by two shipping containers improperly stacked side by side. The narrowness of his cave forced his breathing to slow.

"How did he disappear so fast? We were right behind him," a nasal whine of a voice emanating from a man pierced the night.

"I don't know," a frustrated cultured British accent from another man responded.

A woman's voice, clear and high-pitched, offered a harsh answer.  "Could it be that you're both idiots?"

Cupid knew Mistress Fate had arrived. The Brit mumbled something but Cupid couldn't understand him.

"You're lucky you're good in the sack, Mr. Remington," she snapped in cruel reply. "Otherwise, your markers in Vegas would be due and owing right now."

The cheeky Mr. Remington was silent.  A few minutes after Fate's last comment, only the sound of soft rain against metal and another blast of a foghorn gave Cupid the impression he was alone.

To play it safe, he waited a few moments more before stepping out of his refuge. He peered around him.  His pursuers were gone. Cupid found his bearings and hobbled toward the point where the night's chase began, exhausted, hurt and hungry. "Care to share?" he inquired to a feral cat that eyeballed him with territorial certainty, protecting its rat buffet.

The animal hissed and grabbed its dinner, slinking backward toward the cover of garbage cans.

"How rude," Cupid stated. A shrill whistle broke the night and caused him to stop. It was the kind of attention grabbing sound construction workers used to heckle pretty girls as they walked by their work zones.

Cupid froze. He rolled his eyes and sighed. This night is never going to end. Turning to gaze at the source, despite the weariness pouring through him, his admired the perfect body of his black leather clad captor in appreciation.  She is something.

The thud of footsteps behind him initiated a glance over his shoulder. Two of Fate's Universal Solicitors were fast approaching. He recognized the handsome Mr. Remington's blond blue-eyed beauty and the creepy bugger of a man, Mr. Leach. Cupid shuddered as his gaze landed on the cowlick bald patch with its gray tufts of hair sprouting from the sides of Leach's egg shaped head.  The wiry mess somehow found a way to take root in his ears. Cupid's lip curled in disgust. By Zeus, Leach, will you do something about that?

Cupid turned once more to meet Fate's cobra stare with a grin and nodded politely to the woman approaching him. "Ursula, a pleasure as always." Her smile was dazzling. Eros imagined all the sharks of the Pacific Ocean bowed their heads in appreciation of its toothy cruelty.

"Eros Bubala, hasn't your mother ever told you it's dangerous to play outside after dark?"

"I'm a big boy, I can handle it."

Ursula strutted toward him. The sway of her hips was hypnotic. If they were not on opposite sides, he could show her a few things about hips--his and hers. She had no problem invading his personal space. Standing very close, her spiked hair poking his cheekbone, she sighed. As tall as he, only because of four-inch stacked black leather stiletto boots, she leaned toward his right ear and whispered seductively.

"Do you really think so?"

Cupid's eyes and mouth popped open in startled surprise as the pain of a dagger's blade stabbing through his diaphragm shocked his brain into paralysis. A numbing sensation followed. He looked down at a spreading stain that looked black in the dim glow of streetlights muted by the mist of moisture in the air. He laughed. "You won't succeed," he muttered as the threat of unconsciousness pulled him down to the wet ground. He fought to stay awake as two sets of masculine hands lifted him. One of the hands rifled through his rear pocket and pulled out his wallet. Damn lawyers, always stealing your money.

"Dump him." Fate ordered.

The freezing cold saltwater lay claim to him, the current making a human buoy of his powerless body before a rip tide tucked him under the pier and water filled his lungs. A final thought cavorted through his mind before he blacked out. My tailor's going to kill me.

Brie stepped into a miasma of pulsing house music and screaming women. Her eyes took a few minutes to adjust to the intensity of the stage lights that highlighted her man. He had just finished his performance. A swollen audience cheered in ecstasy at his incredible sweat soaked body while he stopped to pose for his admirers. The thought of touching him sent a sensual wave of anticipatory pleasure through her like a trade wind.

An unbelievable amount of money landed onstage. Shade did not touch it. He allowed the bouncers to retrieve it, then handed both men substantial tips. After the initial yet erotic shock of learning her physical therapist lover worked part time as a stripper, Brie learned the money was not why Shade worked there. He earned a good wage working at City General and didn't need the extra cash. Shade performed for the sheer joy of the dance and the sensuality of the movement.   

Brie, mesmerized by his grace, allowed the crowd a moment to bask in his glory. He smiled at the patrons who sought his attention. There was no ego involved in his acceptance of their desire. She realized Shade knew he was attractive. She also knew, as she grew to understand him over the last few months, he did not take his good looks seriously because he understood the transitory nature of the physical body. Nothing lasted forever therefore he accepted the form given to him as a part of who he was as a human being, but did not allow it to define him. Always gracious though he crouched down and shook some of the more adamant women's hands. This was the only time he allowed the patrons to touch him. Another fact that impressed Brie was she learned Shade donated all cash earned at Paradise to Father Donovan Kenny at St. Jude's Parish. The tiny priest was Shade's friend and mentor, a man for whom he carried deep respect.

"You're so beautiful," Brie whispered. Her heart opened to him and she inhaled. She could swear she detected his scent and the erotic thought pulled her from her position toward the stage.

Shade's head turned, lifted. His gaze landed in her direction, seemed to find her in the over-stimulated crowd. Brie startled. It was as if he knew she arrived. Her heart pounded in syncopated rhythm to the background music. It was so crowded toward the stage area she needed an escort and she searched for Moana, the giant Samoan bouncer who was head of security for the club. Within seconds, Moana found her and wrapped a beefy hand around her arm. He pushed through the throng of women as they clapped to the beat of another song to introduce the next dancer and within seconds, they approached a side entrance door.

"Thanks," Brie smiled. He grimaced in return, which she realized was his idea of a grin.

Once through the door, she paused for a moment to allow her eyes to grow accustomed to the darkness of the interior. It didn't take her long to find him. Shade seemed in deep conversation with one of the female dancers, a petite Asian woman dressed in a short red sequined sheath dress and matching red platform stilettos. She stroked Shade's arm. He stopped her, removed her hand in gentle rejection.

A rush of possessiveness slammed Brie in the chest. She strutted forward, hands in her jean pockets. The idea of ripping the woman's hair extensions out of her head occurred to her, but she realized she would have a hard time explaining her actions to fellow police employees when she was booked on battery charges.

"You were awesome tonight, baby, they loved you," crooned Vanessa as she reached to run her hand along Shade's washboard stomach. Brie clenched her jaw in irritation. She cracked her neck in an effort to relax. Her gaze raked the diminutive stripper over burning coals.

Vanessa must have received a clue something was wrong when Shade stepped away from her because she paused, then turned around to follow Shade's gaze. Brie noted the stripper's eyes grew wide at her approach. In a show of what Brie recognized as street bravado, Vanessa crossed her arms in front of her chest, bobbed her head on her slender neck from side to side. Brie thought the dancer looked like a sparrow doused in the dyed red sugar people put on their Christmas cookies.

"Wassup, Brie?" Vanessa's cocky tone rolled from a mouth filled with gold plated teeth.

"Not him, Vanessa." Brie replied. Her voice carried a dangerous finality to it.

Vanessa uncrossed her arms, turned to look at Shade. When no assistance arrived from that quarter, she threw up her hands. "Whatevah, I gotta bounce."

Brie watched the stripper run away as fast as her little feet could carry her. She turned to Shade. His eyes flashed to yellow gold and a thrill of desire blasted through her. Their ability to change on a dime still filled her with amazement, but she had long ago accepted it was a unique trait of her lover.

Stepping forward with jaguar grace, Shade grabbed her by the lapels of her leather jacket. He pulled her into him, plunged his mouth over hers, his need of her evident.

He was the deluge to her thirst. It was as if she had wandered in a desert and found an oasis. She collapsed towards him, returned his fervor with desperate desire. Her knees weakened. Shade lifted Brie into his arms, carried her to his dressing room.

He locked the door behind him and placed her on a sheepskin rug. He straddled her hips and removed her jacket, tossed it on a sofa across from his dressing table. Shade moved his hands in a smooth caress over her arms, trailed his fingers down to her belt buckle.

Brie shook her head. "Now," she demanded. She was in no mood for foreplay, wanted him inside her before she burst into flames. Tonight was about need, about demand, about pure primitive mating.

Within a few minutes, a small hillock rose before her and she climbed it. Cedar wood burned from several fireplaces adding a fragrant scent to the air and smudging the sky with its smoke. The large cabin her family had owned for well over two decades beckoned her with welcoming light from all of its visible windows. She could make out the building through the nude trees of the winter forest without a problem. The home announced its warmth and protection and was a beacon of love to her. She smiled and quickened her pace.

The fluffy dry powder of the recent snowstorm was easy to trudge through, but layered the forest floor two feet deep in some places. Simone lifted her toned legs high, stepping gingerly so as not to stumble on any tree roots or dips in the ground. She paused for a moment to catch her breath, then startled at the sight of a set of large booted footprints in the more shallow areas of snowfall. She looked around her, wondering to whom they belonged.

This was private property. Her family owned sixty acres surrounding the cabin all the way to the lake. On a night like this, the Millers would not be out. They would be inside, cooking a ton of rich food, singing Christmas carols and enjoying hot toddies by the large hearth in the grand family room centered in the middle of the cabin. Curious, she followed the markings to a large oak off to her right. She noted they led to and past a Ford pickup truck emblazoned with the seven pointed star and golden shield of the Orleans County Sheriff's Department.Simone grew worried, wondering if there was anything wrong at the cabin. She gathered Teddy's carrier to her and hurried away from the truck, fear mounting. As she passed under the massive wide-branched oak, a profound crack ricocheted around her, snapping her attention upward. "Wh-whoa!" a voice bellowed as a man, dressed in the uniform of a deputy sheriff, crashed through the tree. A violent whuff of air blasted from his lungs when he landed flat on his back in a deep pile of snow right in front of Simone's feet. A poof of the fresh powder caught her in the face.

Surprised, she gasped and stumbled backward. She dropped poor Teddy and the expensive Dior handbag to the ground. Teddy hissed and shrieked in irritation, but she righted herself before falling, shouting, "Oh my word!"

Clearing the snow from her eyes, she looked down on the long, lanky form of a handsome, stunned deputy sheriff who lay, unmoving, at her feet.

Brie’s toes curled as she stretched, then hunkered down under the inviting sheets of her bed and closed her eyes. She could not release the image of Shade and her mind gave way to espresso rich imaginings, hot and fresh, roasting her as they enveloped each other and lay down in soft white sand. His exquisite hands traveled her nude form inch by daring inch, across her thighs, over her warm skin. Tanned fingers traced the bone of her pelvis, nipping teeth followed. She gasped. Seeking lips nibbled her Venus mound focusing on her pulsing need, suckling her. His tongue danced along her nerves, fire turned to starlight, then brilliant sun, which beat down on her alabaster torso. Perspiration drenched her and him, the Amazon flowing from every pore, the Nile pouring between her thighs. She cried out his name as the wave crashed and rolled, forced her awake.
Brie bolted upright, gasping as the final throes of an incredible orgasm drifted away leaving her startled, sated, wanting more. Her heart slowed its ragged pounding and she realized her bedclothes were gone, crumpled lumps on the floor by the bed. She touched the moist remains of sweat and sexual aftermath drenching her sheets.
 What am I going to do? Sinking her head in her hands, the length of her hair covered her face, providing her shelter.
Her obsession with the beautiful stranger, whom she somehow knew without knowing, escaped the boundaries she wanted to establish. She was out of sorts, undone by her longing for him. There was no choice but to make a concerted effort to stay away from him for a while, to shut down her senses until she could maintain a modicum of decorum when near him. If she did not she would wind up making a complete idiot of herself.
Sleep demanded her return and she moved away from the damp side of the bed. The rumpled flat sheet cascaded to the floor. Too hot to put her pajamas on she lay back, fell asleep and barely awakened in time to get ready for work.
 

"Maman, what are you doing here?" She embraced her striking mother, pulling back to kiss her cheeks. Studying the woman's lustrous white hair, light blue eyes, aquiline features, she found a look of worry about her. Other than that, Bettina Blanchard was the picture of health for a woman of one hundred and ten years who did not look a day over sixty. "Is Papa all right? Bertrand?"

Bettina returned the embrace of her only daughter, continued to prepare their breakfast. She replied in a warm soprano, Provencal accent tinting her words. "Oui, darling, your father and brother are well."

The two women, out of long ago established habit, set the breakfast table together, catching up on family events as they placed croissants, butter, homemade jam and coffee on the table followed by cups, saucers and spoons. Cassandra opened the backdoor and the kitchen window to allow the amazing autumn wind to flow around them. Her mother sat in one of the pillowed wrought iron chairs nestled around a small vintage circular pine table and glanced about the room.

"You have exquisite taste, darling. Your home is perfect and the roses, magnifique."

"My mother taught me well." She smiled and waited patiently for the woman to discuss the real reason for her visit. Cassandra deduced her mother was upset. When she was in such a state, she did not like to talk about distasteful things while eating as she believed it upset the digestion.

When the croissants were gone and the women were on their second cup of coffee, Bettina turned to her daughter and hesitated.

"Maman, please tell me what is bothering you."

She sighed. "I am here about your engagement."

Cassandra's face lit into bright cheer as she extended her marriage hand to her mother. "Isn't it beautiful?"

Bettina took her daughter's hand and raised stylish glasses carried on a gold chain to her eyes. She studied the ring, agreed on its beauty. She mumbled again in French and put her daughter's hand down, patting it. "You cannot marry him."

"I'm sorry, Maman, what do you mean?" Floored by her mother's statement, Cassandra did not move. She did not understand and a knife of pain stabbed her heart. Her mother was going to help her plan, she had been sure of it. They would travel the world to find the most unique items for her trousseau, wedding, and honeymoon. It never occurred to her that her mother would not approve of her marriage. Bettina loved Ethan as if he were her own.

"You cannot marry Mr. McBride."

Cassandra shook her head in devastation, not believing what she heard. "I don't understand. You love him as much as I do."

"Of course I do and if there is any way around this, I will gladly give my consent."

Even more confused than ever, Cassandra checked the tears threatening to spill and shook her head, dumbfounded at the comment. "Then what is the problem?"

She took her daughter's face in her elegant hands and stated, "You cannot marry Mr. McBride because you have apparently forgotten you are bound to another."