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Out of the Past

By: CAP811



I am an old man whose eyes have seen much. As with many of us who reach their sixty-fifth year, I live in the past, in ways that perhaps you cannot imagine. This is my story.

If ever there was a man who went through life nostalgic for a place that he has never called home, it was I. Having grown up in California, I eventually become an executive at Bio-Rad, a company that markets research equipment. But my heart lay elsewhere. 

My grandmother Vera, who lived in Merced, was the one who set me on my path. As a child and young man, I loved the old woman and the tales she told. Of Oklahoma and the prairie; of dust storms and blue northers and loneliness, but also of pie suppers and county fairs. Of a robust spirited people and an era now gone. Gone, quite literally, with the wind.

Vera had grown up near Stillwater in central Oklahoma. In 1935, at the height of the drought and windstorms now called the Dust Bowl, she and husband Henry had loaded their belongings and three children, including my father Carl, into Henry's 1929 Dodge truck. They joined the tide of refugees leaving the parched heartland and drove to California, impelled by despair and hope in equal measure. They were Okies, and remained so to the end.

Buried deep in the truck was their most precious possession, a photo album. With a Box Brownie camera Grandfather Henry had recorded their life in Oklahoma: the house in which they lived, their neighbors, and Stillwater town. He captured a world that no longer exists save in the silver halide crystals that make up those irreplaceable photographs.

I alone among Vera's offspring became fascinated by those pictures and her stories of life on the plains. I alone realized that part of Vera, the best part maybe, had never really left Oklahoma. Some measure of her spirit had stayed behind, and called out to her to her dying day.

In the spring of 1976, at age 34, I took my wife Elizabeth and children Mark and Connie on my first odyssey to Oklahoma. I was disappointed by what I found. The monotonous prairie; the constant wind; a sky whose sheer size made one feel uneasy. Where was the world of which Vera spoke so fondly? I searched but could not find it.

But the seed was planted. We returned to the plains every few years. Each time I began to feel more and more that I belonged there. I did not understand it myself; my family was even more mystified.

And so the years passed. When I was 50 I had the first of several episodes of arrhythmia, soon diagnosed as coronary artery disease. I began medication. You will have this for the rest of your life, my doctor said. You must eventually change your lifestyle; reduce your stress level. Yes, I thought, I know where to do that: the plains of Oklahoma.

Elizabeth and I divorced in 2004, an amicable parting. My children, Californians to the core, settled in the Bay Area and could not imagine living anywhere else. But I could.

On a trip to Oklahoma just after my divorce, I came across Redbud Valley in Osage County. Down a lonely stretch of highway near Pawhuska I found the house. As soon as I saw it, I knew that it was what I had been searching for. It was Home.

Built around 1910, the house had lain abandoned for several years. Along the front and side were a wide porch that gave shade from the Oklahoma sun. The house itself was made of red sandstone, with a wide fireplace and chimney. With only two bedrooms, it was small for a family but perfect for a retired man.

With my pension and savings I bought the house and 30 acres around it. I removed the invasive junipers and cleansed the land with fire each spring; soon it was what it wanted to be, tallgrass prairie. After a few years my home was surrounded by prairie wildflowers and grasses that stood as tall as a man by late summer. In autumn my grassland took on colors ranging from bronze to dull red. 

Bitter Creek ran across the land near my house; along its banks I planted my garden. From the red clay soil I managed to coax crops of tomatoes, okra, squash and corn. I became a regular at the Pawhuska Farmers' Market.

I joined the Antioch Christian Fellowship. My fellow worshipers, at first unsure of this man with his strange accent, soon accepted me. They realized that I was at heart an Oklahoman.

In restoring the house I had planned to make it as modern as possible. But soon I found myself drawn more to the old. In the end the wallpaper and furniture, from Persian rugs to wing chairs to my roll top desk, would not have looked out of place a century ago. Somehow it felt right.

I passed many hours on my shaded porch in a rocking chair, savoring the tranquility and my grassland vista. Meadowlarks would serenade me as I watched harrier hawks glide over the prairie. They provided all the companionship I needed.

Early November was my favorite time of year: the air dry and crisp like a fine wine; the sun still warm, the prairie rich with color. During one such day I had spent the afternoon on my porch. Perhaps I dozed off, perhaps not. But I was awake when I heard the sound of a wagon moving along the road.

I watched as it passed: an unpainted buckboard wagon carrying a load of corn. The driver was a man in his 30s, lean and with a thick moustache, clad in overalls and a worn felt hat. Beside him sat a young girl in a calico dress and straw hat with wide brim. Sitting on the corn was another youngster. Like his father he wore faded overalls and a rough cotton shirt. 

I was charmed by this bucolic scene, to the point where I raised a hand and waved to the children. Each smiled and waved in return.

It is important to be clear on this. So close was I to the wagon, and so keenly did I observe the passengers, that I saw every feature plainly. I could hear the creaking of the axles and wagon wheels; I even caught the scent of the draft horse as it pulled its load. 

A plume of dust was raised as the wagon passed by. It remained in the air for a moment even as the wagon and its passengers faded in the distance.

Still smiling, I got up to go fetch a glass of iced tea. Only when I had entered the house did it hit me. What I had seen was not possible. The road past my house is paved. I could not have seen a wagon stirring the dust.

I ran out onto the porch, then to the roadside. Down the asphalt highway I could see half a mile in either direction. There was no wagon, no dust. Just a peaceful afternoon, the sun working its way through thin clouds to another prairie sunset. 

A shudder went through me. Only those who have brushed against the bizarre and the inexplicable can appreciate how I felt at that moment. 

For days my mind was plagued. That wagon and its passengers had seemed as real as anything I had ever seen in my life. And mundane, not in the least frightful. Merely impossible. What could it mean?

The days turned cold. Just after Thanksgiving I was awakened one morning at dawn. Above the keening wind I could hear a familiar unmistakable sound from my backyard: an axe being used to chop firewood. Crack! came the sharp report every few seconds, as another oak piece was split. 

Be nice to have wood for the fireplace, I thought. But then I shuddered again. Because the rick of firewood I had recently bought was already cut and stacked. And my own axe was in the cab of my locked pickup truck. Filled with trepidation, I put on my robe and slippers and went to the back door.

The backyard was silent and empty. My well-tended lawn was covered by a heavy frost. When I meticulously examined it, I found no trace of shoes that had trod there, even though my own shoes left clear prints. There were no wood chips or evidence of woodcutting. 

Now I was certain that for the second time I had had an encounter with the fantastic. The fact that each incident was so ordinary made it no less disturbing. We expect our experiences in life to be possible and rational. These two were neither.

Any doubt that I was facing the mystical were erased several weeks later. Some part of me, I think, now waited with dread for the next incident. And when I heard a knock on my front door one evening just as I had gone to bed, intuition told me to steel myself.

I got up and walked down the short hall. There in the living room, in the glow of a kerosene lamp, were two women sobbing and embracing. Both were wearing floor-length dresses. One, clad in a heavy wool cape and an ornate hat with egret plumes in it, had apparently just arrived at my home.

"Oh Lydia, my dear," she said to the other woman, "I'm so, so sorry. We came as soon as we heard. How is she taking it?"

"As well as could be expected, I reckon," the other woman replied between sobs. Her reddish hair flowed over her shoulders. "We knowed it could happen, but prayed he'd come out alive."

"Poor Helen! And her carrying his baby! What an awful thing this is!" The two now held hands, gazing at each other with heartfelt sorrow.

And just like that the women vanished, as in a movie when there is a quick cut to another scene. In the blink of an eye my living room was dark and deserted. But there was no chill, nothing to indicate that the otherworldly had once again visited me.

Trembling again, I went to the kitchen for a glass of brandy. Did the women appeared semi-transparent, I thought, or was there a glow about them? No. They were as tangible, as ordinary as any two people could look. What I had witnessed, I decided, were two real people and an event that had taken place in this house. Just not in my lifetime. 

*******

People of the heartland live a long life and they remember everything. This thought crossed my mind as I regarded the woman before me.

She was Clara Heinrich, age 89, a long-time member of Antioch Christian Fellowship. She seemed at once timeless and as old as dirt. Her thinning white hair was tied back in a bun; deep lines and wrinkles covered her still-ruddy face. I was sitting in her living room in Pawhuska, having tea and discussing the past. The distant past.

"I remember, Mrs. Heinrich," I said, "that you told me you had once lived in my house. The old Reinart place out on Highway 11?"

"Why, yes," the woman replied in her quavering voice, "'twas back in the early 30s. I was just a young girl, but always had fond memories o' that place. Hated to move to Tulsa, but when the crops all failed we had to."

"I'm interested in tracing the history of the house, it being so old and all. Did you know the Reinart family that built it?"

"Oh, yes, everbody knew everbody in those days."

"Was there ever any tragedy that befell the Reinarts? To a woman named Helen?"

The old dame eyed me suspiciously. "Why do you want to know?"

"Just curious. I'd like to know who lived there before me. To know what joy and heartbreak my little house has seen."

As if she were recalling something that happened last week, the woman spoke. "Well, of course. Helen Reinert's husband got killed in World War I. Right afore it ended. What was his name, Frank, I believe. Just broke that poor girl's heart. She was carryin' his baby at the time, 'n livin' with her Mam and Pap in the house there. Frank never got to see his baby."

"Was Helen's mother named Lydia? Did she have red hair?"

The woman stared past me, deep in thought. "Why, I believe that was her name! And she did have reddish kinda hair. How in the world did you know that?"

"It's hard to explain in words." 

The room chilled a bit as the old dowager gazed at me, then rose and stood, looking out the window. In a quiet voice she said, "I've heard stories around Redbud Valley, but I've lived here most of my life 'n never seen nothin' peculiar. So I don't want to hear nothin' about it." 

*******

A week later came the church Christmas party. Buoyed by an evening of good cheer, I returned home and stood outside, reveling in the silence and the countless stars splashed across the cold sky. And just like that an epiphany swept over me.

I had come in search of Oklahoma. But what had drawn me here was not only the land but its past history as well. And in some inexplicable way I was being given glimpses of just that. It was a gift to cherish, not something to fear.

A weight was lifted from my shoulders. And when a few nights later, as I was reading in my den, I heard a man's low voice and a woman's throaty laugh coming from my bedroom, I knew. Yes, I smiled to myself, my house has known joy, pleasures of the carnal nature, as well as suffering. 

That winter, with time on my hands, I restored a broken-down buggy, the kind usually referred to as a doctor's buggy. When I was finished it gleamed, with white spokes, tan upholstery, and a retractable vinyl hood over the driver's seat.

I put in a small metal barn and purchased Dolly, a black mare. Like her owner, she was past her prime. But she was perfect for hauling a gentleman around in his buggy.

My heart was still acting up; chest pains came and went. For relaxation I began to take my horse-drawn buggy down the red dirt roads that bisected Osage County. My appearance at first startled the ranchers that I met in their pickups. I took some ribbing but was soon a familiar sight. 

I discovered that one misses a lot as one speeds along, cooped up in an automobile. With my buggy the pace was slow, giving me a chance to savor the prairie and its wildlife, the wind in my face. I felt connected to the land in a way that I had never felt in a motor car.

But I suppose some part of me now expected to encounter something more than the prairie landscape. Who or what would it be?

Out for a drive on a cool afternoon in early March, I stopped to watch a flock of turkeys feeding near a copse of oaks. Glancing back to the road, I saw in the far distance another buggy, not unlike mine, approaching me.

The country here is in places gently rolling hills. The other buggy disappeared down into a low section of the road, then reappeared on the next low hill, moving at a steady pace. With a sense of foreboding I used the reins to tap Dolly, and began to advance in that direction.

We drew near. The driver had a full dark beard and appeared to be about 50. He was clad mostly in black, similar to the outfit Gary Cooper wore in the movie High Noon. The woman beside him was somewhat younger. A dark green bonnet with white trim covered her long curls. Women have not worn that hair style or that type of hat for almost a century.

Struggling to keep my voice calm, I greeted them as we met. "Howdy, neighbors!" I managed with composure that I was not feeling in the least.

"Good afternoon to you, sir," came the genial reply. The woman offered me a friendly smile, and just like that they were past. Still moving slowly, I turned and watched their buggy proceed down the road, appearing and disappearing as the road rose and fell. About a quarter of a mile away, the buggy dropped out of sight at a low part of the road. I waited for five minutes, but it never emerged onto the next hill. It should have, but it did not.

A cold sweat, as cold as death itself, now covered my brow. Can a sane man ever become used to such encounters? The gulf between me and my spectral neighbors seemed too immense to comprehend.

*******

It is strange how life, so strong and vibrant within us, can suddenly slip out of our grasp like an unruly child. No one knows this better than a man with heart trouble.

Late March brought an Alberta Clipper: a fast-moving cold front that rushes headlong down from Canada across the plains. With the wind howling outside, I decided to build a warm fire. I was just putting a few pieces of oak in the fireplace. But then without warning came an invisible sledgehammer blow to my chest and a burning sensation down my left arm.

I staggered, gasping for perhaps my last breath. The feeling of suffocation, the pain in my chest was indescribable. But even then I was lucid. Oh no, I thought. Not now, not yet. Please God, I'm happier, more content than I've ever been in my life! Please not yet!

The floor abruptly rose up to me, and I lay semi-conscious. But it seemed only a few seconds before I heard knocking at the door, footsteps, and then voices that sounded close yet far away at the same time.

Consciousness came and went. At one point I could hear the steady hum of an automobile and above that a loud siren. Then came more footsteps on a hard floor; muted voices again far away. At last, blessed silence.

I awoke next morning in the Intensive Care Unit at Osage County Hospital. I remained there for the day as the nurses and my cardiologist, Dr. Prescott, monitored my heart. Then they moved me to a private room.

I had just finished breakfast there on my second day when Paul Matlock, a deputy sheriff in Osage County, rapped on the door and peeked into my room.

"Morning, Mr. Schaefer. How are ya feeling?"

I was acquainted with the man, who often bought tomatoes from me at the Farmers' Market. "I'm fine, Paul, as well as can be expected. Come in."

Paul was in his late 30s, a member of the Osage tribe. He was just as astute as he was easygoing. He took a seat and looked around for a few seconds, then spoke. "I wanted to ask a few questions about your heart attack."

"Why? Is it against the law to have a heart attack?"

"No," he chuckled, "folks can have one anytime they feel like it. But I'm curious. Why didn't you call 9-1-1? That's what it's there for."

"I didn't have time. It just hit me like a sledgehammer, Paul."

"Then how come you sent that boy on a bicycle to fetch the ambulance? Must be ten miles from your house to Pawhuska, and that boy had to peddle it. We don't understand why you or him didn't phone it in to save time. You might have died."

"Boy? What boy are you talking about?"

Paul eyed me, letting the silence draw out. "I was at the fire station when it happened. Kid, maybe 14 or so, comes up on a bicycle, one of those old timey fat tire models. And he's got on a newsboy cap like nobody's worn in maybe 60 years. Even wearin' those, what d' ya call it, knickerbocker pants and long stockings. We figured he was in a school play or something."

"Tells us that Dennis Schaefer is having a bad heart attack. Says where you live, how to get there. Real adamant about how we need to hurry. The paramedics were in the ambulance and out in the streets in just a minute or two. But funny thing is, the kid was gone by then. He must have left when our backs were turned. I thought I knew most folks around the county, but I'd never seen that boy before. I asked the other fellows, and none of them knew him either."

Paul went on, "So, does he live nearby to you? Was he there when it happened?"

"No, there was no one around. No one I remember." I gazed at Paul evenly, struggling to keep from trembling again. 

"Hmm." Now Paul leaned forward and spoke in a lower tone. "What's really got us scratchin' our heads is this. The ambulance left the station at 6:03, got to your house at 6:15. I checked the report sheet. And the paramedics say that when they got there, you were just then having the attack. You had fallen, hadn't even passed out. Now, the kid showed up here, say 6:00 or so. It's as if he told us something that was going to happen fifteen minutes before it actually did."

I swallowed. "That's not possible," I murmured. Just like seeing Lydia Reinart in my living room. Not possible.

"Yeah, I know. Damndest thing. You swear you didn't feel it coming on, 'n send the kid running for us?"

"No, of course not. I'd have called 9-1-1 like you said."

Now I could sense tension in the room. Paul slowly took out a toothpick and put it in his mouth. Finally he said, "Mr. Schaefer, if I was to look for this boy, where would I find him?"

I waited long seconds before replying in a quiet voice, "I don't know. I'm not sure you can. You'd be wasting your time."

The man looked at me. Did he understand? Without a word he got up and left the room.


Out Of The Past



{This is just something else that happened, I jot them down when they do. Nothing really sexy here.

One of these days I will gather the stories all up and put them in order, that might help things make sense.}

+++

First, let me say I have the best old lady on planet Earth! Sure, I am prejudiced about that, I admit it.

It is also true.

In some stories I have posted here, I have jotted down my life, some of it the way it was before, some of it the way it is.

In my two decades before of marriage to Dotty, I will say I was completely happy. We were normal, sex was Saturday and Sunday was church, we went to parties, car shows, knew people and visited.

In my now five years of marriage to Debra, good lord! Her favorite pastime is seeing if she can get me up and going, and she has changed the way I think about life and having fun.

The first time she answered our door and in came July, a lady she knew who was going to give me a massage and treat my slow stream problem (you guys over 50 all know what I mean there) was the beginnings.

I was not sure of what Debra's reaction would be to what happened that evening in our spare bedroom, then she went in and got her own massage while I sat in the living room with my mind in a whirl.

I even took the time to read up on Prostate massage, some say it is dangerous, ineffective, some say the opposite.

I think the difference is in finding someone who knows what they are doing. July, you see, is also a Registered Nurse. She combines the massage with creating muscular contractions, which of course means a hand finish if I want to be crude about it.

Completely legal since she is a Registered Nurse.

Guess what? Medicare covers it! Tee hee.

Stuff like that turned out to be perfectly normal around our house, Debra has zero jealousy and a lot of the situations she instigates.

The stories I write are about slices of life, sure there are some sexy situations but I really don't have to make a hell of a lot up any more.

My Debra is 58 years old and if she said she was 39 you would not blink an eye.

My opinion anyway because I have seen her in situations you won't get to.

Me? I am Dan, almost 70 and Debs will say I don't look it either, although 39 is something I won't get away with. 

59 maybe?

I did try dying my hair once, but it just looked silly so now I leave it silver, white with a few dark streaks.

The bare spot in front just makes me look like I am going really really fast on the highway.

Hell, one heart attack, one stroke, an internal bleed that sort of came close to putting me down, and a stent in one artery?

And I say I look and act younger? I should be gimping around, living in an easy chair. Five years ago I was headed that way, but not now.

Debs won't let me get old.

Come follow me around and match my workouts at the gym or maybe I could film one of our bedroom sessions and post that?

Hmmm. Not a bad idea, that. But no way in hell would Debs let me do that.

I don't think so, anyway.

Hmmmm.

+++

This short story is about a party we went to at the hospital, the first part was a lecture to all of the staff on the Affordable Care Act.

I did try to follow all of that but the truth is, it sounds confusing as hell to me. Maybe it will work, who knows?

The lecture was two hours and when they got done I still didn't get it.

But I got Medicare and AARP, so I guess it doesn't affect me. Plus a Registered Nurse for a wife, if all else fails I can just let her fix me.

Anyway, after the lecture was a get together in the meeting room. Some music on tape, they had a bar set up. I was sipping on the one drink I allow myself per day, although more than half the time I don't even drink that much.

Debra was over talking to some people I don't know, and a few I do.

Jennifer was there, so were July and Nikola. Olivia from the clinic Debs works at, a few guys from the lab, all normal stuff. Maybe 25 people all told.

In walked this man I didn't know. He was about 2 inches taller than me, he looked to be in his early 40's.

You know how some people stand out in a room, even doing nothing?

This guy did, big with broad shoulders, a never ending grin, hair that I doubt gets out of place in the shower.

I am 186 to 188 in the mornings now, this fellow would go at least 230.

I glanced over at Debra, she saw the guy and her eyes widened slightly, then she looked over at me.

She made a beeline in my direction, half way to me the guy stepped up to her and took her elbow.

She said something, he answered back, then he reached out and put his arms around her like he was going to try and kiss her.

I thought maybe he was a friend, an old classmate maybe? In medical school they often have all ages, and Debra has taken some medical classes lately to keep up with the new medicines and things like that.

I saw Debra resist slightly, the man looked like he increased his grip on her arm.

I was coming out of my chair when Debra managed to jerk her arm free, then she came over to the table and sat down.

"I need to give you a heads up, honey." She was clearly flustered, mildly upset. That is an extremely rare thing for her.

"OK. So what was all of that?" I asked.

"Remember I told you I have only had one lover since my husband and I broke up?"

"Yes, is that him?" I looked over at where the guy was standing with a drink in his hand, watching us intently.

"Yes. That is Mackenzie Freeman, he and I worked together some six or seven years ago. He was our resident back then when I worked in the hospital."

"Oh, OK. Well, what did he just say to you?"

"Look, don't get upset, I can handle him. He sounds like he is a little bit drunk. We don't need a scene."

"Debra? What did he say to you?" I asked, using a tone I seldom do with her.

"He said he was glad to see me again, and that he would love to have another roll in the hay with me."

"He said that to you, just like that?"

"Yes, just like that, Mac is that way, on the blunt side, but like I said, he has just been drinking."

"Well, it doesn't matter. We didn't even know each other back then. But he had better keep a civil tongue in his head!"

OK. So a man sees another man who just happens to have carnal knowledge of his wife? Just try and ignore that.

Which means he has seen her, touched her, had his hands and mouth on her?

I am no different in that respect, and my instincts to protect my own popped right up to the surface. All of my nerve endings were paying attention.

The man put his hands on my Debs which if she didn't like it was a very dangerous thing to do.

I saw the Mac guy begin to flirt with some of the other women, that much was clear from all the way across the room.

He also kept glancing over our way which was beginning to get on my nerves.

He went over to July and said something to her, I grinned inwardly when I saw he got shut down almost instantly.

Then he wandered off and I lost track of him. Someone put on a tune Debra and I like so we got up to dance, we don't do that often but I like to feel her in my arms.

Like most married couples, our movements are instinctive and right together. She was telling me something, I don't even remember what when I saw her eyes narrow and felt a tap on my shoulder.

"Mind if I cut in, bud?" Mac asked, reaching for Debra's hand which was on my shoulder like he owned it or something.

"Yes, I do mind....bud. I am dancing with my wife." I told him, pushing his hand away.

"Hey, don't get your panties in a bunch, dude, Debra and I are old friends." He leered at her.

He actually called me "dude."

"Mac, leave us alone please. I don't want to dance with you." Debs told him.

Just then the song ended, we broke apart and Debra took my right hand in a firm grip.

He stood there like he wanted to say or do something for a few seconds.

"Maybe later." He muttered, then he scowled at me and went back to the bar.

"What is that guy even doing here?" I asked her when we got back to the table.

"I don't know. He transferred to Portland, I haven't seen him for at least six or seven years."

+++

July came over and sat down at our table, it was nice to see her. Since she took over as hospital administrator up north she no longer comes by our house.

July had on a pretty dress, it shows just the tops of her breasts. That was the first time I had ever seen her in anything but her nurse's smock.

Her hair was undone instead of up in a bun, she really looked nice.

"How is Nikola doing for you guys?" July asked Debs with a grin.

There are not many secrets between the three of us, July came by at least twice a month for a several years. She has what might be best described as very intimate knowledge of both of us, to put it politely.

Just so no one will get the wrong idea, it is a one way thing. July never takes anything off.

Like I mentioned, it also really helps. I can pee about four feet after a session, for a week or so, then it goes back to dribbling.

"Good. We like her, but we do miss seeing you." Debs told her.

They talked about July's new job and how that was going, we were all laughing at something she said when I looked up and here came that Mac guy again.

"Wanna dance?" He asked Debs. He sounded even drunker than before.

"No thanks." She told him.

"Man, I don't get it. When did you get all uppity?" He sounded mad now.

"Look, I don't want to dance with you. We are talking and enjoying ourselves." Debra told him.

"You sure didn't act that way when I had you on your hands and knees on the carpet at my house!"

He said loudly enough that a few heads turned.

"Hey, guy. You better go somewhere and sober up." I told him.

"Yea? What are YOU going to do about it, you old fart?" He said, turning my way.

I stood up. I AM an old fart but I don't like being called one.

This guy was just about to find himself in pain, If he even moved to do anything I was going to put his testicles up to his belly button.

Or try to, anyway.

Debra slid right between us, she reached out and gave Mackenzie a push. July came up from the other chair and got in there too.

He didn't know what to do, the two women kept bumping him enough to make him step back to keep his balance.

"Debs, I don't need...." I managed.

"Shut up, Danny." She said, not even turning her head.

Now I really did not know what to do. A bunch of people were looking our way now, here I was with two females defending me when I am perfectly capable of defending myself.

"What? You are too good for me now? After I FUCKED you SENSELESS?" He was very loud now.

That put me into a rage, I wanted to get at him but I couldn't, not with Debs and July both in the way. I started to move out around July who was on my left in front of me, figuring if the jerk swung at me my right hook is my best shot.

Of course the last time I swung it at someone was when I was in the Navy back in 1967.

"You midget prick asshole! You only have 4 inches and it's no bigger than THIS!" Debra stuck out her little finger. July reached out and gave him another bump, causing his to step back again.

"That's bad enough, you don't have a CLUE! You were the worst lay I ever had in my whole LIFE!!" Debra yelled at him at the top of her lungs.

Mackenzie looked flustered now.

"What WAS that? Fifteen god damn SECONDS? I would have had more fun fapping myself!"

Now the entire room was dead silent, everyone was looking our way.

With my Debra yelling at the top of her lungs, she said "fapping" which I never heard her ever say before.

I think I pinked up a little bit.

By now the two women had Mac a good ten feet away from me and still backing up. His face turned red at what she said to him, she was well past caring if anyone knew.

Mad as hell and I never saw that side of her before.

Mackenzie folded like a rag doll, the two women stopped pushing.

I sat down as I saw him slink towards the door, quite a few of the poeple snickered.

Debs and July came back to our table and sat back down.

"Honey, I can take care of myself." I protested to her.

"No need, all handled. Nobody hurt this way." She told me, in her usual perfectly calm manner.

"I wasn't going to get hurt."

"I wasn't thinking about you, I was saving HIM, honey. You could have hurt him, then there might be trouble." Debra patted my arm.

July reached out and patted my arm also, she was doing her best to not grin and failing.

+++

OK, so that was no big deal, some guy who had a one night stand way back with the woman I love?

Who cares? I know I didn't, not really.

OK. I am fibbing, it pissed me off, especially the part where the asshole yelled it out in front of everyone.

"That kind of bruised my ego, honey. I mean, two women protecting me?"

"I'm sorry, honey. But it is better than letting you hurt him, isn't it?" She smiled and patted my forearm. July patted the other one again also.

"Hey, July? How about we make it up to Danny?" Debs grinned at her.

She grinned right back.

"Are you thinking what I am thinking?" July asked Debs.

I was looking back and forth.

"Yep. Let's go!" Debra got up and tugged me to my feet.

Everyone was looking at us as we went out the door. July had one hand and Debra had the other, and neither one of them gave a shit about what anyone thought.

+++

Have you ever had two women busy restoring your male ego while you lay there on a massage table?

Well, I have, another brand new experience.

I can't say as I minded one bit. They both just used their hands, and they took turns which is kind of neat. Debs even slipped her mouth over me at one point, I looked down to make sure it was her.

July didn't, she never does.

Yea, a brand new experience, when they got me going it was all four hands down there.

For a bit there I forgot all about the Mackenzie jerk.

But deep down inside, I would have liked to pop that guy one, that is a fact. Those two gals handled him like he was a baby, even though he was nearly as big as both of them out together.

But I didn't do anything. Plus I slept like a baby that night.

I did hear that he now has a private practice down the coast, Debra told me that he actually is a pretty good Doctor.

And no sign of him around here since the party, probably a good thing.



Out of the Past Pt. 01



Author's note: This is a 4 part series of erotic couplings set in a high-drama world. There is a plot, it's fairy light, not my usual who-done-it but styled like an 80's pulp novel. The sex is between men and women and veers into male domination/female submission but contains light or no BDSM. 

As always I welcome comments and feedback! 

____________________________________

PART ONE

Watching was fun, but Claire would so much rather be doing. Impossible at the moment, she had to content herself with the goings-on at the apartment across the way. Gigolo John she called him in her head, he was young, well built, tanned, bleached, and sculpted by design into overly-perfect , male beauty, and every night he had a different woman over.

That night she was slim, with a fall of long dark hair, and old enough to wear her tiny scrap of dress with total confidence. Claire liked her lips as his wandering hands disappeared under the cloth to raise it over her head. The woman's breasts were small enough she didn't need a bra and her panties were a brief scrap.

What she liked best about Gigolo John was he chose his partners well. Older women it seemed didn't need as much foreplay and though he worked fast they always left satisfied. Claire snuggled deeper into her chair and made sure her apartment was dim so she could keep watching, unseen.

John, that was his actual name, she knew, immediately palmed the woman's small breasts, nearly chewing on her lips. It was usually at this time that...oh, yeah, here it was. The woman threw her head back and yet managed to unbutton John's pants and slid them down, freeing his erection. Claire bit her lip as the woman wrapped a slim hand around the thick root, jeweled rings dancing in the moonlight.

"Harder, grip him harder," she whispered, but of course they couldn't hear her and the woman was either uncaring or ignorant and stroked his cock as gently as a teenager would. John, true to form, lost patience and picked her up, muscles bulging. With a sigh Claire rose from her chair as Gigolo John moved his night's entertainment to his bedroom, moving into hers. 

With the lights off she parted her curtains slightly and saw his were wide open. His bed was huge, king-seize, topped with black satin sheets and against them his partner was pale and glowing like moonlight. He set her down and thrust two meaty fingers into her cunt and the woman arched her back, writhing with her hands twisting the sheets.

Sighing again Claire wished John would just bend down and bury his head into the woman's pussy. Sure, she wouldn't be able to see much, but god it was such an erotic thing to watch the way a woman gasped and moaned, the way a man totally and completely focused on her pleasure. John was resourceful but not that caring.

With flourish he produced a condom packet from between the mattress and box spring and ripped it open, sheathing himself quickly. He spread her legs, grabbed her sides, and brought her angled up as he settled between her and pushed his short, fat cock into her. Of course the woman swooned, and then john began the rhythm that looked so damn good.

Claire found herself parting her robe, her cool, slim hand smoothing over her soft belly and the satin covering it, seeking the lace hem and her aching pussy beneath it. John thrust all the while, a sliding tease the woman seemed to love but find frustrating.

She knew what came next and within minutes John grabbed her and rolled. From the next building over and one floor down she could see the mirror on his bedroom ceiling, and as John let the woman ride him he made kissy faces to his own reflection.

Claire concentrated on the woman. Not a lover of women at all, she still liked to watch their reactions. Three years of no sex had reduced her to watching and she had learned to take pleasure by watching for signs of true ecstasy on John's partners' faces, and this woman did not disappoint. She ground against him rather than thrust and forced John's hands onto her breasts, moving faster and faster.

Claire frigged herself hard and fast, close to the edge, keening with need, but she wanted to wait, draw it out until they finished. As nice as this was, the finish was incredible. The woman came, throwing her head back and howling the way a wolf might as her body jerked, rocked only his hands on her hips.

As soon as it passed John moved them, scooting from beneath her to force the woman the kneel and grip the headboard while he positioned himself behind her. Claire loved seeing his ass as he thrust in, despite Gigolo John's many faults he had a fantastic ass.

Immediately he began to thrust and the woman gripped the headboard. Claire often wondered why John never out a mirror above the bed, as he fucked with that sublime rhythm he flexed his bulging biceps and kissed them. Ignoring that Claire fathered her fingers over her clit faster knowing the moment was close. Proving he was a gentleman to some degree, Johnny reached around and buried his hand between the woman's legs. She went off, ol' Johnny went off, and Claire thought her head might explode with the force of her orgasm. It went on and on, intense waves radiating through her as juices filled her palm.

God, the longer she went without a partner the better her orgasms were, yet the greater her need. Something had to give. Sitting back she watched them collapse as John rolled gracefully aside, and she wished for a cigarette. Three years ago she'd had her last one, and it seemed to her when one didn't quit by choice the temptation never really faded. 

Suddenly across the way john sat up like a springboard popping and put his hands out. The woman scrambled back, pulling at the sheets as someone stepped through the doorway. John reached to turn on the lamp and suddenly a flash lit up and the light went out. Claire could still see but instinct made her grab the binoculars, zeroing in tight on the room.

Just in time to see john's head explode into a million bloody pieces. Claire screamed but bit her lip and swung the binoculars slightly. The woman got two bloody holes in her chest. The stranger walked over to the bed, gun trained on her. Claire's heart hammered as the man, obviously a man, dressed all in black, waited, frozen for a moment.

Then he turned right into her view and she saw his face. Young, plain, slightly strange, Caucasian and something else, his features too small for his face but a slight degree. His expression was evil only in that it was so calm, so distant. He'd just murdered two people and looked as calm as someone waiting for the morning train.

He stopped and seemed to look at her, but she knew her room was dark, there was no way he could see her now that dusk had bled to night. Still her heart thumped and she remained locked still until he left. Panicked, she crawled the window and peaked over the sill. A minute later he emerged from the building and walked to a car. Raising the binoculars she saw him slide into a black Mercedes with a busted tailpipe.

The binoculars clattered to the carpeting. Oh, god, she'd just seen Morelli's hitman.

***

It'd been clean, he knew that, but he felt uneasy. Johnny was a useless rat with a big mouth and had to go down. It had been business, pure and simple, and it went like most jobs. Johnny liked to fuck, he'd been expecting a woman, and it had gone smoothly. He couldn't explain his nerves.

No one had seen him arrive or leave, but after the last time someone had spotted his car. He didn't know it until that morning, and the Mercedes was gone now. Still that uneasy feeling remained. The woman was nothing, no one would miss her after all, hell her ex-husband would throw a party to celebrate the end of alimony. Something felt off.

He heard his name called and turned to see which one of the uniforms it was. The cop shop was busy at the moment, bustling, but he always had time for the little guys.

"Wait up, I want to talk the Morelli case with you!"

"Hello, Sharon. What now? Forensics aren't back yet on the Gilson-Partlow killing, we don't even know if it's Morelli."

"It's not that. We have a witness."

He felt his blood chill. Twenty years of perfection, never a single witness, and now when he was so close to retirement there was one. "Who?" he asked gruffly.

Sharon, an energetic woman with a permanently stiff brown French braid above her plain suits grabbed his arm and lead him to an alcove by the water fountain. "She came to me, a personal friend. She saw everything, saw his face. I want you to come with me to talk to her."

"When?"

"Tomorrow morning."

He was shaking, caught between fear and excitement. This was going to be too easy, much too easy. "What's her name?" Tonight, he'd kill her tonight, dump her deep in Lake Ontario and tomorrow he'd help Sharon fill out the missing person's report.

He was so close. Morelli would go down soon, he had just one other loose end to clean up, and now this witness was his for the next twelve hours.

"Angela Johnson, she lives in the building across from the last murder scene."

"Tomorrow morning at nine then." He turned before Sharon could see his grin. This girl would die and then he'd be in the home stretch.

"Hey, wanna grab a beer and talk strategy?"

"Can't, Sharon, I have a very important date."

She smiled at him and playfully punched his shoulder. "Go get 'er, lady killer."

He watched her walk off and fought the urge to smile. "You have no idea."

***

Luckily her life was designed for this, but Claire still felt...empty, disappointed, regretful. Over the past three years in Toronto she'd worked hard to meld in but form no attachments, no roots. She would not be missed but she would miss her little life there.

She worked from home and had no regular habits besides Sunday morning coffee at Jack's often sharing comments on the weather with Sharon who lived around the corner. Other than that she watched, or had watched Gigolo John at night and lost herself in novels when she couldn't sleep. Not a single stick of furniture no piece of clothing would give anyone any idea of who she was. It was time to disappear...again.

It felt like something of a failure, but she'd done what she had set out to do, Claire had approved she could make it on her own. She couldn't say why she felt she had to leave, it was just an instinct that told her.

That morning she'd run into Sharon at the coffee shop and the cop had updated her on the most sensational case the city had seen in some time. Anthony Morelli, former mob boss in Miami, Florida had gotten out of prison and set up shop up north. He'd been pinched months ago, but all the witnesses for his trial had started disappearing or dying. Police had established one hired killer and Sharon had told her weeks earlier about a black Mercedes with a single rust spot and a broken tail light. The night before when she saw the killer get into just that car, she'd known.

That morning she'd told Sharon, given her the number to her rusty cell phone, and promised she would ID any suspect they brought in. Monday Sharon was due to come see her but something told Claire to run. Mixing with cops was dangerous, not when her fake ID could be so easily vetted and her identity would crumble under any examination.

So Angela Johnson would disappear and she'd...well, perhaps it was time to go home. That thought scared her too much and so as she made her way down to the parking garage with a single suitcase, she thought about where to go. She had cash and could fly anywhere. Europe, South America, Asia, her choices were endless. She didn't have to go home, but the thought of starting over was daunting.

Maybe she would go back and not contact the family. Maybe just Sebastian, the only one who'd ever understood. She often felt for abandoning him those years ago, turning him into Pip in the Dickensian novel her family seemed determined to live in.

The first time she'd left was the last time she had seen him. Those big green eyes had pled with her to take him with her but it had been too dangerous. His nose was always in a book, his body tall and nearly gaunt with youth, the streets would have eaten him alive. That first time she made it two years, getting her high school diploma, and that's how they'd found her. 

A noise in the garage made Claire stop. There were almost two hundred residents of her building, but one a.m. on a Sunday night was not high-traffic time. Remembering the lessons of the street she put her keys in her fist, sticking out between her fingers, and stood up straight to her full lanky height.

Footsteps syncopated hers and Claire's heart began to hammer. She just had to make it twenty feet to the little Ford, and she'd be fine. Her imagination started to run wild, and she envisioned being followed by Michael, could almost smell his pipe and feel his disapproving look. Behind him would be grandfather Ferdinand with his permanent scowl and bony finger. Behind them would be Donna, a pretty face with the brain of a kumquat and the potential for evil Hitler aspired to. Behind them all was a stocky man, beady eyes, and evil intent.

Looking back she expected to see all the specters, but only one was there in the dim overhead light. And he had a gun pointed at her.

Claire made no sound, just dove between cars, hers and the her neighbors' by luck. With shaking hands she worked the key into the door and twisted but nothing happened. His footsteps pounded. She took a deep breath, steadied herself, and turned, this time it opened.

She dropped the suitcase and scrambled in. A pop rang out and the window shattered. Quickly she started the engine and slammed into reverse, almost hitting him. He dove out of the way and she squealed backwards down the ramp. At the first corner she came to she executed a hasty turn and shifted into first, slamming the gas and shooting off towards the gate.

Instead of scanning her card she drove through it, banging the hell out of the Taurus' hood before the arm broke on her now-cracked windshield. Just as she cleared the drive and hit Dundas, lights appeared in her rearview.

"Shit, shit, shit!" She couldn't remember if anything in that suitcase would give a clue to who she was. It id however have brochures for the places she thought of visiting, guidebooks and such. Morelli's pet hitman somehow knew she had seen him and was after her. 

At the last second she turned onto University and the lights missed the turn. She slammed the gas and shot up the bend heading for College. As she wound her way through the streets they didn't return, but with the few scattered pairs of headlights behind her she couldn't be sure. Heart hammering she made her way to the 401 and airport. 

Morelli had money rivaling what once had tempted her in a former life, and his hitman was resourceful. There was only one place to hide where she would be safe from him, and that was where she would be surrounded by people far more dangerous than an aging rich mobster and his pet killer.

She parked in short term and walked to the United counter. Several hundred dollars later she had her ticket and walked to her gate with no luggage, wearing only cheap clothes, her cuticles in shambles, her hair in need of a trim. Here at Pearson that was fine, she was just one more anonymous face in a crowd. Once she arrived she'd have to change all that unless Sebastian had remained and would be her salvation.

She bought coffee at a Tim Horton's and took it to sit at her gat. Back to the wall Claire kept her eyes on everyone walking past, waiting to see him, but her mind drifted. Sebastian, her best friend and confidant, the boy she'd left behind at sixteen. When they'd dragged her back at eighteen he'd filled out some but those green eyes were haunted. She had only seen him from afar before they bundled her off to Europe. Well, she'd done her time then, and when they wanted her to come home she'd checked into grad school and refused their aid or contact. She'd drawn it out as long as possible waiting for Sebastian to respond to her letters but he never did. 

When the last bright light in that life had fallen into shadow Claire had set out to leave them all behind. New country, new name, new life. For three boring years it had worked; no drama, no chaos, no secrets, no pain, and then she had just happened to see the most dangerous man in town murder her neighbor.

"Attention passengers," a stewardess called and Claire rose with the others on the red-eye as the flight number was called. "To Chicago. We will now begin boarding rows..."

With one last look around the terminal, Claire resigned herself to going back into the soap opera she'd three times run from. Out of the frying pan, into the fire.

***

He liked her hair, that was what had first drawn him to the young woman, name already forgotten. It was naturally dark blonde, like hair he'd spent years dreaming of. This one put those highlights into it in an attempt to look...he couldn't say anything more than plastic. God knew the tits weren't real, nor the tan. The tits made him sad, he loved teasing a woman's nipples until she was writhing, moaning, and begging for his cock.

Sebastian busied himself between her legs and it was amazingly affected. She was wet, just the right amount, and her moans were continuous and building, timed to no particular action. Still he wanted her to cum, damn it, over and over again. It wasn't good unless his partner was reduced to a quivering mass of jelly when he was done.

He licked between the folds of the inner and outer lips of her pussy, teasing her with long slow licks until her hips moved a fraction of an inch, pumping for more, and then he teased her clit. Here he closed his eyes, imagining another woman in her place. Only in his mind they were both kids, shy, awkward virgins, but she had been so beautiful, so delicate, so sweet. She had tasted sweet, and oh how he'd fumbled. Years later he knew what he was about, closing his eyes, and pretending it was that first time all over again.

The night's blonde began to moan and he kept going, licking, suckling, flicking his tongue side to side, up and down, licking up her juices until her moans turned real and finally her hands sought out his broad shoulders, manicured nails digging into his flesh.

He added a finger, then two, then three and finally she came, noisily, muscles fluttering as she made ungainly sounds that shattered his personal fantasy. Quickly before his mind grew cold he jerked her down on the bed and knelt between her legs. She was moaning, begging, writhing all right, and she was hot and wet if not tight when he slammed his cock inside her. 

He kept his pace measured, slow, sliding, willing her to hurry up and cum again so then he could release and kick her out. His mind was finished but his body kept going, and once again she made those noises that told him all that had come before was an act. 

When he damn near sprained his back grabbing her hips and dragging her along his deep thrusts finally she came again, and he let himself go. It went on and on for her, long after his balls had emptied and he wanted to roll aside. Finally at least she stopped, allowing him to roll aside and peel off the condom.

"Shall I call a car?" he asked casually but firmly.

"I- I thought I could spend the night."

"I have an early morning." He sat up and found her dress and bra. He'd torn the panties, Sebastian saw with dismay. "Get dressed."

He could see the indecision in her brown eyes. Follow directions like a good girl and hope he'd call, or fight and overwhelm him with her charms. He just gave her the same look that made peons kowtow in the boardroom, and she got dressed.

Pulling on a pair of loose light pants he grabbed his formal shirt and left it hanging open above. In the mirror he smoothed his hair, fixing his ponytail. He refused to cut it, but no one got to see it loose. It was the one piece of him from...the old days.




Out of the Past Pt. 01



"Call me sometime," the blonde said having regained her confidence. She slipped a business card over his shoulder and kissed his ear. Taking it Sebastian saw her name was "Kandace." He called for a car and threw it out, then had her wait on the porch for the service. Still he watched her get into the short limo and drive through the gates on Greenwood, disappearing into the night. 

He had to stop doing this. Damn her, damn them all! Closing the door he looked around the townhouse, what should have been Claire's, never his. He was supposed to have been the back sheep of the family, the one who got away, not her. But she'd never been technically part of the family in any legal sense and so when the chance for one of them to escape had come, she had taken it and left him in the dust.

It had all worked out, he supposed. Ol' Ferdinand had given him an ultimatum and the reward was worth it. Michael had taken him on as a protégé and they had put him through school, trained him. Ferdinand was dead now, he'd left Sebastian this very strange townhouse. Michael was retired happily for once, and Sebastian was left in charge.

Claire could have had this. Though Michael was just her step father, his uncle had been prepared to leave it all to her, claim her as his own, but she had been too bullheaded. In the end they had tried one last ditch effort and she had gone to the schools they wanted, but then right after her last graduation she had walked out of their lives forever.

Not that he could blame her, and why was he thinking on her anyway? As children they'd been friends. As awkward teenagers they'd been lovers for one brief night, and then he'd never seen her again. It wasn't unusual for one's first time to be a one-night stand, he supposed, it just sucked that at the time he'd been desperately in love with her.

The anger was mostly gone now, and wherever she was he wished her happiness, he supposed. Turning from the street he wandered the long hall. Ferdinand, his grandfather, had lived here all throughout Sebastian's childhood, but the original builder was a few generations back. He had apparently disliked his wife so he built a townhouse for two, two living rooms, two dining rooms, two offices, two upstairs, one stairway, and one kitchen. In almost one hundred and fifty years no one had changed it.

Ferdinand had moved in as a young man with his brother Daniel who'd died in Korea, and often it had housed two people, allowing them some privacy but the ability to plan Kellner, Inc.'s future. Once it had been meant for him and Claire, until one of them bought the other out, but now he lived in the bisected house alone.

Down in the basement, he turned on the stereo to wailing guitars. Heavy metal screamed out, another guilty pleasure the businessman could not afford to share with anyone. Turning to the weights he began to work out the frustrations the blonde hadn't even touched.

***

She should have taken time to research them. Always the temptation had been to read about the Kellner family but she had avoided it. the past was a dark one and she'd been loathe to relive the memories.

So what was she doing back here? As bad as they were, they weren't as scary as Morelli nor his hitman. She could do this. She would simply go to Ferdinand and ask him for a respite, a chance to catch up. Maybe things had changed and he was no longer the cruel wizard of her youth. Perhaps he would listen to reason and agree to a short stay. If things had changed, if they got along, perhaps they could discuss seeing the rest of the family. It was far too late to take the place Michael had always dreamed for her.

She could do this. She wasn't the scared little child she'd once been, the outsider in a world of powerful men with short tempers and dark reasoning. She had made her own way, it was only extraordinary circumstances that had brought her back

So she had the cab bring her to his townhouse. Ferdinand would be ninety now, long since retired, and on a Monday morning reachable. It was early still, she'd gotten in at five and it was o just nearing seven a.m. with shaking hands she pushed the buzzer at the gate, and the inside phone line rang.

The camera above the buzzer moved, something around the lens rotating. That was new and she knew it was focusing in on her, perhaps by some aide. She tried to smile but she was tired, disheveled, and scared.

The line picked up and was hung up immediately. Perhaps the aide didn't know about her, perhaps when she'd taken off three years earlier they had erased all memory of her. Heart hammering she pushed the buzzer again. It rang, and rang, and rang this time. 

Her temper flared up, the thing the family hated the most, but it was how she had survived so long on her own, away from them and their twisted world. Still before she acted she thought of sweet, gawky Sebastian, her friend and confidante. If there was anyone she could trust it was him, but that was why she couldn't go to him. If Morelli's killer came after her sweet Sebastian with his poet's soul would never survive.

Resigned, she walked around until she found a bush with firm branches and used that to climb to the top of the fence. She took off her old suede biker's jacket and put it on the spikes, then hauled herself over. She grabbed her jacket as she fell to land in the yard, and somehow managed to tear her jeans. Her braid was in shambles and loose hair swamped her eyes, but she'd made it.

Ferdinand would not dare deny her existence now. At the very least he would let her collect what was hers and she would disappear for good. How ironic it would be, she thought, to have spent three years hiding from people not even seeking her.

Marching up the stone drive she marched to the odd townhouse's door and began to pound. After long minutes it finally opened to an incredibly handsome man dressed in an expensive suit, his dark hair slicked back to reveal clean lines of his face. Something in his blue eyes was familiar but she couldn't place it.

"I'm here to see Ferdinand Kellner. I'm his...I'm..."

"Claire," the stranger said, and suddenly his frowning expression turned thunderous. He slammed the door in her face.

"Wait a minute!" She began pounding again. "I'm his grand daughter in a way, Michael's step-daughter! I demand to see him!"

The door jerked open again to the handsome stranger. The set of his jaw was angry, but his eyes seemed full of pain. "You fall off the face of the earth and then just show back up? For what?"

"I need his help! Look, he can tell me to fuck off if he wants, but he'll have to say it himself. I am not leaving until he tells me to."

"That's going to be mighty tough. Ferdinand Kellner is dead."

"Then who the hell are you?"

His eyes narrowed, burning like lasers. She couldn't say why but a tinge of shame filled her, framing her pique. "Claire, don't you remember me?"

He did look familiar but she couldn't place him. There'd never been anyone her grandfather had employed that looked like him, despite his snootiness she had to admit he was to die for. "Should I?"

"I would damn well hope so since I popped your cherry!"

The crude words threw her. The boy who'd taken her virginity even as she took his had been soft, pretty, gentle. Words so crass would never fall from his lips. Still, she looked into those eyes and it struck her, that the man so cruelly dismissing her was none other than the only man she'd ever loved.

"Sebastian."

"In the flesh."He folded his arms and she felt dizzy.

"Wha? Why?"

"There always has to be a Kellner in charge of things. You had the luxury of leaving, I never did."

"Sebastian, I need your help." There was no sense apologizing. Everything she had done had been justified, but he would never understand why she'd had to run.

His eyes glittered and his smile was bone-chilling. "I've dreamed of this day, when you came crawling back. And now I am going to do what I have always fantasized about."

"What!?" she cried, but it was too late, he'd closed the door in her face.

***

Sebastian was shaking. Oh, he'd fantasized about seeing Claire again so many times. In each one she appeared at his bed in lingerie, crawled to him on all fours, and ducked his cock like a champ. Or she'd been in trouble, and he'd seduced her, fucked her silly, made her want him, desire him, love him, and then abandoned her.

And why not? That was just what she'd done with him. They'd been lost kids together in a dark world, clinging to each other. She always had the option to leave but her never did, not easily, and she knew that. That night when he was seventeen and head over heels in love with her, they'd made a promise to each other. They would wait for her to go to college in two years, leave together, start over, start fresh. 

To seal that promise she gave herself to him. He'd been just as inexperienced but love had guided him. Before the pain there had been pleasure, and after he had wrapped his body around hers and held her tight. In that embrace he'd thought he'd known love, but it had been one sided. In the morning she was gone, and it would be almost twelve years without her.

Now she was here. His mind was reeling, screaming. He wanted to slap her silly, hug her, scream at her, plead with her, and hurt her every bit as much s she'd hurt him. What game was she playing? Now that grandfather was dead, was she there for her half of the company? Did she know about his plans to take it public and was here for her piece first?

He bunched a fist and slammed it into a marble column in the entry. He would die first. She walked out on them, she had no claim. But, oh god, how delicious would it bee to toy with her, bend her to his will, make her love him, and then break her heart?

He smiled, feeling quite mad, and then something crashed in the right living room, his living room. Cursing he jerked into a run to find a rock sitting in a pool of glass and the wind blowing through the hole in the triple-paned window.

Standing beyond was one pissed off Claire Willoughby. Impossibly time had only added to her beauty. She was on the thin side, apparently life on the run hadn't been too kind, but she still had the generous curves her mother had. She seemed taller, but it was the confidence, the squared shoulders. Over them tumbled her honey-blonde hair, framing a delicate heart-shaped face that had haunted his dreams. Her thick lips were pursed, ready for a fight, and her blue eyes burned like pureflame.

"Sebastian, this family owes me that trust fund my mother set up for me. I'm not leaving until I get it."

Oh, so the minx wanted to play it that way? Swiftly a decision locked into place in hiss mind and he smiled, leaning close to the glass. "Then come on in."

At that moment, he knew just how the devil felt.

***

Fear was the bedfellow of anger, and Claire had it in spades. Why Sebastian was here was no mystery. There had always been two Kellners running the company and if Ferdinand was dead it was Michael and Sebastian. Sebastian's rage at her she could handle, but Michael was a demon in her memory. She couldn't stay in the same house as Michael, but they did owe her money. Her mother had some when she married Michael and when she died it had been put into a trust she never touched.

That would be enough, it had to be. She'd get her money and go back on the run, resume her original plan. She had no idea just how much was in the fund but she hoped it was enough to keep moving as long as she needed.

She walked back around to the porch and he held the door open for. Stepping inside into a familiar world, she was crowded when he refused to move aside, and their bodies touched. For a moment nothing filled her mind but how firm he was, warm, masculine. Then she remembered the shy, sweet boy he'd been and it pulled her up short.

"What happened to you?"

His gaze cooled as he swung the door shut. "I grew up."

"So where's..." her thoughts scattered as she turned. The strange house was just as she remembered it. Two living rooms, two powder rooms, two offices, two dining rooms all across from one another. At the end of the central hall was the staircase, behind it the single industrial kitchen. Upstairs two apartments mirrored each other, guest room, bath, and master suite. Built by a particularly cruel ancestor of Sebastian's, the master bedroom was open to the rest of the house, all so his long ago wife could hear him bed a mistress.

Someone had redone it all. The dark wood trim was complimented by dark creams and light blues, there was soft carpeting in place and all new furniture. Above the chandelier was polished and fully repaired, and the master bedrooms were still open but covered by curtains. The right side, clearly lived-in, had dark blue velvet curtains and light blue lace ones behind it. Below it had the trappings of a resident, but the left side was barren. "Michael?"

"Living with his new wife. He's been ousted from Kellner, Inc. And I'm sorry to say but since he's been cut off, as the executor of your trust fund he blew through it all."

It was too much, too fast. The demon was gone, Sebastian had joined the ranks, and there was no money. Claire's lips parted an she made the sound of a wounded animal sensing its end. Sebastian loomed over her and grabbed her elbow to steady her.

"I'll make a deal. When he liquidated it just last year the value was one million. Kellner isn't doing that great so it will take some time, but I will get you the money. I only ask for two things."

"Oh?" Her head swam but when he gripped her other arm he was strangely and anchor, though clearly the scariest thing in the house.

"One, when you get it you leave here, and swear it, sign any paper I ask, that you will relinquish any claim to Kellner, and never return."

"Done," she said without thought. It was all she'd ever wanted...well close. Once she had dreamed of escaping with the quiet Sebastian by her side, but clearly that ship had sailed. "And the other?"

"Twelve years, nearly twelve years you left me to rot, left me alone to hold things together. So for twelve days you will stay here and give me everything I want."

His deep voice turned husky and yet sharp, and Claire shivered. There was no mistaking what he meant and she was so desperate, so tired, so scared she wouldn't say no. But knowing that it would not be the Sebastian she remembered so fondly was going to damn near kill her. Maybe there was some part of him that was still gentle and loving, some part that would never hurt her.

She searched his face for any clue of the boy but there was none. His deep auburn hair was pulled so tight the clean lines of his face looked nearly harsh. All traces of the boy were gone and the man in his place was a stranger.

"E-everything?"

He leaned in so close their noses nearly touched. Fear coursed through her but there was a blunt warmth to the cold shiver and madly she felt her body grow heavy and aroused. "Everything," he whispered. "Agree or get the fuck out of my house."

She flinched at the curse. Claire had just a few hundred dollars left and wouldn't get far. "A-all r-right. B-but no-"

"No, Claire. Everything I want. Nothing illegal and you can stop it any time. If I accidentally hurt you walk away with your money. If you chicken out and try to run like you seem to do, you get nothing. Decide, now."

Be his glorified whore? Which was worse, that this was a stranger, or that it was the one person who had, and likely still did, know her better than anyone? What scared her the most?

"Claire, if you don't answer me, I'm going to call the police and have you escorted out." He dropped her arms and turned.

"Wait! I'll do it!"

He turned, triumphant, and she knew she had just sold her soul. Only she didn't know the price.

***

To her shock Sebastian hadn't picked her up and dragged her to the couch nor pushed her against a marble column and taken her right there. From the anger in his voice she had expected it, but instead he told her to remain in the house and to only allow in the housekeeper who came at ten. Then he told her the housekeeper Luisa would alert her to appointments. Without further explanation, he'd strode out the front door, leaving her in the house that haunted her.

When she was small her mother married Michael Kellner. He was tall, dark, handsome, filthy rich, everything a woman wanted, or so her mother said. She could still remember the fights between them, the screaming and yelling. They had lived blocks away then when this was Ferdinand's home, open only during important family meetings. When her mother was sick and knew she was dying she'd brought Claire there to endear her to Ferdinand and his superstitions.

Then Ferdinand's wife had died and Michael moved in and brought her with after her mother's death. Not long after Sebastian's mother, Michael's sister, had grown too ill and Sebastian became Ferdinand's ward. Through all the anger, the bitterness and pettiness, he'd been her rock, her balm. If he had only been willing to come with her that night things could have been different.

With a sigh she strode to the back of the house and looked, but it was all different. It was as if someone had stripped the house down to the walls, repainted them, replaced the floor, and installed new everything. Even the kitchen was modernized with stainless steel and granite, the cabinets and counters were in a different arrangement than she remembered and an island had been added. 

In the fridge she discovered health food. Some meat but mostly fruits and vegetables, protein shakes and supplements, all the trappings of a man built like that. He worked for that body, that was clearly evident, but in one cabinet she found sane food in chocolately cereal to go with the soy milk and poured herself a bowl.

When the buzzer rang at ten she raised her head from where she'd fallen asleep at the counter. Luisa turned out to be a pleasant woman who showed her to the right side and insisted "Mr. Kellner" had said to put her in the guest room next to his bedroom and her first appointment was at three. Too tired to argue, Claire sank into the queen size bed and satiny sheets still in her jeans and rumpled shirt. Despite her fears she was behind a gate in a house no one could track her to. At least she had a place to hide for twelve days, and with luck Sharon would have Morelli's pet killer in custody by then.

She closed her eyes and was immediately asleep.

***

By seven thirty Claire was feeling angry. It had taken her years to get the spit polish of this world off and in one afternoon he had put it back on. The appointments were a hairdresser and two assistants who did her nails. She was waxed, plucked, smoothed, and slathered while her hair was trimmed and conditioned. Apparently she was to be a courtesan, and with any other man it might be a thrilling role play, but the reality was so much more terrifying.

Then came the deliveries. First came Luisa with a measuring tape and orders to measure damn near everything on her body. Not long after came a nighty, garter belt, stockings, a sheer short robe, and tottering high heels. 

At least the heels would add four inches and bring her within two of Sebastian's height barefoot, and thanks to a childhood growing up surrounded by people who cared for fashion she could easily manage them, but the rest...

She dressed in it and surveyed herself in the mirror. The room was a guest bedroom but unbearably masculine, all dark navy paint save one wall papered with a cream and navy stripe pattern. Against the masculine background she looked like something out of a high-class porno. The red satin nighty skimmed her curves, the silk clinging to her breasts and hips, so short that if she didn't walk carefully the panties showed.




Out of the Past Pt. 01



He heels made her legs look fantastic, she had to admit, and the robe hide nothing. Her hair flowed in loose waves over her shoulders and the sadistic stylists had given her light makeup to soothe and cover the redness of her treatments, bare eyeliner, mascara, and lip gloss. Her blue eyes looked huge and the slight fear shone through. The combination of the "fuck me, now" get up and those eyes made her look alluring, just what Sebastian had been going for.

What was he planning? Was she supposed to seduce him? The thought made her nerves jangle. It wasn't that he'd been the only one, in the years since she left she'd had other lovers, it was that it had been three years. For three years she'd been left alone to pleasure herself in the dark, or watch Johnny-

She cut the thought off. No use thinking about him now, she had bigger fish to fry. Did she take the stupid outfit off and- what? Face him naked/ put on her jeans which had mysteriously disappeared, probably for Luisa to clean.

The door opened downstairs and she heard low voices. Sebastian's baritone and Luisa's rapid alto spoke, and then the door shut. Was she supposed to wait in there for him? The room was unbearable masculine, but then so too was his room in all likelihood. His rooms, his territory, and she w as in this ridiculous getup. Sure, she supposed she looked like a wet dream but she felt vulnerable, worse than naked, and that was what he wanted.

Still, she couldn't fight. She'd made the agreement. If that's what it took, how bad could it be? She'd already known Sebastian in the biblical sense and they were both older, wiser, more experienced. She could handle this.

"Claire, come downstairs to the dining room," Sebastian called. His voice was commanding, as if he'd brook no defiance.

With a sigh she left the room and walked to the stairs. At the bottom Sebastian stood, still wearing the suit he'd left in. The dark material glinted in the low lights like something from an old back and white film. His hair was as smoothly tied back as it had been hours ago and she insanely found herself wondering what it looked like loose.

His eyes were hard like emeralds and he took her in, top to bottom as she slowly descended, gripping the banister with white knuckles. Here? Really?

Claire couldn't help but glance to the left side, once the seat of nightmares, but now it was empty. Sebastian's side was cool, remote, but he himself was like a pillar of flame.

"Excellent," he said, desire dripping from his voice.

Claire felt a rush of moisture between her legs. This was so surreal, so exciting, but she frowned knowing that it was all for him. There would probably be no...consideration for her. Shaking she stood proudly, refusing to cover herself or cower. If he thought she'd let him get away with that, he didn't know Claire Willoughby. 

"We're having dinner."

Nothing he could have said would shock her more. Properly he held the crook of his arm aloft until she took it, and walked her to the dining room. There Luisa had set the table, turning the lights low, and candles were lit at the center. The dark color theme continued in here, unbearably masculine, and against it she knew she looked impossibly delicate. Still, the red, the shoes, these were things of power. Just because she'd made this desperate agreement didn't mean she had to give up control.

To her shock he led her to the seat to the right of the head of the table and pushed her chair in for her, walking sedately to take his own. 

"Eat," was all Sebastian said. 

"What?" Claire was confused. The attire, the shoes, the hair, the grooming...all for what, a dinner?

"I'm hungry...and I'll need my strength." The last he said staring into her eyes, and she had no doubt of what he meant.

Blushing, she ducked her head and picked up her fork. The dinner was great, food she hadn't been able to have for many years. The fish was flown in, the sauce was creamy and rich dressed with truffles, the rice with saffron and the vegetables snappy. When it was this good she could forgive not having bread or potatoes. 

Still her nerves did not allow her to eat and she kept to the water and not the white wine. Claire needed her wits about her, and with every minute her worries grew. What the hell did he have planned?

Suddenly he stood and held out his hand to her. "Come with me."

On shaky legs she stood and followed, eyeing the stairs, but he passed them up for the living room. Setting her on the couch he took off his jacket and tied, rolled up his sleeves as he pushed a remote button and a panel rose to reveal the TV.

She could only goggle. "Um..."

"Yes?" He sat next to her and put his arm over the back of the couch behind her.

"Aren't we?"

He leaned in close, green eyes glittering. "In such a hurry to get me naked?"

Her face exploded into flame. What the hell was going on? She'd had men, many men, hell she'd had him those twelve years ago. Claire looked back to the television and he chuckled, putting on a movie. It was The Patriot. 

Her nerves sank and a strange kind of calm came over her. There last night she had come to him in tears, scared out of her wits, interrupting his dinner. When she refused to tell him why he had her join him, eating fish and rice. After they had sat on a different couch in this very room watching The Patriot, sitting just like this. Somewhere before the end she had snuggled onto his chest, turned to ask him a question, and he'd kissed her.

They had fumbled on the couch, gasping and moaning as clumsy fingers discovered hidden places. When he'd led her up to his room they'd held hands, giggling with nerves. In the dark of night he'd done his best to please her, but she'd been scared as hell and all of sixteen. She remembered pain, yes, but after the feeling of young Sebastian holding her in his arms. She remembered kissing his brow and slipping out of his life for what she thought was forever.

He was recreating that night, but why? E seemed angry and she expected to be handcuffed, on her knees, suppressing her gag reflex. Instead he'd dressed her like a whore, but treated her as...as he had, if a less chatty.

As the movie wore on she refused to put her head on his shoulder, but his arm encircled her and dragged her over. He felt stiff and tight, vibrating with nerves as she was. Maybe he was too nervous to ask for what he wanted, maybe-

Sebastian turned and caught her lips in a kiss. No mere innocent brushing of lips this was a claiming. His lips were soft and firm, his tongue swift, hot, and bold as it swept inside. Within seconds all thought melted and she found herself clinging to him, grasping his shirt between white-knuckled fingers.

She had kissed many boys and a few men, but no one like this. Sebastian was pure strength and heat, and he kissed her like he was fucking her, taking his time but overwhelming her. Her body began to tingle, her breasts felt swollen and achy, and something low turned over inside her.

The moment her body surrendered he seemed to know, turning and moving while never breaking the kiss. Sebastian pressed Claire down onto the tan lather couch and settled between her legs. She gasped at the hard length of him, all the years had made her forget how impressive he was.

Desire pooled hot in her veins and tentatively she let her hands roam, discovering new sinews and valleys that had not been there before. Just when her hands slid down his stomach, aching to feel skin and not fine cotton and silk, he grabbed her wrists and jerked them away, over her head, pinning them.

"Be a good girl," he purred against her lips, tailing his mouth to capture her ear lobe between his teeth.

Despite herself, Claire cried out. It had been so long and it felt so good she didn't give a damn about anything else at that moment. He moved his hips slightly, surging against her, his erection pressing into her wet heat and Claire had to bite her lip to keep from begging.

He moved down, his mouth never leaving her body as he went, transferring her wrists to one hand. There were no shy caresses now, obviously Sebastian knew what he was doing, and she was helpless against the onslaught. 

Then he tugged down a lacy cup and freed her pink nipple. The cool air made it pucker and then he covered her, pure shocking heat. She longed to bury her fingers in his long auburn hair, free those tresses and see them loose, flowing like cool silk over her hands, but he had her pinned firmly.

When he'd driven her mad with rapid, soft flicks, and hard, hot suckling, her simply moved to the other. Within seconds she was shameless,, whimpering, begging wordlessly, and still he moved slowly. When at least her hands were free he ducked them and moved lower. Frustrated, Claire grasped her flimsy robe and bunched and twisted it in her grip, knowing what he was about.

The anticipation was killing her. Her body was on fire, molten lava, and it threatened to overflow at any moment. Then he grasped the panties and tore them, making her gasp, but his touch was gentle. His thumbs parted her folds slowly, stroking over the tender flesh exposed.

She felt his hot breath inches away and raised her head to look. In the light his hair shined like bloodstone, and then he descended. Claire's eyes closed and she saw colors dance. This was such a rare act for her, and with no sensual touching of any kind in three years she was primed and ready to go off. 

Too fast it built, no plateau, the pleasure so long denied rode on need and swelled to a crescendo. When it broke she was screaming wordlessly, louder than she could ever remember, he entire body shaking with the orgasm.

He kept going, licking fast now, flicking her clit, suckling, still those hot thumbs spreading her open for his hungry mouth. When it was over she was limp, sated. He sat up, mouth wet with her juices, green eyes blazing, and at long last he stood, that impressive erection straining his pants.

"You may sleep in the guest room."

Without another word he left the room and she heard a door close, it sounded like the bathroom or his office. Her soul and body cried out but her mind was relieved. That had been devastating. If it had gone on she knew she would have passed some brink she could not return from.

Before he reemerged she grabbed her torn panties and kicked off the shoes, running up the stairs to slam into the guest room. She had escaped a fearful night with only pleasure, and so Claire couldn't say why the tears fell when her head hit the pillow.

***

It took just three pumps of his tight fist before he came, shaking with a powerful orgasm he couldn't compare to any before. When it passed he sank to his knees in the bathroom, leaning against the door, and shook for moment.

It had been a good plan. Dress her up to throw her off, make her feel powerless and dependent, provide him some eye candy. Relive that long ago night, making love to her tenderly, bringing her to peak after peak with his entire body, then sleeping with her in his arms. In twelve days of that he new he could do what he hadn't been able to do at seventeen; he could make her fall in love with him. Then he would set her out on her ass and laugh at her tears.

But he'd miscalculated. Sebastian Kellner, the man who made venture capitalists quiver in fear, the man who worked the corporate world like a chess game, had miscalculated. Seeing her in that getup had been confronting his own greatest sexual fantasy. Then her kiss, she had been so hot, so sweet, so soft and feminine, her body cradling hiss, accepting everything.

Her breasts were every bit as magnificent as he remembered and he thought that now as a man of the world and not a fumbling teenage boy he could seduce her without being seduced. Then he'd tasted her, musky and sweet, and she had made those sounds, calling his name as she game, gushing her juices all over.

The urge to claim her then, to open his pants and fuck her hard, n condom and damn the consequences, had been too strong. Barely he'd pulled away and even with the self-gratification he still wanted to go to her, hold her, kiss her, enflame her, and make her beg.

Damn it all to hell. He stood and turned on the sink, splashing cold water on his face. Suddenly it occurred to him what he had miscalculated. Sebastian Kellner, Chicago's most-wanted bachelor, the king of one-night-stands, was still very much in love with the young-girl-cum-woman who'd broken his heart and abandoned him.

With a roar he punched the mirror and it shattered. He was bruised and bleeding, and it didn't help. Damn her, damn her to hell. He would use the next eleven days to make her crave him, but whatever it took, he would get her out of his system.

The past belonged in the past.



Out of the Past Pt. 02



"Here," was all Sebastian said to her in the morning.

After crying herself to sleep Claire had awoken to find her clothes cleaned and folded, waiting for her. She'd dressed and come down to breakfast, which to her shock Sebastian had cooked. For health food it was good, spiced egg white omelettes with vegetables, multi-grain toast with only a little butter.

He hadn't spoken but that one word as he set down a credit card and straightened his tie before leaving. Once more he was dressed in a suit, his hair brutally clubbed, his eyes refusing to meet hers and she couldn't say why.

Before she could ask what he wanted her to use the card for, he was gone. She busied herself with dishes and then set up in his office with her laptop, researching Morelli.

He was old man now, but in his youth sixty years ago he'd been a runner who worked his way up on the streets of Providence. When the Italians had moved into Boston he'd followed, made a name for himself. When too many murders and too much coke was connected to him, a rash of killings had taken down any and all who could testify as witnesses to the charges. His lawyer had gotten him sprung and he'd moved up to Toronto, assuming like most Americans that a low crime rate meant low rime, and therefore opportunity.

History was repeating itself. Once more he'd been arrested, indicted, and a trial was set, but witnesses were dropping like flies. Turned out Gigolo John was actually a gigolo, and had been scheduled to testify about Morelli's drug operation. The woman with him had just been a client.

All she could glean on the killer was that experts believed the one in Boston was different than the one in Toronto. The one in Toronto used a gun of a different caliber, and had no compunction about collateral damage. Great.

Maybe she wasn't so safe there. However, she had dropped her suitcase. If the hit man got it he had all her brochures, not a one leading to Chicago. Her fake identity would lead him nowhere. She could spend eleven more days there and leave with the money to start over somewhere safe. If she could handle Sebastian.

Last night had been so confusing, and the hot memories pulled her attention from her computer. The way he kissed and touched her...it was passionate, raw, full of need. But in the end he had taken nothing for himself. She had expected to be used and then he went and took nothing from her. What was his game?

One thing life had taught her was life was a chess game. People either played as pawns, thought themselves bishops, or were the chess masters. Sebastian was a chess master if ever she saw one. He had an end goal, but what was it? If it was revenge for leaving him, last night made no sense. Instead it had been...it had been what she fantasized in many ways, but in her fantasies on the plane ride back she had daydreamed about the feel of him inside her, filling her, their bodies pressed close together, his lips on her skin, her hands all over him as he surged and filled her until she was breathless and clinging to him.

Well, she had eleven days. Morelli's hitman would never find her, she was safe. At the end of that time she would have her money and the opportunity to go anywhere and start fresh again. Until then, two could play that game.

She grabbed his credit card and her purse, and found the number for his car service. She wasn't stupid, and wasn't about to go wandering alone, but for what she needed she had to go outside. When two chess masters met they could either agonize and strategize, or they could play something else.

She was going to change the game.

***

He couldn't concentrate at work. The implications of his feelings were too staggering. He was a man molded into a machine, Sebastian was thinking not feeling, cold and calculating. It was how he alone had tripled Kellner's profits in four years despite the economy stagnating. It was how he'd never been trapped into marriage with some gold digger. 

And here he was, brought low by something out of the past. Someone.

Damn it, how could he feel this way? He didn't know her. The scared sixteen year old girl who had spent many nights talking to him about her desire to escape, then rashly acted on it, he knew that girl. Or, he'd thought he did. The strangely confident, poised young woman in his home now was beautiful and unreadable. She'd agreed so readily to his obscene terms, and why? Dare he hope she had any feelings for him?

More than that, what had she done in those three years? College and graduate school he knew, but after she'd walked off the planet. She was scared of something, running from something, and for a moment he pictured an angry husband.

Clenching his fist around the steering wheel Sebastian concentrated on the road, heading into the Kenwood neighborhood. He'd left the office an hour early unable to concentrate on the numbers, the endless meetings, and the car drove itself.

He was almost surprised to find him outside his uncle's house, and he parked but kept the engine running as he stared. Michael Kellner, his mother's brother, the closest thing he'd had to a father which was to say he had nothing of a father.

Michael had never forgiven Johanna for running off with some strange man and returning nine months later with Sebastian. Even as grandfather Ferdinand groomed Sebastian to grow up and head the company, Michael and Ferdinand had ridden Johanna hard. All his life she was mad. The psychiatrists put any fancy terms they wanted, but in that nine months that had netted his life her sanity had shredded. Any hope they had for her to run the company with Michael when Ferdinand died had been ruined, and so Sebastian had been forced to stay, to take her place.

Michael had always called him a bastard, had unwisely tried to force Sebastian out. The board had seen his side of the matter and it was Michael who was now sidelined. With his new wife he was banished from the company but today Sebastian wasn't here for the business, he was here for family.

There was no gated security and he walked up the steps and rang the doorbell. Dora, Michael's new wife, answered,, all bleached blonde hair and big colored-contact lens blue eyes. "Sebastian!"

"I need to see my uncle."

"He's not home."

"Bullshit! It's about Claire."

Something passed through her eyes like fear and she stepped back, half-closing the door as she schooled her expression. "She is dead to us. My husband has no care for a woman who was once briefly his step-daughter."

"What about her money, her trust fund?"

Dora would never win a hand at poker, her face gave everything away. Sebastian had been more guessing than lying when he told Claire her money was gone, and he knew he was right. He cursed viciously and the door slammed in his face.

This was his family, the same family that had tried to claim Claire. He knew why she had run, now the only mystery was why she had left him only to come back. He walked back to his car and mulled it over, but even as he got in and turned the engine Sebastian didn't know if this time he would keep her.

***

Claire was exhausted. Normally she hated shopping, but it hadn't been so bad knowing she didn't have to foot the bill. Ashe purchased a new suitcase and some basics for travel, new bath supplies, everything she'd need for the next week including clothes. There she had deviated some.

For the days beyond, when she left for a destination unknown, she bought jeans, t-shirts, cotton basics. For the time under Sebastian's roof she bought all the weapons she could use to upset the chessboard.

This time there would be no hard choices. On that long ago day when she walked out the door leaving him behind, she didn't have to go. He could have come with her, but he'd been scared. His mother was too far gone to help, and she knew this would happen if he stayed. The family would convert him, like some cult acolyte, and he would become a cold, calculating, moneymaking machine. 

At some point she'd reasoned out the game. He was trying to make her feel something for him, and then break her heart, that explained the night before. Well, two could play that game. Once she had loved him, indeed with all her heart, and in those long ago nights they had held each other they had dreamed together and spoken of breaking free. But when it came time to come through on that promise of "us versus the world" Sebastian had been the one to turn tail.

So she was going to play his little game, but she was going to win. Maybe it would bring the closure she hadn't realized she'd needed until she looked into the face of the man and saw no trace of the boy, nothing of the hope she'd desired.

There was no going back, and going forward was going to be on her terms.

***

Sebastian walked in the door exhausted. After visiting Michael, or trying, he'd driven around. He preferred his car service but that day he'd left it for Claire. She'd had almost nothing when she came, Luisa said that one outfit, so he hoped she had bought what she needed. Given how fast that outfit last night had shredded his control he hoped she was wearing a ratty robe, curlers, and bunny slippers.

Instead she greeted him in the hall wearing a dress that clung to her curves, the same rich blue as her eyes. It was cut low enough to expose the sweet curve of her high, full breasts and floated along those impossibly long legs. She looked so damn good his dick was already hardening.

"Claire-"

She crossed on heels so thin they made a sharp clack on the marble and then grabbed him, pulling him down. Sebastian growled and dropped his briefcase, taking her in his arms. She instigated the kiss but he took control, refusing to let her hold it.

She tasted like wine and woman, sweet and delicate against him. Her body was soft enough to sink into and god, how he wanted to. She rubbed against him, nearly purring, rubbing his erection. He deepened the kiss and she merely sucked on his tongue. He was hard and aching and she pushed him further and further.

Sebastian wanted nothing more than to force her to wall, lift her, shred whatever panties she wore and slide into her, but he held back. Control, he needed control. On that thought he pushed away and she opened her eyes, blinking, looking dazed. At that moment he could have her, any way he desired, and he was shaking with need, but she would not have him this way. He would retain control.

"Nice dress," he said fliply and stepped back to retrieve his briefcase.

Claire pouted but followed him as he walked to the dining room. As usually the housekeeper had left dinner and he held out her chair. Awkwardly she sat, and he was happy she was disappointed. God help him this was a nice fantasy. Coming home from work to a hot meal and a beautiful, eager woman.

But it was just a dream. Claire had left once, would leave again, and this time he would make sure she regretted it. Now if only he knew how to make sure he didn't.

***

After dinner she waited to see what he proposed for the night anxiously. Already she felt off-kilter. He liked order, she could see that, and her hope had been to waylay dinner with some fun, but despite his intense arousal and hers Sebastian had neatly sidestepped.

God, how did she think she really could win at this? The second he took control her body betrayed her. Even as a teenager he had been that way, always in control, but then gentle and hesitant, almost shy. Now he was cool, confident, and so damn good she melted. It was all too easy to tell in the years since she had last seen him his experience was wide and hers passable.

They had spoken somewhat pleasantly over dinner until she had dared to ask how things were going for the family company. When his voice turned suspicious and his answers clipped she had to wonder if he insanely thought she was there to try and take the place she'd been groomed for, running it by his side.

Then only the weather and politics had been safe harbor until silence fell. Now dinner was finished and he was watching her finish her wine.

"Tell me your greatest fantasy," he asked at last, shocking her. His tone was so casual it was as if he'd asked her what her favorite color was.

"I- I can't." His gaze was direct, unnerving. He didn't move, didn't waver, just let the weight of his eyes press her back in her chair.

"Yes you can. It stays between us. It never leaves this room. It's just a thought, an idea."

"Only if you tell me yours," she said before she could stop herself.

He raised an imperious auburn brow. "You did agree to do whatever I wanted."

"I agreed to be yours, but nothing so specific. Besides, it's only fair."

"Very well, tell me yours, and I'll tell you mine."

Oh, god, she couldn't tell him what she truly fantasized about in the night, never that, but she could tell him the thing that had gotten her through the past three years. "I- I like to watch."

"To watch what?" His tone was even and his expression did not change.

Fingering her now empty wineglass Claire lowered hr eyes. "Men. I- like to watch them alone, or when they are with a woman."

"Doing what?"

She felt her face flame. Damn it, he was going to make her say it all, just sitting there, handsome face impassive. He showed no signs of it, but she felt that he would judge her, hear these secret thoughts she had never shared and find fault with them.

"I like to watch them fuck a woman, do what th-they do, naturally. And when they're alone I...I like to see how they p-pleasure themselves."

"And you've done this?"

Heart hammering she met his gaze and nodded. Something passed through his eyes, hot and heavy and fast like a beast past a window and she shivered. "And you?"

He stood then and reached out his hand, and all Claire could do was watch him with guarded eyes. "Come on, I won't tell you, I will show you."

Shakily she clasped his hand and rose with him. This close he was so strong, so large, and she felt fragile and lost. Damn it, she was always in control of her life, of herself, but with Sebastian it was becoming easier and easier to forget. 

Like some dark god accepting a pagan offering he brought her up the stairs and into his bedroom. It was grand and exceedingly masculine. The furniture was darkest mahogany, the carpet soft grey, the walls navy and black. The bed was huge, four posters flung far by a king-size mattress. Aside from the bed the only other furniture in the bedroom were the nightstands, a dresser with a huge mirror, and a long backless couch.

The one "wall" was actually thick curtains covering an open balcony overlooking the downstairs. Claire turned and took it al in, remembering how once this space had been Ferdinand's, cold and so different. Despite how stark the color scheme was, it was strangely warm, like Sebastian himself. 

He stood leaning against on of the bedposts, arms folded, watching her like sly cat cornering a slow canary. Damn it, Claire cursed herself, she was a woman of the world, she knew what she was about, she was no longer a simpering teenage girl in thrall to puppy love.

"Then what is it to be?"

He looked her up and down and did nothing to hide the evidence of his arousal. She blushed but forced herself to stand erect, hiding nothing. Slowly he stood as well and then peeled off his jacket. She watched his muscles flex beneath the shirt and licked her lips, remembering how the night before he'd remained clothed, an enigma.

Now he pulled his tie loose and let it fly to land on the bed, then began to undo his cuffs. There was nothing musical to his movements but they were no less erotic, simply steady. Claire sank onto the couch afraid her knees would give out.

Slowly his shirt opened with the pop of each button, and then his tanned flesh was exposed. He shrugged out of it revealing sculpted muscle that made her mouth water. Was this his fantasy? Did he like to be watched as much as she liked to watch? The thought sent dark arousal pumping through her veins, and between her legs moisture pooled as she shifted.

He tossed the shirt than walked to her. With one hand under her chin he made her rise and she wondered if he was going to kiss her. Instead he gave a knowing smile and turned her around, gathering her loose hair and putting it over one shoulder. His hands settled on her shoulders before skimming to the zipper and pulling it down.

The cool air kissed her fevered skin as the dress pooled around her feet. Breathless and still she closed her eyes when the searing heat of his lips found her shoulder. Claire could not help but tremble at the briefest touch of teeth with the firm caress of his hot mouth.

When his hands moved up over her hips she didn't fight him, didn't play coy, could only tremble with need. His hands skimmed over her fluttering belly to cup her heavy breasts, massaging through the lace.

"Blue...like your eyes," Sebastian nearly whispered, moving his hands to her shoulders and turning her, ignoring her cry.

Once she faced him he looked her up and down, taking in the lacy pale blue bra, the slim panties and garter belt that matched, and her stockings. "I approve of your shopping choices." Without breaking eye contact he reached behind her and undid the clasp of the bra.

Claire couldn't stop herself from clasping at the cups to stop it from slipping, and Sebastian stepped back with a devil's smile. "Leave the rest on, sit back down." The words were softly spoken but the tone commanding, and Claire sank back to the couch.

Seconds licked by as they waited in a silent duel, and then with a sigh she let the bra fall. The appreciative glow in his eyes was nearly worth it, but then he winked. That made her start, and what followed next made her mouth water.

Slowly he removed his belt, kicked off his shoes. His movements were efficient, carrying their own kind of grace, but without the sway and grind of music. His eyes remained on hers like some primal claiming and she fought the blush and struggled not to gape at the flesh revealed.

When he slid his pants down slowly she thought she might faint from sheer, voluptuous pleasure. Of all the wonderful parts to a man's body she loved men's legs the best, and Sebastian had certainly paid as much attention there as his upper body.

When she saw he was hard, his thick cock pulsing with arousal, her blood heated and slowed.

"Watch me Claire, for the moment, watch me."

He stroked his large hands up his thighs as she licked her lips. Leaning forward Sebastian's long hair still clubbed back fell onto his chest and she wished she could see it loose and free. Then he gripped his cock and she couldn't help but moan.

It was beautiful, he was beautiful. This was so surreal. For all the watching she had ever done it had been in the dark, in secret, without consent. Now, this close it felt raw, intimate. He moved his hand slowly, the fist clenched tight, and for a moment with his hair shading his face he resembled some beautiful, ancient statue.

She had never felt so powerfully aroused in her life. Tonight, tonight she would have him, feel his body filling hers. All of that delicious strength would be hers, she just had to be patient. And he knew, she realized when she met his gaze, he understood what watching did for her, did to her.

Through it all he slowly stroked. Her breasts ached, her pussy was tight and wet, her entire body ached and all she could do was watch as he stroked the long length of his cock slowly with one hand. Then his other joined from stroking the hard ridges of his abdomen to cup his balls. She moaned, licked her lips, and considered begging.

Never before had she wanted to interrupt the watching, to touch, but oh god, she wanted to touch. She wanted to sink to her knees and use her hands and mouth on that cock until he begged her, sank down and filled her just as she wanted. 




Out of the Past Pt. 02



"Claire, no touching!"

She blinked to realize she'd been cupping her breasts and one hand was in her panties. Growling at him she refused to move until he did the same, holding himself, a shiny drop of precum dangling.

"Then let me touch you." The voice that spoke didn't seem to be hers, but she was glad she did when his eyes darkened with lust.

"Come here, kneel."

It didn't occur to her to fight the command, she moved quickly, kneeling in front of him, bracing her hands on his thighs. God, the muscle was so hard, she thought, licking her lips just a scant few inches away from the tip of his cock.

Looking up she caught his sly smile and then his hands began to pump again. Bending her head, desperate for a taste, she wanted to run her tongue over the bulbous head, feel that velvety skin stretched so taut, taste the salty bitterness in that drop of precum. Just as her pink tongue darted out he jerked his hips back.

"You said you like to watch and watch you will."

Claire had been afraid of this. Two nights denied what she knew would be the most incredible feeling of Sebastian inside her, and tonight her only pleasure lay in arousal and watching. He did not make her move her hands and so slowly she undulated them, massaging the bunched hard muscles of his thighs. Looking up she met his eyes as he stared down at her, but she was completely aware of his hard cock, his balls pulled tight to his body, and knew he was close.

"Let me suck you, let me swallow it, please."

"Shut up," he said breathily, but softened it with a smile. Seconds later his hand pumped faster, furiously now. "Hold your tits together, Claire."

In a daze she did, ever breaking the hold of their gaze, and then he threw his head back and nearly roared. Hot jets of cum spurted onto her breasts and neck as his body shook with it, one hand now bracing on the bed poster.

It passed slowly, leaving him panting and her wet, covered in his juices, and trembling with desire. Quickly Sebastian leaned down and grabbed her breasts, massaging his cum into her skin. Roughly he palmed them, scraping his callused skin over her nipples. 

"Now, I know you enjoyed that, my little witch, but are your ready to tell me what your true deepest fantasy is?"

Shocked she tipped her head away in surprise. How had he known?

"That- that w-was close, so close."

"You want more, don't you Claire? You want me to fuck you, hard. You want me to bend you over the foot of my bed, rip those filly panties off, and drive my cock into you again and again, don't you?"

She could only whimper and hide in her hear. His hands still moved, softer now, feathering over her nipples, harder than she could ever remember them being. Surely he'd give in, surely she didn't have to beg.

"Not yet I see. Go lay down on your back, on the couch. Now."

He jerked her to her feet and on shaky legs she made her way over the soft carpet to the strange couch and aid down. Without thinking her legs fells open and she closed her eyes. Her entire body felt like molten lava yet her fevered skin was tight with anticipation.

Suddenly she felt his hands on her thighs, pushing them wider apart. Leaning up she saw he knelt and almost wanted to cry out "No!" knowing what was to come. Then his mouth skimmed her inner thigh, teeth lightly grazing, and she let her head fall back, ready to receive any pleasure he offered. 

There was no warning before indeed he tore her panties and then his hands were on here. She nearly swooned at the feel of his thumbs parting her folds and then stroking. Slowly he moved, the pads of his thumbs gliding over her own juices, coaxing, massaging, making the fire in her burn hotter and hotter.

"Play with your breasts," he ordered, but it was gruff and his voice nearly broke.

Moaning she did, her own hands slim and cool, her nails scraping as she plucked at her nipples. Claire felt dizzy, her body seemed to be spinning and falling yet floating, She thought her arousal could go no higher but it climbed and every time she neared climax he stopped, and only let his hot breath fall on her aching clit until she calmed.

After an eternity she was biting her lip to keep from begging.

"Will you tell me what your fantasy truly is?"

"You- oh! You never told me yours."

He leaned up and flicked his tongue once over her clit. Claire nearly screamed so close to cumming but his hands stilled. "This is it. You,, your body, under my control. Whether or not you cum is up to me, how hot you get is up to me. And if you're a good girl, how many times you cum...all up to me.

"Come, you are dirty."

Once more he helped her to her feet and then knelt again, divesting her of her shoes and then stripping off her stockings and the garter belt. When she was naked Sebastian took her hand and lead her to his bathroom. 

The tile was all large, natural stone, and the shower was the size of her own apartment's bathroom. It had multiple jets and he turned them all on until it steamed then gently pushed her inside. Joining her, he closed the door.

In such a confined space, without her shoes, she was reminded of just how large he'd become. Sebastian had always been tall, but now he'd filled out, and his personality was larger than life. She felt like prey cornered by a wolf, and worse, eager prey. When would the teasing stop?

He backed her under a spray and it felt heavenly, six jets along her back and a gentle waterfall over her. She dipped her head into the spray, letting it soak her hair, wash her makeup away. Her body was still throbbing with need but the tension flowed under the assault of the hot water.

Sebastian reached behind her to a ledge and took a bar of soap that smelled heavenly, like sandalwood, honeysuckle, and spice. Quickly he lathered his hands and then ordered her to turn around, and Claire did, splaying her hands against the tile at the first touch of his soapy fingers.

He massaged and kneaded, stroked and caressed, inciting a riot of nerves along her spine and a burning fire between her legs. Claire was certain her juices flowed more than the water and her entire being vibrated. She was more ready than she ever had been in her life.

Sebastian turned some of the jets to wash her off and ten pressed his hard body against hers. Pressed between hot man and cold tile, the contrast made her groan and undulate, wigging her ass against the long, hard length of his cock.

"Are you ready to tell me what you truly desire most?" He nipped her ear as his lathered hands slid between her and the wall to tease her breasts.

Her moan died on a whimper, Claire was so helpless to the pleasure, the arousal, so desperately filled with need. Still she couldn't say the words, the fear was too great. He was so hard, his breathing so labored, he would have to cave soon.

When he groaned and turned her she nearly screamed in joy, but Sebastian just pushed her gently to her knees. "Suck me," he growled out, and she needed little encouragement more than that.

With relish she took hiss cock in her hands and squeezed firmly, bringing the swollen tip to her lips. She licked water from it and was rewarded with a shudder, though Claire nearly missed it in her swooning pleasure. He tasted like salty heaven and was so thick he filled her mouth. slowly, softly at first she licked and sucked, but then his hands sank into her hair and held her still, and his hips began to pump.

Claire sucked with forced and relaxed as he thrust deeper and deeper. His body was tight, his balls close to his body. Perhaps now, she thought, now if I make him cum he will finish me off. For long moments she cupped his balls, massaging, and relaxed her throat as he slid the wide length deeper and deeper. His moans were music to her ears and she was frantic. His release or hers, she didn't care, something had to give. 

So close he was so close, pumping his hips wildly, his hands fisted in her wet tangled strands. Claire ran her tongue along the underside of his cock and straightened her throat. Good, he would cum soon and she would take it all and relish the power he had given her.

Suddenly he stopped and pulled free, panting.

"No!"

Sebastian hauled her up and tuned her again, bending her at the waist and forcing Claire to grab a ledge. He kicked her legs apart and stood between them. "Is this what you want? Is this what you're so ashamed of wanting? To be forced? To know it's not a game,, to have the choice taken fromyou?"

True fear seized her and Claire shot an elbow back, catching him in the chest as he leaned forward. Sebastian loosened his grip on her hips and she scrambled and turned, slipping into the water. "No!"

He looked down at her, huddled in the corner now, eyes wide with fear. "Oh, god, Claire, I- no. I just thought that, well, you might have wanted-"

"No! No man does anything to me without my permission you goddamned ape."

Conscious of his erection Sebastian squatted down, trying to hide it as he kept his distance. "I'm sorry, Claire, I took it too far. You have to admit you enjoyed being dominated, but I- I got carried away. Why can't you just tell me what it is you really want? I'll give it you. It doesn't matter what it is."

Seeing the truth behind his words some of the fear bled out, but she was still shaking. Shamefully her arousal hadn't abated, instead the fear had pushed it higher. It was because he'd stopped when she said no. It was because he apologized. It was because despite all the games she trusted him. Taking a deep breath, she took a chance.

"It's you."

"What?"

"The fantasy I tell no one, the memory, the thought that haunts me, the thing I dream about and have every night for twelve years...it's you, just you."

He gabbed her hands and pulled her up but Claire couldn't help but hide the flinch. It wasn't that she feared him physically, it was that she had just exposed a part of her soul and it felt like an open wound.

His hand shook as he turned off the water. His eyes dark Sebastian opened the door and grabbed a towel, handing it to her, then took one for him.

"Why?"

"Because right now if I take you, it will be a taking. It will be rough, and fast, and that is not what I want, nor you."

She wanted to scream, but he was right, and Claire almost hated him for that. It seemed not only could he play her body like an instrument, he could play her soul. How had she ever thought she could win?

"Come now. You'll sleep in my bed, and I promise you I will not disturb you tonight."

He stepped out and she watched the play of muscles in his ass with a sigh. "Oh, goody."

"Good," he replied, missing the dry tone of her voice.

Back in the room he toweled her hair off for her, then insisted on combing and braiding it. It was a different kind of intimacy but it still turned her on. The entire night he had done nothing but push her arousal to the limit and she was too far gone.

Finally when he finished with her hair she grabbed his hand. "Sebastian, I can't wait. Damn it, stop toying with me."

The comb dropped and he grabbed her, sitting on the bed and settling her between his legs, her back to his front. She wiggled against his erection and felt her juices spread on the comforter. He pulled her back and turned her head for a bruising kiss of barely leashed violence.

Cupping her jaw he locked her in place and his other hand wound around to dive between her legs. Again she feared a teasing and murmured, struggling, but he soothed her and kept her in place. Quickly his fingertips feathered over her clit with dizzying speed. Her body, so long denied raced for the climax and within seconds it came.

The strength of it was pure blazing white heat pulsing through her and she shook, sucking hard on his tongue in her mouth as her nails scored his arms. It went on and on and something broke inside her, unleashing a flood. She screamed wordlessly into a wail as at long last it passed, leaven her shaken.

He kissed her temple and moved her, Claire was too tired to fight as he lifted her, turned down the covers, and laid her down. Finally, at last, she thought, as he padded to the light and shut it off before joining her.

But all he did was turn on his side and haul her back against him. He was still hard, his muscles tight, but when she wiggled against him he made the shush sound. She fought tears as he fell silent and still behind her, his arm clamped around her middle. Hadn't she played his game and let him win? She had confessed her fantasy, bared a piece of her soul, and still her body hungered for completion, that culmination that only come being filled by a man, surrounded by him, possessed by him.

Damn him. Damn him to hell. She didn't need his money, she'd make it on her own. Morelli's killer was nothing compared to this hell. First thing in the morning, she was leaving. 

And she'd be stuck with that fantasy the rest of her life.

***

It had taken him hours to get the airport to hand over the security tapes without a warrant, and then a solid day of viewing the tapes, but he found her. She was going to New York on a flight that continued to Chicago.

"Hey!"

He nearly jumped as Shannon came in, hurrying to turn the screen off. "What?"

"Sor-ry, sheesh. I think I have a break on the case. Found a matching stolen vehicle report on the Mercedes from two years ago. Get this, it was stolen from Buffalo."

"How could Morelli's guy get it across the boarder?"

"Don't you guys handle things like that?"

"Let me see the report."

She passed him the file and he opened it, flipping through. "Let my department handle this."

"Just keep me in the loop. Hey, I'm not having much luck running down a phone number, maybe you could help." She passed him a slip of paper with a few notes.

"Angela...who is she?"

"Just a friend who went out of town but I need to get a hold of her."

He smiled the smile that had fooled hundreds and her own ghosted back. "I'll have this ASAP."

"Okay, just...let me know."

He watched her leave and when the door closed slammed his fist on the desk. This friend of hers was the one he wanted. Now he had to get rid of Shannon. A cop. So close to tying up loose ends, collecting his payment, and retiring and now he had to kill a cop.

When he found this woman, whatever her real name was, he would make her pay for all the trouble she'd caused.

***

Claire dreamed troubling dreams all night, unable to wake. There was her mother introducing her to Michael when she was small. Even then she had sensed trouble. Her father, only a picture to her, had been tall and slim and blonde, his face open and sweet. Michael was broad and muscled, his dark hair tinged red and his eyes black and pitch. He had disregarded her as nothing, courting her mother and the money left from her father's death.

She remembered then her mother sick in bed, Michael flaunting his affairs, disciplining her for small things with the back of his hand. Sebastian, only a few years older, a quiet, serious by had become her refuge. She remembered Sebastian's mother's laughter as her mind shredded, the curse of the Kellner women.

Then she dreamed of her mother's funeral, of Ferdinand in his wheel chair giving her evil looks with eyes as black as his son's while insisting Michael raise her as his own. She remembered Ferdinand's wife, all cold bony fingers, insisting she be a lady, dress as one, as she whispered how one day she would marry Sebastian despite Claire's protests he was her best friend.

She remembered moving into the house after Ferdinand's brother passed, sharing the left side with Michael. Sebastian and his mother moving in when she could not longer live alone. She remembered cowering under stairs and in closets with Sebastian when Michael was drunk, worse she remembered the cruel, cold punishments of Ferdinand who insisted his valet slap her palms with a cane for imagined and small transgressions.

She remembered Sebastian growing tall, quiet, intense, studious. She remembered the way he would hold her after those terrible moments with Ferdinand and Michael. She remembered the day they had first kissed, those first gentle, fumbling explorations of one another, the fear of discovery, the dream of escape.

Then she remembered one night of pain and humiliation, salvation in his arms, and his ultimate refusal. She woke sweaty, crying out with the pain of a heart freshly broken. Dim blue light filtered in under the curtains and fell across Sebastian's face as he sat up.

"Claire, what is it?"

For a moment she didn't recognize the coldly handsome man holding her, but his voice...it was her Sebastian. Without conscious thought she reached for him and drew his face to hers. The kiss was soft, gentle, and hesitant. It was hers and on that thought she growled and parted his lips.

Her body was still thrumming with arousal after the night and the erotic memories of their last coupling. He turned and she followed, sprawling on top of him. Sebastian was hard and did nothing to stop the movement of her hips. Bracing her hand on his chest with the other she guided him inside her and sank down.

Colors exploded behind her eyelids as he filled her perfectly. This was what she had hungered for all this time, this most perfect feeling. Bittersweet she sighed and began to move, knowing no other man would ever do.

Sebastian gripped her hips and forced her to move slowly but powerfully, and over and over again he filled her. She ground against him and let the tips of her breasts graze his chest hair as his mouth plundered hers. Once more her body wanted to race to the pinnacle but Claire needed it to go slowly, to savor this.

Wracked by cold shivers and hot need she let her hands wander, memorizing every new muscle and line. She needed this new memory to burn away the old, to let lust replace love. Suddenly Sebastian grabbed her tight and rolled until their positions were reversed. Once he was on top he began to move like a madman, grinding and thrusting, filling her impossibly deep.

His mouth left hers to claim the peak of a breast and he thrust harder, deeper. Claire struggled and fought but her body would not be denied. The peak was a jagged range, climax after climax as he thrust and push through it, driving her into truly mindless pleasure. She clawed at him, screamed his name, and bucked and thrashed wildly riding the pleasure.

His hoarse shout nearly drowned out her cries and she felt him spill into her, grinding and slamming, riding over the edge with her. It passed too quickly and not fast enough, and Sebastian was gentleman enough to move aside before collapsing, but possessive enough her dragged her to his side and pressed her soft body into his.

Claire smoothed her hair from her eyes and breathed deeply, trying to calm. That had been soul-shattering. That had been- "Oh, god! We didn't use anything!"

For a moment neither breathed. Slowly Sebastian blinked. "I'm healthy, so we only have to worry about-"

"No, we don't." She didn't elaborate, finding it difficult to admit she was on birth control, even as intimate as they had just been.

Trusting her completely he relaxed, but kept her bound to his side. Closing her eyes, Claire let herself enjoy the fluttering little aftershocks and the feel of his rough skin against her. Surely she could have this moment before she left again. 

Sebastian was just too strong. He would win, make her fall in love, and lure her to her doom like some fey of legend. He would break her heart and leave her alone, or worse, try to keep her here, in this very house, the home of her nightmares.

"Claire, last night...I am truly sorry, but the way you acted. No one has ever...done that, have they?"

She was quiet for a moment. "No one has ever succeeded."

His body tightened. "Who tried?"

She struggled to escape his grasp but he held tight. "Sebastian, don't ask questions you don't want the answer to." Even as she said it she realized how much like an entreaty to follow up it sounded when she had meant a dismissal. Before he could ask, she relented. What harm was there now, all these years later?




Out of the Past Pt. 02



"Do you remember that night, the night before I left, the first night we..."

"Yes." His voice was calm, deep, steady.

"That night...I know we had talked about leaving in the summer. But those days Michael...he was acting strange. He kept saying how much I looked like my mother, how I was grown. That night he- he tried something. It was at the office. I came to you for comfort, for protection, but I couldn't say anything. You just looked so...lost and sad."

She stopped talking before she said any more. The young man he'd been had fulfilled her dreams that night, and then broken her heart. It seemed history was doomed to repeat itself, she would leave before he ha the chance to chain her to a destiny she couldn't accept.

"Why didn't you tell me?" His voice was dark and dangerous, his body suddenly still.

"What did it matter? I told you I had to get away, that night. I was willing to leave everything I was so desperate, and you...you refused to go with me."

He turned onto his side, letting her go as he loomed over her. "Do you really want to have this argument now?"

"No, I don't. Whatever reason you tell yourself at night you had for staying it's obvious why you did. The house, the company, the money...you're just like them all. All you goddamn Kellners are the same!"

He grabbed her shoulders. "I know what my grandfather and uncle did to you, to me! If you think I am anything like them, you're mad!"

She broke free and nearly fell scrambling from the bed. "Forcing me to do things against my will? Treating me like an object? Oh, you're right, you're not like the rest, you're the exact same bloody thing!"

Head held high she stalked naked from his room to the one she'd been given and slammed the door. When Sebastian heard the lock click he got up and quickly dressed. Ignoring his work clothes he shoes jeans a long sleeved black shirt. He brushed his hair back into a neat ponytail and went to the garage for his own car. 

He was in the mood to strangle somebody, and he knew just who it would be. In his anger he never even noticed the binoculars in the field behind the house. He wanted blood, and soon it would flow.



Out of the Past Pt. 03



Claire was shaking, still in an erotic fugue. This was what she feared, why the past three years for her had been a desert. Nothing with a lover was ever simple and with Sebastian it would always be hot, fast, and painful.

Damn it, that had been everything she wanted, every dark, hot, stolen fantasy. Yet it was better than she could have thought. Better and worse, of so much worse. 

"What am I doing?" She asked the mirror as she heard the door shut, Sebastian stomping out.

This was exactly what she feared. Kellners played games, always playing. It was how they made their money, how they destroyed competition, and how they controlled one another. It was simple: she needed money, and this family executed the trust owed her. Any other family on earth would sign it over or take her to court. Sebastian had instead told her it was liquidated and gone, he would replace it, but only if she was his whore for twelve days.

It spoke highly of their methods that she had even agreed to it. A truly strong, independent woman would have laughed in his face and stalked off. Not Claire though, those twelve years in this clan had warped her. She needed to escape and she needed to do so now.

There was an old account from her high school days, it wasn't much but it would help. The original bank had been bought out, that one bought out, but she could probably still access it. If she had enough for a plane ticket, she was good.

Claire washed her face and put on the new casual clothes she'd bought hastily. Tying her hair into a ponytail she stuffed the rest of the clothes into the duffel bag she'd bought and then checked her purse. It was early enough Luisa wouldn't be in yet, and so she slipped out the door unseen.

Freedom again was so close. She slipped on her sunglasses against the early morning light. Claire was sick of running away, she wanted something to run to. That was truly her deepest fantasy.

***

Sebastian rubbed his fist with glee as his uncle slumped in a chair, cradling his cheek. "You're a fucking madman!"

"I'm not the one who tried to force myself on a young woman I raised like a daughter!"

"What are you talking about!?"

"Michael?"

At his wife's voice they both yelled out to leave them alone, and Michael took advantage of the distraction and stood, running behind the bar of his study to pour a drink. His cheek was scuffed his short dark hair mussed, and his eye was blackening already. "She's lying, that little bitch always lied. I'd say ask her mother, if her mother wasn't dead."

"She lies? You drained her trust fund!" Sebastian wanted to pummel him, but he wanted answers more than anything. "If she's lying, why did she leave us that night, scared out of her mind? She disappeared for two years before grandfather dragged her kicking and screaming back. The second she finished school she left, and she showed up here with nothing but the clothes on her back."

Michael shifted his jaw and slammed back the martini he'd poured. "Do you think I haven't kept tabs on her? Angela Johnson was the name she used, and she lived in Toronto. Do you know what your precious little intended was doing? Hell, I won't tell you, it'll be more fun to ask her.

"She's back now because she knows you forced me out. Try as you might the charter still states there have to be two Kellners in charge of the company. She knows even in this economy the company's posting record profits and figured, 'well gee, Ferdinand once wanted me to marry Sebastian, maybe I'll just go an seduce him and walk away with half the company.' Sound about right? She seduce you yet? Not hard, you'd fuck anything barely female, and she's certainly more than that. Tits are better than ever."

Sebastian was standing outside himself, watching in slow motion as his body vaulted the couch and his fist slammed so hard into his uncle's face Michael's head snapped back and crashed into the shelves of liquor. Bottles fell and burst open and he was down, punching again and again.

Someone screamed and tiny hands were on him, it was his aunt du jour that snapped Sebastian back into himself. She was screaming, there were words, but the buzzing in his ears was too loud. He shoved her away and stood stiffly.

All those years, it made sense now. His uncle, that evil pile of filth, had tried to violate Claire. No wonder she was scared, babbling that night. Stupidly, so stupidly even for a seventeen year old boy, he had thought her trembling was just nerves at his touch. He had enjoyed the rush of power, seducing her.

Stalking out to his car he realized he wanted to punch himself. That night a scared girl who trusted him had come to him for comfort, to wipe out an ugly memory. With no clue he'd been rough and selfish, and then when she had begged him to leave he'd missed the terror in her eyes and refused. For twelve years the hurt he'd felt at waking alone had festered and now he knew it had not a single goddamn thing to do with him.

Sitting in his car he punched the steering wheel so hard his hand ached. He'd been a fool. Claire had been swept into the world of the Kellner family and suffered nothing but abuse and manipulation. She had come to him for help and he'd failed her. Twelve years later she comes for help once more and what had he done but play games, manipulate, and abuse her.

She was right. He was the worst of the bunch.

***

The city had changed in twelve years. It was cleaner and shinier, quieter and louder, and grittier and more sinister than she remembered. It was a pulsing thing, alive, but it was no one's mother; Chicago was a tempestuous lover on her best day, and today she was not letting Claire go.

She walked to burn off her anger, but Kenwood was a long walk to any transit of note. So she wandered aimless and angry. After a time she had to ask herself just why she was so angry. She knew Sebastian's game, and he hadn't done anything outside of the scope of his game plan, there were no true surprises. 

She stopped and hefted the duffel higher on her shoulder. Claire was angry at herself. She'd known his game, she had thought she could play to win, but there was no way, was there? It didn't matter how much he had changed, he was still Sebastian.

Hell, now that she thought about it the seeds were always there. He'd been a quiet, serious child who always had to have his way in games. When they had begun spending time alone, experimenting, he'd always been the one in charge. Her memories were colored, but the love she had felt then was for a pigheaded, obstinate, pain in the ass. These days he was still exactly that, with a little bit more life experience behind him and an added touch of arrogance.

Still he'd stopped when she'd asked. He'd been a caring lover, if demanding beyond belief. He'd taken her in when she'd needed a place to stay, fed her, clothed her, trusted her alone in his home. Hell, he'd offered up his money to replace what of hers had been stolen.

There was goodness in Sebastian, just enough to keep her there ten more days. She would do the best she could, but focus on survival.

Strained to a breaking point she realized she was outside a little mom & pop shop with signs in Spanish. Inside she dug out a twenty and asked for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She hadn't done this in three years, but packing the cigarettes down came naturally.

Without thought she pulled out two and turned them around, sliding them back in, the "good luck smokes." With shaking hands she lit one and took a long puff. The feeling was familiar, comforting and- oh, god!

In a scant row of bushes she threw up, cursing whoever had decided to light a plant on fire and smoke it. The burning cancer stick fell as she emptied her stomach and after she was left panting. Back in the store she bought mouth wash and a travel toothbrush kit and cleansed her mouth in an alley.

When she was done she realized she'd seen the same Camry pass by for a third time, with a single driver, likely male. In the past forty-eight hours she'd forgotten the mess that had sent her running, and stark fear gripped her. She'd escaped him, there was no way he would be there, he couldn't have found her.

She turned back and went the way she'd come, and the blue Toyota turned at the next corner. She kept up a quick pace, her hand on her shopping bag white-knuckled, and walked with great strides, her only thought getting to safety, and safety meant Sebastian.

Damn it, if she went south a block she could catch a bus to the train to get downtown where he'd be at work, or she had a mile and a half back to his house. The Camry turned down her street and without thought she ran. The car came abreast of her and the driver's face was obscured by a scarf, but he looked right at her and terror screamed through her. Thinking quickly she doubled back and ran into an alley.

Tires screeched and she cut through an empty lot, running blindly. She ran zigzag through streets and alleys, yards and lots, kept pumping her legs until her lungs burned and she found herself at Sebastian's house.

Panting, defeated, and determined, she found the spot on the wall she could climb and through her duffel over, staring back at the street for any sign of the Toyota.

"Claire!"

She heard her name just as she vaulted over and when she landed to her surprise strong arms caught her, cradling her. "Sebastian!"

"What the hell were you doing!?"

"Put me down!"

To her relief he did and she straightened her clothes and bent to grab the duffel, but he beat her to it. Opening it he saw the clothes and his expression turned thunderous, but there was pain in his green eyes. "You were leaving, again. Why did you come back?"

"I- Just-" She sighed and growled in frustration. It was all too much and she realized somewhere long the way she'd dropped the bag, cigarettes and all, and cursed viciously.

"Claire, what is going on!" He grabbed her arm and steadied her.

If he was the man she thought, the boy she'd known, she had to take the chance. So with a steadying breath she looked up at him and risked it all. "Someone is trying to kill me."

***

He'd said nothing but brought her inside. The duffel had been given to Luisa and he'd ordered the housekeeper to put the things away and make some hot cocoa. He'd dragged her to the living room and bundled her into a blanket on the couch. It was a light fall day, hardly cold, but Claire was shivering with fear and exhaustion.

Luisa served the cocoa as he built a fire and was ordered to pack away her clothes and retire for the day. Only when she had drunk her first mug and the fire was roaring did Sebastian turn. Dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, his ponytail mussed, he looked nothing like a powerful CEO playboy, and more like a cross between every woman's fantasy and every man's nightmare.

"Tell me about it."

Clutching her second cup of the warm liquid, Claire remained snuggled on the couch, wearing the heather colored blanket like a cave. "I know this cop, we eat breakfast together. Toronto, I live in Toronto. Her name is Sharon and she's nice, chats about cases.

"This mobster came up to start over. He'd been on trial back in the states but every witness turned up dead. Sharon used to update me about the investigation over breakfast. She was excited, working with the Mounties, it's pretty similar to the FBI. She wants to work for them and undercover was exciting."

Sebastian remained sitting by the fire, working to keep his expression calm. Inside his emotions were rioting, a swirling mix of anger, guilt, and fear. What he had seen in her eyes at her confession had cut him deep. She was a woman on the edge, and all he had done was push her further.

"They got Morelli, that's the mobster. They got him, but he had witnesses. And again they started to disappear. It was a hit man, a good one, but somehow they knew it wasn't the one from the U.S. but a new one. He had no witnesses,, not until almost four weeks ago when someone saw his car, a distinct Mercedes.

"I have a little anonymous apartment in a tower that faces another. There's a man who lived one floor up and directly across. He used to fuck women, a different woman every night, sometimes two or three, and he- I-" She took a deep breath. "He knew I was watching, I think he liked being watched. Just five days ago while I was watching a man came in, shot him in the head, and shot the woman with him. 

"I was watching, my apartment dark, he couldn't have known. I watched him get into his car, and it was the Mercedes.

"I told Sharon and she was so excited. A big break, the one that'll get her into the Mounties. I want to help her, she's my friend, but-" She took another steadying breath. "I could swear the hit man looked at me. My lights were off but it was like our eyes met. I just got this feeling I had to leave.

"Sharon and I were supposed to meet on Monday but Sunday when I left I took one bag. I had enough I could have stopped here or just gone wherever, but someone was waiting for me, following me. He- he shot at me. So I left my suitcase and drove to the airport and at the last minute booked a ticket to Chicago through New York. I came here looking for Ferdinand and, well..."

His eyes were thoughtful but his expression was neutral, spurring her on.

"Today, I w as angry, and I was leaving. I stopped off to buy some things and this car, a green Camry circled the block three times. I saw it and ran and it followed me. I ran all the way back here."

With that Claire shut down, huddling in the blanket, waiting.

Sebastian was a mix of emotions. Anger, rage, fear, and longing combined to perplex him and he took several deep breaths before speaking. Even then, he didn't know what to say, so shut his mouth. She hadn't come back to try and take half the company, nor had she come back for him. She really had been there for her money, to escape.

Still...for all that had passed between them in the last forty-eight hours, he didn't imagine it was cold and calculating. No, only on his end, he thought with a wince. History was repeating itself it seemed. Claire was in danger, loathe to confess, came to him for help, and he'd been monstrous at best.

It was time to do the right thing.

"I lied about it being twelve days. My uncle did empty your fund, but the business is doing well, quite well. I can get you the money tomorrow morning, it's getting late in the day now. Just stay with me one more night, that's all I ask. Tomorrow I'll get you that money and bring you to the airport myself. We share a jet with a few other businesses, keeps costs down, but take it somewhere, anywhere, and then get a commercial flight from there."

Claire heard his words but what made her heart trip was the disappointment behind them. Surely this had all been a game, he'd even admitted it. Lying about the time it would take to get her money, and for what? To seduce her, overwhelm her, claim her like some barbarian bent on conquest?

"Why?" Her voice was soft, nearly a whisper.

He stood then, looming above her, his expression guarded. "With all we have ever shared between us, do you need to ask me? I know now how I failed you those years ago. I won't do it again."

"All right. I'll stay."

His hands momentarily clenched into fists at his sides but Sebastian forced them to relax. "I'll cook tonight and we'll figure things out."

She could only nod. Claire had been through the emotional wringer so any times she was feeling numb. Her legs still ached from the run and the adrenaline had bled out, leaving her weak. "I'd like to take a nap now."

He moved quickly and she found herself in his arms. Instinct told her to fight it, to claim independence, but she was tired and he showed no strain as he walked them to the stairs and up. She was so exhausted that she made no complaint when he headed for his room and not the guest quarters. 

He deposited her on his bed and untangled her from the throw blanket to stand there, watching her. Despite it all Claire felt a small shot of lust at his beauty. Sebastian just leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, then turned and left.

Blinking in confusion Claire relaxed and chose to let sleep claim her. She had taken some very large gambles that day and only time would tell if they would pay off. Still, why did it hurt that his response had been to find a way to get rid of her faster? 

Torn and confused, she closed her eyes and sought the darkness.

***

Messy, it was messy. He hated messy. There was a checklist he always had to go through, but this one had such limited opportunity. The only time he'd found her alone and it was late at night in her car, sneaking a cigarette before going home to her sister and brother. 

One shot to the head through the open window. The traffic in the nearby distance had been enough to cover the muffled pop of his gun and no one had come running. This one was a puzzler. Would they connect it to the other deaths? So long as the trail followed only those who connected to Morelli he was safe, but this...this was shitting in his own backyard.

On impulse he checked the tightness of his gloves and reached in over the warm corpse for her purse. He grabbed it all, knowing all too well how young punks worked, and turned. Something seemed wrong. The engine was running, lights on. It would bring people too quick. So again he reached in and twisted the keys, turned the light stick. 

He'd parked far away but didn't walk there, instead headed for the jerk chicken place that was closed early on a weeknight. The purse went in the trash save the wallet and he walked further east and pulled out the cash. The wallet went into a dumpster behind a car repair shop and he balled the cash in his fist then doubled back the long way to his new car.

He drove to the north of the city until he found an alley with an enclave of homeless. Tossing the bills to the ground he figured he'd let them fight it out. Next he had to get rid of the gun so he doubled back heading for Dundas. A quick stop at the harbor and the clip and bullet in the chamber were gone, then the gun went into trash by the Greyhound station. Let the local cops hunt down every manifest and chase their tales. By the time they connected this to the rest he'd be long gone.

There was one last task to complete. Morelli's list was clean but his was not. The girl, now in Chicago. He had a man on her and she was isolated in a big house. Security went both ways and worked better at keeping the neighbors out than people like him.

He had to keep up appearances but soon he'd be free, and Claire Willoughby would be dead, letting him retire with a perfect record.

***

Claire woke to the sound of old jazz filling the echoey house and the smell of something delicious. She brushed the cotton from her mouth and took a quick shower, reflecting there were few things in the world a hot shower wouldn't cure.

Still, something made her use Sebastian's shower and not the one in the hall, and she couldn't help but remember when they were in there. The way he had teased her was maddening, but her body heated at the thought. The way his strong, callused hands had stroked her so slowly, massaging, cajoling, sensitizing every last nerve.

Claire found her own hands wandering that path, desperate for more sensation. All her fear, her anxiety...it only disappeared when Sebastian was around, driving her crazy in an entirely different manner. It seemed for all she had hardened her heart, her body needed him still.

On that thought her hands dropped and she turned to let the wondrous showers heads rinse her off. She didn't have to stay, didn't have to agree to twelve days, so why had she? Claire was a survivor , it was what she did. Angela Johnson was a nobody without the benefit of her education and in three years she'd become a trusted name in information security. She had done that with not a penny to her name, only the clothes on her back, and sheer determination. She could do it again.




Out of the Past Pt. 03



Oh, god, had she come back for Sebastian? It seemed mad but once he had been the only person in the world she could trust, and perhaps on the memory of that she had come looking for security. Sebastian was not the boy she remembered, he had become a man she didn't understand. He was still passionate and driven, given to deep thought and definitive purpose. So much else had changed. 

He'd grown into someone slick and confident, a man of action as much as words, and there was a callousness that hadn't been there before. An aura of distrust hung about him and she worried it had come from her as much as his family.

Claire shut the water off and toweled herself dry. She knew her clothes were put away, waiting for her, but she couldn't help but look in his closet, in his dresser. A large t-shirt with his scent would feel comforting, but all his shirts were either starched button-ups or tightly fitted t-shirts meant to show off his body. God, did the man never relax, just lounge around with popcorn, a movie, and a beer?

Finally she dressed herself in one of the outfits she had bought for her Arabian nights, a short, strappy, fitted cotton shift in cool red. In deference to the chill of the house and the unusually cool night she did put on a white sweater over it, and left her hair to air dry after toweling it well the way there.

In the kitchen he was cooking and to her surprise she saw what appeared to be sandwiches.

"Smells good," she said softly.

He turned and said nothing, letting his eyes skim her up and down for a long moment. "Have a seat," he said at long last, pointing to the island where two wineglasses sat in front of high stools.

She did as bid and shortly he served. The sandwiches were grilled portabella in a wine sauce with balsamic vinaigrette and feta cheese. The buns were grilled and had a red pepper paste on them, and the "fries" were baked potato strips with olive oil and seasoning. 

She took a bite and it was all surprisingly good. Had she known healthy eating could be so delicious she would have given up canned food years ago.

"When did you get so health conscious?"

He took the seat next to her and munched a fry, then took a long swallow of the wine. "When you left I had one more year here. Mom...she wasn't doing so well. She wasn't taking her medication and the voices...you remember. She was scared of her own shadow, and for that year it was dicey. I'd been staying her with gramps and...my uncle, but finally she moved in and the paranoia grew worse.

"I knew there was some risk I'd inherit the condition so I began to get healthy. I understand now one has nothing to do with the other but I thought a healthy body meant a healthy mind. I took up running, lifting weights, eating better. I tried to get mom to do the same but she was slipping away.

"She began to scream whenever she saw her brother, but calling him by her uncle's name. They got a nurse and when I went away to college assured me she'd be fine. And she was for another two years, but then one day the call came. Something had spooked her and she'd fallen down the stairs."

Claire looked at the stairs he indicated, coming to meet the first floor and forming one small wall of the kitchen. The house had so many dark memories for her. Michael's lust, Ferdinand's cruelty, and now Lucinda's death. How did he live here?

"I have to," he said calmly, and Claire hadn't realized she'd spoken aloud. "You know this family is half mad, my mother was just the first to be diagnosed. The rules...it's so goddamn hard to change the rules."

She set down her half-finished sandwich and cleansed her palette with the merlot. "I know Ferdinand treated me like I was part of your family but I was always outside. Why this house? Why two at a time? Why Ferdinand and his brother, then Ferdinand and Michael, and how is it just you?"

His gaze skittered from her to the back window overlooking the quiet yard and the wind that shook the short fruit trees. "My great-great-great grandfather founded Kellner Inc and he was very superstitious. Always two Kellners at the helm, and it likely came from the fact he had three daughters and no sons. Maybe he didn't trust a woman at the helm but for whatever reason, it's in the charter, and my great grandfather had it written into the by-laws. I think he thought gramps and his brother Stan would fight to the death otherwise.

"So in the spirit of mental illness and paranoia somewhere along the way this strange house was built, two residences in one, for the heads of the company. 

"There was no love lost between my grandfather and I but my mother made me swear. In her last years it was she who convinced me to stay in school, to plan on getting my MBA, to take over the company. Funny, just like Ferdinand she thought you would finish school, come home, we would get married, and run the company together. She died thinking it would happen. I just knew you wouldn't come back, and I know why now," he hastily added when she tried to speak.

"Ferdinand and Michael were having problems while I was in graduate school. I never knew what over I just knew gramps wanted me to take an apartment close when I graduated. We waited a year and then you disappeared.

"You know it's foolish, but I waited for you. Oh, there were girls, few and far between, meant to be disposable, but I honestly thought you might come, though I knew it was foolish. When you disappeared it shocked us all. It was like waiting for the next chapter in a gory fairy tale that never came, and then reality closed the book. Ferdinand got sick, his health declined, I became an officer of the company, and slowly over time I spent so much of my time here it made sense to move in. 

"Gramps retired and left it to me and Michael and we butted heads every day. Michael got remarried and blew through his salary three times over. It was then that I think he drained your money and then he began embezzling.

"Just over a year ago I went to gramps with the evidence. He'd lost grandma two years earlier, he'd lost his daughter, and now his fuckup son was ruining the company he loved. His heart gave out that night. The next day I went to the board and they suspended Michael. His wife made him move out before I asked.

"In that time I won't lie, there have been women, many women. I've never been in love with any of them, never wanted more than a night. I work, I work out, and I fuck. That's my life."

It seemed so lonely to her Claire nearly let her hand follow its intent and cover his but she held back. His posture was stiff, his jaw hard, he didn't want pity. Family, duty, and honor were so important to him and there was no family left, and in their absence he'd built up many walls around himself. Poor Sebastian, she ached for him but knew better than to show it and insult his pride. The best she could do was share with him all the things she'd never told him.

"Mom liked money, I have no illusions about that. My father had some, or his family did, but my grandparents hated her and cut him off when they married. He died so young and she was adrift. I think when she found Michael she thought she had found the jackpot. Young, handsome, and rich, and he overwhelmed her. I know he didn't like me when I was little, didn't want a brat, and my aunt Colleen defied her parents and wanted me. I was a dirty little secret, this is why I never even met your until my mother had passed.

"Ferdinand was the one who wanted me, and convinced his son to take me in. They dumped me on him, and traveled a lot. Ferdinand and Martha were the ones who cared for me. They didn't like me. My mother was not the mothering type and from such a young age I'd had to see to my own needs and had a problem with authority. Ferdinand thought he could beat it out of me.

"When you came to live with us it was bearable. What you didn't know is that when my mother died my aunt Colleen tried again to get custody. Ferdinand got an army of lawyers and experts who coached me and Michael got it. Still you remember how he dumped me here, kept up his travels, his womanizing, his gambling and drinking. 

"You were the one person who made it bearable. I got older, I was flippant, defiant, and Ferdinand still thought he could beat it out of me. Then Michael started to comment more and more I looked like my mother. I got older and he spent more time here, always trying to catch me alone. I was smart enough to know what was coming but weirdly I trusted Ferdinand. He saw, and he reminded Michael I was supposed to marry you, somehow run a company and be the perfect wife. 

"I loved you with all my heart, but that's never been what I wanted. I am not a Kellner and I have no wish to run an empire. Michael backed off for a while but that night...it was bad. I understand now why you couldn't leave, but it broke my heart.

"I left and you know what? I was okay. I went to New York. I found Colleen and she made me finish school and I saved up, working as a waitress. I got into NYU and had money saved and was just shy of my eighteenth birthday when Ferdinand and Michael showed up. They literally dragged me kicking and screaming back, Michael nearly punched my aunt. 

"The entire flight back I cried miserably and asked about you, and they would tell me nothing. We got back here and you'd already returned to school. Michael...he tried again, but Ferdinand stopped him. I'd never seen them argue like that, and Michael hit him, made him fall. That's why Ferdinand had to get the wheel chair, his back was injured. After that Michael left me alone and Ferdinand used my guilt and struck a deal.

"He promised me if he paid for college, pulled a few strings, if I went for the degrees he wanted he promised I could do whatever I wanted after school. I took the deal knowing he was lying because I thought at least I would see you. But they never called me home for holidays or summers except the few you weren't here.

"I saw your mother, and we spoke often. She was so proud of you." A tightness around his eyes told her to move on so she cleared her throat. "The week before I finished graduate school Michael came to visit me. I'd gone to Stockholm to get away from everyone. He told me you were engaged, and I knew it was a lie. He tried to seduce me and when that failed he got rough, again. My roommate came home and bet the hell out of him.

"I knew then I wanted to disappear. They would never let me go, Ferdinand for some fantasy he refused to relinquish and Michael for some delusional need to conquer. They wouldn't let me go and you were lost to me, so I left.

"I've always been good with computers and it was easy to become someone else. I went to Toronto to start over and began working in IT security as a consultant. In three years I've made a good name for myself, even if it is someone else's, and I had a good life.

"Now it's gone, but I'll be okay, Twice I've reinvented myself, and I can do it a third time."

Sebastian had been watching her quietly, his face a riot of thoughts, admiration and horror, questioning and realization. At long last it was his hand that covered hers. "A week. Just give me a week. It's not for the money, it's for...I know when you leave I'll never see you again. Please, just one week. I'll take vacation time, we can go anywhere in the world, take the company plane, go where we can be safe.

"We need this time. We've spent twelve years living delusions by the lies we were told...give me, no, give us this time, Claire."

She looked way and all she saw was the same kitchen they had done homework in, in earlier years snuck into after bedtime for cookies. But upstairs she expected at any moment to hear Lucinda wailing and screaming, to see Michael watching her behind a doorway, to hear Ferdinand's ominous command to come and present herself for a spanking with his cane. 

All the good memories she had of that godforsaken house were Sebastian.

"Yes. All right."

He smiled, and it was so free, so much like the old Sebastian she was dazzled.

Ignoring their unfinished dinner he leaned over and cupped the back of her head, drawing Claire into a deep kiss, and easily she lost herself to it.

***

He kept kissing her until the room spun and all Claire could feel was the hammering pace of his heartbeat beneath her fingers and his firm lips across hers.. Her body was warm, vibrating, but his pace was slow and easy and cast a spell over her she couldn't break..

It felt like hours before his lips and tongue wound their way over her cheek and jaw to her throat. He found the spot beneath her ear that made her gasp and slid the sweater off her shoulders. His hands smoothed over her skin, making her tingle.

Her hands wandered over him, feeling his muscles but wanted his skin. She was desperate to pull his shirt off but he was moving so slow she forced herself to relax. So Claire skimmed his shirt and raised her hands to cup his cheeks, feeling the beginning of a beard so rough it sent a thrill through her and she moaned.

He nipped her collarbone and then lathed it and finally a large hand swept softly over a hard nipple. She arched into that touch and let her head fall back, giving up and waiting on him. Sebastian did not disappoint and let his other hand fall to her thigh and gently raise her skirt, turning up the heat in her.

Trembling with anticipation as her neared her center she grasped his shirt and tugged it up until she could slide her hands under the tight cotton. God he was magnificent, so warm, so vital, his skin was smooth yet rough and she drank in the feel of him greedily. 

Sebastian raised his lips to capture hers and their tongues met, dancing and cajoling, echoing a deeper give and take her body craved. After that Claire's mind seemed to melt as they peeled off each other's clothes slowly, kissing and stroking the skin bared. When she sank her hands into his long, soft hair and pulled at the band tying it back he didn't fight her, and it spilled like cool silk over them both.

Sebastian grew impatient with the demands of her hands and pinned them down, taking his time then to run his lips, teeth, and tongue over every square inch of her body. She burned, she tingled, she ached deeply to be filled by him and still he denied her. Any time she reached for that beautiful body of his he pushed her hands away and drove her mad with light teeth on her breasts, skimming fingertips at the seam of her heat.

Finally he lowered himself until that deep auburn hair spread out over her pale flesh, tickling her hips. He looked up at her, his eyes blazing, his breath tickling her wet, aching pussy. So intimate a look could not be denied and she held his gaze as his mouth found her. When he locked his lips over her and flicked his tongue, the shots of pleasure were so grand she had to close her eyes and lie back.

This time when her hands sought his he clasped one, threading their fingers together. The other was left to twist on the sheets as he slipped first one and then two fingers into her tight channel. Curling them forward he kept up licking and sucking and it was just too much.

She cried out when the damn broke, feeling the gush of juices as her body contracted with near violence. His grumble of male satisfaction rumbled along her fluttering nerves and pushed her higher. Claire cried out and moaned, shivering as it passed, waiting for him to stop and cover her, fill her, to claim her surrender.

Sebastian was determined and only began anew. He drove her to peak again and again until she sobbed, begging him to stop. She lay there limply as he rose, slowly licking her juices from his lips. "Claire, watch." His voice was husky and as she forced open her eyes he knelt between her legs, his heavy cock in his hand.

She watched as he stroked it to full hardness and her body caught fire once more. Her heartbeat vibrated her entire being and all she wanted was that hardness inside her. Claire licked her dry lips and whimpered, helplessly caught in his spell.

Finally when those droplets were let loose he moved his hand and smoothed up her thigh, spreading her legs. Claire raised herself on her elbows and held her breath as he moved between her legs. With his hair wild and free Sebastian looked like a wild pirate of days past, all hard angles and shadow, his body taught and perfect.

Ruthlessly he cupped her ass and raised her hips, poising himself for entry. Her eyes took it all in as she shivered with anticipation. 

"No, look at me."

She met his gaze and then he thrust in, filling her in one solid go. Claire clutched at his forearms, nails digging in as she arched against him. He held still for a moment, enjoying her writhing, but too soon sweat covered his brow and Sebastian began to move.

Slowly he filled her again and again, and ignored her protests. Holding her hips aloft with one hand the other came to rest on her, the heel of his palm sliding against her clit as he moved, rocking them slowly. It was an impossible burn and her aching body tightened as he filled her deep. Soon his thrusts remained shallow as he filled her, rocking, and she came screaming once more.

Sebastian kept moving through it, gritting his teeth. Goddamn, she was so beautiful, and so free with her responses. Her cunt gripped him tight and her breasts bounced with every panting breath. It took everything he had to hold on, to hold back, and finally she came down.

Claire thought the world had exploded into mist, leaving her floating, the only solid thing Sebastian. He set her hips down and leaned forward, still filling her, his lips claiming hers. Claire tightened her legs around his hips and he reached down, pressing her tight, and rolled.

She found herself on top and could only blink. He lay back against the pillow, long auburn hair free, his eyes sleepy and intense, his body taught, muscle in high definition. Riding astride him was a new fantasy she discovered, like the pagan sacrifice claiming the god.

She began to move, her tired body making slow, languid undulations. Sebastian grabbed her, cupping her head and dragging her to a kiss. She splayed her hands on his shoulders and let him move from below, thrusting up. His moans matched hers, urgent and gasping as he sped up. She arched back and hungrily he claimed the tip of a breast. Claire felt like a goddess, she felt powerful even as she rode his strength. 

At last the orgasm took him and the feel of his urgent thrusts and taut body pushed her over the edge a final time. They came together, crying out and clasping, milking and grinding, desperate to make two bodies into one supreme being.

Exhausted she collapsed on him while the tremors still wracked her, and his arms closed around her and held her still. They panted together, their breaths syncopated, for long moments. At last Claire came to herself and wanted to pull back. A week, a week of this...it would kill her.

She distracted herself from the fear of losing herself to pet his hair. "It's beautiful."

"I never wear it loose," he said thoughtfully.

"I imagine every woman you meet would want to see it loose." She wiggled her hips and he let her roll aside, but then hauled her back against him and clamped an arm around her. 

"None of them have. You're the first."

Her hand paused in mid-stroke. Oh, god, no. No, anything but that. They could delay it all they wanted but eventually she would leave. He was a Kellner and would always belong to the business, to the family, to the house. She had to make her own way.

Leaving him was going to be twice as hard now, she knew it in her heart; Sebastian was still in love with her.

***

Claire couldn't sleep. Worry was eating at her, and not just the mound of worries over Sebastian who slept so innocently next to her, but worry over the situation she had left. If she could put that killer away she owed it. Perhaps if Sharon agreed Claire could visit with a local sketch artist and give a description that could be faxed up north.




Out of the Past Pt. 03



In the early morning she crept from bed, seeing it was five. Sharon usually got into work at six and she was an hour behind. Downstairs she crept in the robe she'd found in Sebastian's bathroom, sleeves rolled up.

She found her purse ad pulled the card out, sitting at his desk. She dialed Sharon's cell phone and got a message the number was no longer in service. Her nerves rankled she turned the card over to the embossed printing and dialed her direct line at work. 

"Millner."

"I'm looking for Sharon, er, Detective Thompson." Silence ruled the line for a along moment. "Hello?"

"Are you a friend or colleague?"

"Friend."

More silence, then a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but Detective Thompson was killed in a robbery two days ago."

Claire slammed the phone down, horrified. It was no robbery; if the killer knew her it would be a short trail to her cop friend. Sharon was dead, and it was all her fault. This could only mean one thing.

Claire was next. 



Out of the Past Pt. 04



She had forgotten just how opulent the Kellner world was. At school when she'd been sent away, the people she met wondered why she didn't revel in money the way they did, like bloated pigs at a never-ending troth. She hated the rich, and hated them because of every cruel lesson learned at the hands of Ferdinand and Michael Kellner, and the final, most painful lessons learned at the whim of Sebastian Kellner. 

She glanced sideways at him now as the plane taxied up to the runway for liftoff. He didn't revel in his money, he seemed to bear it comfortably. Hell, he seemed to bear everything comfortably, everything but her.

She glanced out the window as the myriad of planes at O'Hare lined up. It had been years since she'd last been on a private plane, and that had been the Airstream in the Kellner fleet that had flown her the last time back to Stockholm for her final semester of graduate school. Back then she had wondered about, a free man of two years, knowing they were kept apart. There he sat, in the reclining leather swivel chair next to hers, not three feet away, and she was still wondering.

Claire could not bring herself to discuss Sharon. Not yet. The life she had carved out in Toronto was hers, Angela Johnson was hers, Sharon was hers. Whatever the hell was between her and Sebastian it would soon come to an end, it had to. 

He'd asked her for this time and in a moment of weakness she had agreed. Weakness, it had to b that. The need she felt for him, the heat that seemed to burn them up whenever they were close...it was too much.

This was his world, a world of private jets and billion dollar cash flow issues. Her world was small, busy, and fit nicely into an anonymous condo in any large city in the world. Information was her real job, and so long as she had a computer she could work anywhere in the world.

This would be a test-drive of sorts, she thought. They were flying to a secure island. Sebastian had bought it two years earlier and according to him though the island was in the British Virgin Islands it held only five private residences and only residents and guests were allowed. 

She would appear on no manifest and for the next week she would be safe. Claire almost snorted. Safe from a killer, sure, but what about... He looked up, those clear, bright, sharp eyes meeting hers. Claire jerked her attention back out the window as they took off, that rushing feeling of fear, excitement, and anticipation washing over her. 

A burst of arousal broke through her, startling Claire into the realization of how similarly Sebastian made her feel. Watching the city fall beneath them as they headed out over Lake Michigan. After long, breathless minutes the plane leveled out.

Sebastian had dismissed the on-call staff keeping only the pilot and co-pilot. He unbuckled his seat belt and held his hand out to her. "Come with me."

"Where to?" Where they say was the main cabin and meeting room. The chairs swiveled and the floor panels could be moved to raise up legs that connected to the tabletop, not hung near the back doorway to the next cabin.

There was a galley, staff seating area, a small lounge with a permanent dining table, and behind that a bedroom for long flights. Sebastian led her to the galley where he grabbed a bottle and two glasses, and then grabbed her hand again and went to the bedroom.

It was small like a hotel room but richly appointed. There was a king size bed that looked soft and plush, a shade darker than the dark blue plush carpeting. The walls were hung in cream fabric and the painting was a real Magritte, from his early days. Claire had spent enough time in this world not to goggle, but she still felt out of place.

Sebastian closed the door behind her and set his bounty own on the small dresser. Why there needed to be a dresser on a plane, Claire couldn't say, but the mirror on top reflected them and the bed. He came up behind her and she felt her body stiffen, felt the desire to pull away.

He must have felt it too because there was a flash of anger across his face and then his lips were pressed against her neck. Claire closed her eyes and gave in to the sensation. This, of all things, felt right.

He held her from behind, his arms steel bands, his mouth furiously claiming every last nerve. The shimmer of anger and fear pulsed at her arousal, making Claire feel as if her body sizzled. The moment she relaxed, the second she began to melt against him Sebastian made a sound of victory that died on a heated moan.

His hands moved, skimming up her sides teasingly and hovering under her suddenly aching breasts. Claire couldn't stand the waiting and reached her own hands up, intending to cup his head and bring him lower.

"No," Sebastian soft softly yet firmly. "No." The second command was more a plea as he hefted the weight of her breasts and stoked Claire's stiff nipples through the fabric.

She knew what he wanted and suddenly Claire ached to give him her submission. All he wanted was to lead the dance, and it made him feel safe. She whimpered as he ground his hard erection into her bottom and knew in her heart the battle was lost. Truthfully, letting him take the lead made her safe too, so long as all decisions were momentarily out of her hands. 

Just what did it mean?





***





It was like a modern fairy tale. The island was small, like a large hill of lush green rising from the ocean. The sand all around was pearl white and the ocean pooled into coves of perfect turquoise calm.

They had landed in Tortola and from there taken a boat to the private island. There were only a small handful of residences each with a private dock, and Sebastian had piloted the speedboat excellently. Here in the tropics he seemed a different man. His shirt was off and his tanned skin gleamed in the sun. His sunglasses were small, round, perfectly dark, and hid his eyes and he gave her sly smiles whenever he caught her admiring him.

Actually, he had seemed a looser man since their interlude on the plain. Without question she had followed where he lead, and it had brought them both to a furious climax of pure, raw desire. Even now she ached slightly and wanted more, craved his touch. It was as if he planned this, as if hiss little game extended beyond the bedroom. Frowning, Claire pushed the thought aside and studied the little slice of paradise that was to become their refuge.

The boat was parked inside a boathouse overlooking the private beach. A natural rocky outcropping of a peninsula on one side and a man-made built-up sand bar on the other made for a cove of calm waters.

Claire could not resist dipping her hand in and laughing at the warm ocean. Bora bora would be like this, but her smile faded when she realized it would be nothing like this. The large house awaiting them was richly appointed, stocked with food, private and secure. On her own in the tropics she would have to carry her money with her, sleep with one eye open, and keep moving.

Sebastian had sensed her thoughts and tugged her along to the house. There were five bedrooms and a large open floor plan on the first floor. The basement was a walk-out onto the sloping hill and was in effect a rumpus and entertainment room. This was all Sebastian, she knew, this was not a Kellner family holding, it was his own. It came as no surprise that the most modern and largest room was the kitchen. 

She elected to lay by the small pool and chase a nap while he prepared a large lunch. He left a laptop out there, one from the house, not work, loaded with music that played for her as she soaked up the sun. 

As Sebastian cooked he glanced out the window at her, and Claire began to feel playful. Two could play the power game. Grabbing her suntan lotion she stripped naked, slowly, well aware of his steely gaze fixed on her through the window ne floor up.

Just for him, heedless of her surroundings, she poured the warm lotion into her hands and began to smooth it over her body. Her nerves were still tingling from his touch and she closed her eyes, imagining it was his hands working the warm coconut lotion over her breasts, working the turgid nipples.

Claire had always been a watcher but somehow this felt right. She began to fantasize that he would climb up and kneel on the counter, completely visible to her, open his pants, and stroke himself.

Her hands slipped down over her soft belly and the curls between her legs. She was wet and aching. He looked so beautiful stroking his cock, and she remembered their first night together, how he made her watch, teasing her.

Was Sebastian feeling just as helpless, just as enthralled? Did he ache with wanting her the way she did him? One slim hand cupped a breast and the other parted her folds, stroking her clit and drawing white-hot sensation through her entire being.

Damn him, damn him for confusing her. Damn him for changing, damn him for bending her to his will, damn him for making her want him more than anything in the world. She imagined him, controlled, his strokes sure and even. Watching her even then Sebastian wouldn't lose control, never would he lose control. He would wait for her orgasm to claim her and then make her watch his. Cruelly he would smile, knowing he was depriving her even as the show rewarded her.

She began to frig herself fast, whimpering. Suddenly hands grabbed her and Claire let out a screech, eyes flying open. It was him, Sebastian was there, eyes blazing. He crushed her lips under his as one hand moved between them, fussing with something.

Then he grabbed her, lifting her and their lips broke. She stared down, shocked as he slid into her with one sure thrust and slammed her down against his hips. Instinct had her wrapping her legs around him even as she arched, luxuriating in being filled so completely.

"Damn you, damn you, damn you," he began to chant as he thrust into her again and again. She was too high to kiss him and threw her head back in surrender. This was what she wanted, he'd lost control, lost control to her.

She laughed and groaned, gasping when he mouth found a nipple and bit sharply. The pain threw her over the edge and Sebastian followed with a roar. Too late she realized there was no condom, no barrier between them as he filled her. Something dark and forbidden coursed through her and she felt her body quicken once more with it, screaming his name.

He carried her two staggering steps to her chaise lounge and fell to sit with her straddling his lap, amazing still inside her.

Claire fairly purred, delighting in her victory.

Sebastian pulled her down, pressing his lips to hers. "Don't ever do that again," he whispered against them. Suddenly without warning he jerked his arm and she felt his palm strike her butt.

"Ow!"

"Naughty girls get punished," he growled, and kissed her. He slapped her again, a painful sting that quickly softened into warmth, only to be struck again and again. Inside of her she felt him hardening again and her body responded. Desperately, strangely she began to crave the slaps, pressing and rubbing against him even as he refused to move anything but his tongue and that hand.

Sebastian kept still, letting Claire feel full, but nothing else. His slaps were harder, faster now, jarring her against him, her nipples brushing his chest. One hand pinned her down and the other struck as he kissed her. Impossibly, Claire peaked again, the orgasm strange and violent, soul-shattering madness.

There were no more thoughts of power or victory, not when he gripped her aching, hot buttocks and began to move her. She rode him with desperate need, to hear his cries of pleasure and her own was all that filled Claire.

After exhaustion claimed her, the lethargy of seeking a nap that didn't come returned, but her body gave in quickly. He shifted her and withdrew and carried he, but Claire's eyes were already closed. When he laid her down on something soft in cool shade her butt cheeks winced with the warm aftermath, and all she could do was smile and fall into dreams.





***





Sebastian's hands shook as he chopped the fruit. He had a caretaker who stayed there on Cooper Island when he was away, her family back on Tortola, and she had filled the house with food, airing it out, making sure all was comfortable. She was gone now, it was just him and Claire, and it was like some kind of dream.

What would it be like to leave his life behind, the company he didn't truly want? What if this could be everyday, sunshine and surf, mad, passionate sex whenever they wanted?

The old fears came upon him then, what had kept every other encounter with a woman at a single night. Would they grow tired of one another? What if she never came to love him? What if he gave in, left his life, offered it to her, and she laughed in his face?

The knife slipped and he cut himself, citrus filling the wound with a sting. 

Cursing he abandoned the fruit and looked out at Claire, still sleeping on the outdoor couch under the cabana, curled up almost innocently, except her lush body was on display. It had only been minutes since their last encounter and the side of those pale, oiled breasts pressed to the couch, her tousled golden hair over her face with lips still swollen threatened to make him hard again.

He cleaned the blood and juice from his hand and went to the computer in the office, needing the distance of a moment free from mad lust. Sitting down he began to search everything he could on the case that she was tangled up in. After an hour he sighed and saved a link for her to watch. 

She hadn't told him. Her friend was dead, the latest victim of this killer, and Claire had said nothing. Was she so damn determined to go it alone, to not ask for help of any kind?

All her life she had been running. Forced into a family, tortured by them well into her adult years, and now...was he any better? Did she know how to live any other way?

Out of habit he turned to the family business and went over the reports. They were doing well, they always would, but lately the joy of acquisitions and mergers wasn't enough. He'd fallen prey to a strange restlessness that seemed to only abate when he was inside Claire.

His thoughts pulled in a thousand directions Sebastian made a quick decision and clicked on a video link, letting it load. He wrapped his hand in a fresh towel and grabbed a bathrobe, bringing it outside.

She was long and lithe, smelled of coconut oil and sex, and looked like a woman well and truly fucked. In that position, laying on her stomach, he could tease her for hours, make her beg, get her so damn wet her thighs would glisten. He swallowed the lump in his throat and gently touched her shoulder.

"Claire, wake up, I want to show you something."

Her eyes opened to slits and she shifted, moaning low in her throat. "Oh?" She fairly purred.

He clenched his fist and tossed the robe down onto her. "You need to see this. On the computer."

He turned and walked back to the house knowing if he stayed to watch her rise and slide the robe on, he'd get derailed and lose himself to her once more. Inside he poured two glasses of water and drank one down as he heard the sliding door close behind him.

Turning at last she wore the robe loosely, hinting at her curves. By itself the garment was plain but on her...he squeezed his hand on the glasses and picked the other up. "Drink this, you've been in the sun a while."

"What's going on? I thought we agreed to take a week and just...relax."

"Yes, but something came up I think you should see. It's about that friend of yours." 

He watched her pale and bite her lip, debating telling him the truth. At last she nodded, waiting, and so he brought her to the office and sat her down in the chair. Pressing play, he stood back, and waited for her to see the announcement of her friend's murder.

Seconds ticked by and at last Claire turned, smoothing her golden hair back. "Stop it!" Her cry was soft, her voice shaken.

Sebastian's temper was near boiling. "You knew and you didn't tell me."

Her eyes were limpid and she looked fragile to him, but his anger was clouding his vision. She didn't trust him. All that he had risked for her and the damned fool didn't trust him, was keeping him out of her inner life, keeping her emotional bags packed, ready to leave at a moment.

"Damn you!"

She jumped. "We're safe here! This...monster...no one can get onto this island that doesn't live here."

He leaned down, grabbing the arms of her chair, catching her, forcing Claire's eyes to his. "You think that's it? Anyone with a goddamn boat can get here, it's an island, not a fortress! Yes, you've put me in danger without disclosing all the facts-"

Rage flashed in her eyes. "I wasn't the one who suggested coming here. I wasn't the one who lied about how long it would take to get my money! I didn't ask to be here!"

His vision cleared, but Sebastian refused to move. "Is that it? Do you want your money now? Want to get dressed, got back to Tortola, I give you a check, and you'll leave, is that it? And go where, do what!?"

"It doesn't matter! I'll be fine and you!"She took a deep breath and hid her face. "You'll be safe."

"You already dragged me into this. I'm not letting you go off into the wild world alone. God damn it, Claire, don't you trust me? At all?"

She shoved him back and he let her, standing back as she rose. She began to pace the small room, clutching the gaping top of the robe. Sebastian leaned against the printer counter and folded his arms, watching her closely.

"No." She stopped and faced him square, delicate chin stubbornly jutted. "No, and why should I? You knew about so much, not everything Michael and Ferdinand put me through, but so much. You saw the beatings, the cruelty, the basic denial of who I really was, the way they cut me off from any of my real family. You promised me you would leave with me, we'd go and never look back. I asked you to, I gave myself to you, and you turned your back on me!"

She must have seen the line cross in his eyes because suddenly she stopped trembling. He had the urge to comfort her and also slap the naiveté off her face. He kept his arms crossed, counting silently back from ten. Never before she had come back into his life had he lost his temper.

Sebastian knew his legend in the business world was built upon his cool façade and ability to remain as steady as a rock in the face of adversity. Now he'd sucker punched his uncle and wanted nothing more than go to the basement punching bag and bust up his knuckles.

"You, you, you. Do you think you were the only one being warped, twisted by the family? They beat you because they had no leverage. I'm not lessening what they did to you, I'd like to raise gramps from the dead and kill him myself, and I want nothing more than to return to Chicago and finish beating my uncle to a pulp for you," he emphasized those last two words.

Claire wrapped her arms around her body and kept her chin raised, her eyes still wet. Her temper was high but she was also afraid, and that part of that fear was for him made Sebastian curse himself.

"Claire, you didn't see it then, you don't see it now. My mother. I never knew who my father was. Like you she left, like you she was found by her brother and father, only eight months pregnant with me. They beat her trying to find out which tall redheaded S.O.B. it was and she never told. She lost her mind and they never told.

"I know now it was schizophrenia. They withheld her medication once I got old enough to defend her. She never told! It was the only revenge she ever had against them, and was her only defense.

"When you asked me to leave she was getting worse and worse. I couldn't. You and I had planned, just another two years. I would have come into my inheritance and had enough to get her help, you would have graduated. We could have seen her safe and I would have gone with you, but you couldn't wait."




Out of the Past Pt. 04



She went white as a sheet. "I couldn't wait! Two more years and I would have been knocked up with your cousin, against my will!"

He turned and slammed his fists into the marble counter. "I know that now. If you had told me things might have been different."

"And if you had told me things would be different!"

Sebastian began to laugh. And laugh, and laugh, and laugh.

"Sebastian?"

He kept laughing until tears rolled down his cheeks. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but it's laugh or go mad. Neither of us trusted one another back then and apparently history is repeating itself. So let's be honest, let's not hold anything back this time. I lied about the money. Oh, yes, it's spent, but I could have gotten you all of it and more in an hour. 

"I wanted you with me, I wanted revenge. You broke my heart in a way no other girl or woman ever has and I wanted to do the same. Only it backfired. God damn it Claire, I'm still in love with you. You've changed, but you're still smart, determined, independent, and sexy as hell. I love you."

She stared at him and he felt his heart hammer rapidly. In the chess game they had been playing this left him more vulnerable than any other move. She could turn, gloat, march out the room and get dressed, demand her money and leave him for good.

Silently he began to pray to every god ever worshipped as the seconds ticked by into minutes. She too was frozen, thoughts wild, body still. At long last Claire sighed.

"I'm tired of running. I'm tired of being alone. I'm tried of being scared."

Hope began to buoy his heart. "And?" He prompted.

Another sigh. "And I don't know what comes next. I can't live my life longer than the next moment."

"All right. So give me that." He crossed to her and took her hands in his. 

Claire looked up into his eyes and a tear slipped free. He bent down and kissed it, forcing himself to be patient as she gathered her courage. Now that he'd said the words he needed to hear them more than anything in the world. 

If she said she loved him he'd turn his back on the company, on the family for her. There were no more ties in the world to anything but her, if she only claimed them. He clamped his lips shut, not voicing these promises, not wanting to force her choice.

"And...I can't think about anything until this matter is settled, until the man who killed my friend and all those people is rotting in jail."

"So we'll find him, the police will. We'll lay low until they do-"

"I know who he is."

"What!?"

Claire nodded. "At the press conference we just watched, standing right behind the spokesman, the Mountie with the mustache, that's him. That's the killer."





***





He needed a patsy. Luckily no one knew he'd come to Chicago, his cover was he'd been fishing at his cabin fifty miles from Manitoba. It had worked, though, appearing at the press conference.

When Sharon died all traces of her private little informant disappeared with her, the local police and Mounties knew nothing. Sure enough Claire Willoughby had disappeared but with one phone call he knew where she was.

The British Virgin Islands, not a bad spot. On a private island with her little friend. He'd hired guards but made a classic mistake. Privacy worked both ways. And on his journey to Chicago he'd discovered some family secrets, and had the perfect patsy.

They had come looking for him after the anonymous call, finding him at his cabin, one step ahead of them. His buddy Frank, an alcoholic whom he kept supplied with a steady stream of beer had vouched for him. His carefully panned alibis for all the hits had worked and a few other Mounties had stayed on for an afternoon of fishing and drinking, laughing at the thought one of their own could be a killer.

In the two weeks since he'd retired, had a nice dinner, and was now for all the world to see fishing and hunting full time. The whole incident wasn't even noted on his record. T was easy to slip in and out of the country if you knew how, easier to find his patsy.

The man was bitter. Forced out of the family company by his own nephew, still lusting for his step daughter now fucking that same nephew...no one else on earth had more motivation. Sebastian Kellner had even attacked him, and his young wife witnessed it all.

All he had to do was plant the suggestion and it fell into place. Michael Kellner didn't even stop to ask what he gained from it, just offered him a payoff for his help.

Smiling, Jonathon booked their flight to Tortola.





***





Jonathon Baroni. The name haunted her dreams. She saw him killing the gigolo, saw him chasing her through the parking garage and streets of Toronto. Claire often dreamed of sitting in the coffee shop with Sharon, listening to the grisly details of his murders. As she went on she began to rot, still speaking.

Every time Claire woke up in a cold sweat, and Sebastian would hold her close, smoth her hair, kiss her temple until it faded.

The police assured them they were safe. Claire had elected to contact them but asked to remain anonymous. When nothing came over the news she had grown frustrated, Sebastian too. When she read Jonathon Baroni had retired terror snuck in.

Sebastian had hired security, three men who worked in shifts occupying the guest house and patrolling the grounds. It didn't help her peace of mind.

Still the days with Sebastian were amazing. They had lost a measure of privacy but he kept her distracted and enthralled. Sometimes they sat and watched a movie, or played a board game. They cooked together, walked the beach together, swam together. It was like a strange honeymoon of sorts, living on top of one another, and the passion...

She closed her eyes and remembered each and every time. He was creative, and better yet, open minded. If she shyly voiced a desire to try something he accommodated her. So far her favorite activity with him was after swimming. God, she loved watching him stroke through the water, particularly the ocean waves.

His body was so powerful, when he swam it was like poetry in motion. After he would be tired and sore, and she brought him inside, laid him on one of the beds, and massaged him. It didn't take long to work the kinks form his muscles and she loved the feel of his hard body and smooth skin beneath her hands.

She stroked and massaged until his body seemed to flow and he was bagging, and then she turned him over. 

Smiling now she shifted on the chaise in the sun, enjoying the warming rays bronzing her skin. She was wet already and wanted nothing more than to relieve the pressure, but one of those silent security guards was near, she knew. Claire didn't want anyone watching her but Sebastian as she remembered the way his hands reached for her, forcing her to jump away.

She would stroke everything from the tendons in his cheeks to his toes and just when he was as hard as physically possible, his cock dripping with precum, just when he begged her with fierce demands, she would laugh and then engulf him with her mouth.

He tasted so good, felt like velvet over steel in her mouth. She'd cup his heavy balls with on hand and pin his chest with the other, delighting in her power over him. Sebastian was always ready to cum so fast those times but Claire never let him, pulling back when he got close.

He knew how she loved watching him those times, eyes wide open as she slid her mouth down his cock, and that he let her was the most powerfully arousing thing Sebastian could do. Three, four times she would let him get close, those balls tightening until she had to make a ring around their base with her thumb and forefinger and hold them back. Finally when he was nearly broken she let him cum, filling her mouth, practically screaming with his release.

With a sigh she had to stop the memory there. Sebastian was a quid pro quo kind of guy and every single thing he let her do to him he returned the favor with. 

Beneath her bikini her nipples were hard points and she was sure the yellow bottoms were visibly damp. It had only been two hour since their last interlude, a quick, furious coupling in the downstairs bathroom on the counter. She remembered how he'd slammed into her, their mouths fused, and her body sizzled from toes to scalp.

She stood and stretched, seeing Sebastian at the counter chopping fruit for a snack. She smiled at him and smoothed her hands over his body, seeing his eyes sharpen even twenty feet away.

Damn, it would be so easy to love that man. The thought made her stumble, and she covered by stopping to grab her towel, slowly wrapping it around her waist. He'd said he loved her and though he hadn't said the words in the two weeks since it showed. It showed in the way he laughed at her bad jokes, the way he held her after nightmares, the way he held her after, o matter how furious and fast the sex might be.

Her heart beat rapidly and she remembered his patience. She had said she could not live her life until this chapter ended. Once Baroni was dead or behind bars then she could decide how she felt. Yeah, that seemed right.

Her smile returned and she strode in, aware of how he had watched the play of thoughts across her face.

"Hello," she purred amorously.

He wore a khaki shirt over swim trunks, open, the sleeves rolled back. Most of the fruit he was chopping was imported but fresh. She smelled mangoes, oranges, pineapple, and strawberries. "Mmmm, smells delicious."

Striding over as he set the knife down she snagged a piece of mango and popped it into her mouth, delighting at the juicy sweetness.

"Not so fast!" He slapped playfully at her hand. Claire just raised an eyebrow.

"I was going to arrange a nice plate and you messed it all up. Come here."

At the sensual challenge in his voice she slowly moved closer into his personal space as he turned. Sebastian undid her towel and let it fall to the cool tile floor then reached up behind her head and undid the tie on her halter top.

Her tan lines were minimal, they draped towels over the balcony sides and tanned there as well naked. Still her breasts were a slightly cooler shade of creamy tan. He cupped them, thumbs ghosting lightly over her nipples. "Guess I'll have to improvise."

He took one uncut half of mango and brought it to her breast, pressing it onto a hard nipple and twisting. Claire gasped at the cold sensation and he just winked, bending down. He replaced the fruit with his hot mouth, lapping up the juices, following them as they trailed down over her stomach.

Claire gasped, giggling at the slight tickle and clutching his broad shoulders. Not missing a beat she picked up a strawberry and when he rose offered it to him to bite. Sebastian did with an exaggerated expression, making her laugh.

She pushed him back and he gripped the counter. Running the berry down the center of his stomach she bent now, licking and nipping. It was his turn to gasp and clutch her, and she stopped at last, having pushed his trunks low.

"Damn it," said with a smile as a security guard walked past the edge of the pool.

He grabbed the cutting board and put his arm around her waist, walking her to the den. There he set the board on the coffee table and grabbed her, kissing her deep. They sank to the floor and passed the late afternoon playing, discovering new tastes and sensations. Sebastian moaned with delight at the taste of orange on her nipples, mango at her pussy, and Claire loved strawberries on his body, pineapple on his cock.

They teased and cavorted for hours until both half mad and then she climbed astride. He grabbed her hips, slamming her down, and began to move her, controlling them both. She clutched at him, full, aching, ravenous for more. She was close, so close, and then he lay back and she could move her hand between them. It took only a few quick strokes against her clit and she exploded. Sebastian let go and slammed hard into her, deeper than ever before and filled her deeply.

After they lay together panting and exhausted, sticky and messy, laughing as they lazily licked drying juices from one another's skin.

"We're going to have to bleach the carpet," he said.

Her mind racing she laughed at that a little long until he asked why. "Canadians are so polite. I remember reading somewhere this translator for what was said in parliament and what it really meant. 'If the member would forward their questions I would be happy to address the manner' apparently means 'I yearn to bleach your skull and use it on my desk as a novelty pencil holder.' Sharon and I loved that, whenever anyone treated the waitresses bad we used to say 'I'd be happy to address the manner' and laugh."

She lay atop him now, Sebastian soft but still inside her. He stroked her back. "I'm sorry about your friend."

A realization slammed into her. "I am too."

"What?" He raised his head. "What is it?"

She reached down behind his head and tugged the tie from his hair, spreading the auburn locks free. "Life is short. Sometimes shorter than we think."

Quietly he watched her.

Claire gathered her courage. The excuses...they were just excuses. "I didn't want to love you. I was angry, I thought you were capricious like the rest of them. I knew you were lying about the money but I wanted some place safe to stay and figure things out. I don't know how to process this but you are that safe place. I- I love you, Sebastian."

He just blinked for a long moment then let out whoop. Sitting up he almost knocked her aside and then wrapped his arms around her, catching her, and kissing her senseless. Soon they were laughing, dizzy, feeling light.

They awkwardly stood, dismounting in the process and he grabbed her hand and lead her upstairs to the shower. There under the warm spray he fairly worshipped her and she him, slowly this time, letting their bodies, lips, and fingers speak for them.

After, wrapped in towels on the bed, Claire lay back against Sebastian, his arms holding her tight. Both were wondering the same thing but she didn't want to speak, to break the spell. This was living in the moment, Claire knew. Sebastian had a life and she had a past, and neither could move forward until both were reconciled.

She dazed lightly and was jerked awake by the phone on the bedside.

"I'll get it," Sebastian sleepily said.

She snuggled deeper against him, chilled by her wet hair and the air conditioning, delighting in the warm muscle cushioning her as he stretched the grab the phone.

"Hello. Fu- No. No! She hasn't, what the hell are you talking about? Wait-"

She turned in his arms and Sebastian gave her an anguished look. Claire bit her lip to keep from interrupting the terse conversation. Sebastian was listening to the speaker, his eyes nearly frantic.

"No. No! God damn it, Michael, no! How did you-" Sebastian held the phone away. "He hung up."

"That was Michael? What happened!?"

He hung the receiver up slowly and leaned back against the pillows. "That was Michael. He said he's left his wife. He asked if she'd contacted me. He says he's willing to sign papers and drop the legal battle over the company if I agree to ignore her."

"What the hell is going on?"

"I don't know but he said he's coming here. I told him no but he hung up."

"Why now?"

"I beat the hell out of him, scared him plenty. He's done things since, things I can prove. I could have him arrested but since we've been here, I decided-"

The phone rang again and he reached over, grabbed the line to the wall, and yanked. It ripped out completely broken, but he sighed and tossed it down, uncaring.

"Yes?"

He looked back to her. "I decided to give him the company. I'm done. I didn't want to scare you or pressure you, but I'll be a free man. Wherever in the world you want to go, I want to be with you."

Shock rolled through her. "You'd do that? For me?"

"In the years you've been gone I've been a machine. I live in the very house my mother died in, never knowing if she threw herself down the stairs to escape her brother and father or someone-" He broke off, his voice choking on a sob until he sighed. "I live like a ghost haunting that place. I have no life. I go to work and I am nothing but cruel and calculating. I meet women and I'm the same way. I can count on on hand the number of times I've laughed in the last five years before you returned.

"I don't want to go back to that. I have my own money, we have your money. We can live here or anywhere we want. Even if it meant being poor an eking out an existence in some forgotten corner of the world, I don't care, as long as it's with you."

Claire had no response but to reach over, cup his head, and kiss him soundly.





***





"Sebastian?"

"Shhh."

It was the middle of the night. There was no clock, both had agreed to keep clocks out of sight, but the ocean and sky out the window were both black. Something had woken her but now all they heard was the gentle pound of the surf.

That was it. The pool lights and filter were off, the pathway lights were off, and no lights were on in the guest house. Claire tensed as Sebastian stood and crossed to the dresser, pulling out pants.

"What are you doing? Call the guards!"

"Someone is here. That's what woke me, I heard a cry. Tony was on duty and I think someone knocked him out."

"Or killed him. Sebastian, we need to get to a neighbors, call the police."

He smoothed his hair back and skimmed his hands along the dresser top for a hair band. "You're right. Get dressed, quickly."

She slid from the bed and opened the closet, pulling out a dress and sliding it over her head. She grabbed a pair of flip flops as he slid on his shoes and pulled out a shirt.

Claire fought her shivers. "I don't like this, Michael calls and now this."

"You don't think Baroni is working with him, do you?"

She considered. "I would normally say that's ludicrous, but Baroni...I'm sure he's the one who followed me back in Chicago. It wouldn't be hard for him to find out about you, about Michael and...shit, what am I saying? Michael's no good to him."

"Don't be so sure." Sebastian opened the other closet and began rooting around. "My first instinct when he asked if his wife called was to call her. What if she were to try and lure me from the island, leave you alone?"

"What are you looking for? We need to go!"

"My gun. Ah, here." He held it up and in the dimmest moonlight she saw something huge and old.

"Sebastian, I don't like this."

"The Moodys live next door, their son is here with friends. Let's just get down to the front gate and go there, call the police. I shouldn't have unplugged the damned phone."

"There's one downstairs, our cell phones are in the den. Let's grab one first."

He thought for a moment and held out his hand. "All right, come on."

He led her into the hall which was silent, eerily to her ear. The blood was rushing now, heart pumping, and Claire tried to walk quietly behind him. She was shaking, but with a squeeze of his hand it dawned on her that she wasn't alone. Sebastian was smart, level-headed, and strong. She was quick on her toes but she didn't have to do this alone. They'd do just as he said and everything would be all right.

Downstairs they crossed the back patio doors heading for the den when something shattered. Sebastian cried out then he was on top of her, rolling as they hit the ground. She cried out and then something heavy hit them and Sebastian went sprawling. The gun spun from his hand and as Claire shook her head to clear it someone stepped through the now shattered door and kicked it away.

"Ten minutes," an unfamiliar voice said.

The form above her laughed. It was her stepfather Michael. "What the hell!?"

Sebastian and the other man were rolling now in a bear hug, trading punches, but it was so dark she couldn't see much more as she scooted back and away from the man who had haunted her nightmares for years.




Out of the Past Pt. 04



"Come on, now Claire, we have unfinished business."

"What the hell is wrong with you! Why can't you leave us alone!? Sebastian will give you the goddamn company, just leave us alone!" As she yelled Claire scooted backwards into the kitchen, hitting the cabinets by the sink.

"Oh, no. You owe me. You owe me! My stupid grandfather made it so two Kellners had t run the company. I married your mother because she wanted my money, my name, my protection for her precious daughter! She was going to take my crazy slut sister's place in name, squeeze my pathetic nephew out, but then she had to die."

He advanced slowly as he spoke, nearly frothing at the mouth. From the hallways came the sounds of grunts and shouts, punches thrown and glass things breaking.

Claire got hold and began to rise, looking about wildly for any weapon, unable to see in the dark.

"Then there was you. You would have been perfect! I saw how my nephew looked at you, you at him. Oh, father said it would be me and him and then one day you and Sebastian at the helm, but if you had just given in and been mine...you refused me and ran! You made a damned fool of me!"

She was standing now and her hand hit a wet gloppy mess of smashed fruit on the counter. Hope sprang to life and she slowly began to feel around as he came closer.

"You tried to rape me you fucking bastard!"

"Oh, that's hardly anything my dear. In ten minutes you'll be dead, just as Sebastian is dying now. Before I'm going to have a little taste of what I suffered so much for!"

Where was that knife? She thought frantically. "Suffered? Because one scared sixteen year old girl got away from your twisted machinations?"

"Suffered because my sister died for you!"

She stilled her search. Sebastian's mother? "What the hell are you talking about?"

"She saw us that night. She would have told father but I doped her up. She got away one night, taking crazy. I had to do it!"

"You- you pushed her down the stairs. You monster!"

He lunged for her just as her hand closed over the hilt of the knife. Claire didn't think, just slashed out and her hand connected. A sickening wet sound rang out and he slammed into her, forcing her into the sink nearly bowing her spine.

Close enough now his eyes reflected what little light there was and she blinked, realizing she still gripped the handle and it was between them. Screaming at the top of her lungs Claire pushed back and he fell heavily. Terrified she didn't let go of the knife and fell with him, still screaming.

It felt like an eternity later when Sebastian's arms came around her. Unaware of who it was at first she began to thrash and struggled until he shushed her and pulled her into his arms. He turned them away from the body on the floor and let her cry.

After a long while flashlights shone in the windows and police identified themselves.

"It's over now," Sebastian whispered, and picked her up. "We're in here!" He shouted to the police.

As the first officer arrived, wide eyed, staring at the scene, the sun broke. They'd made it, Claire thought, and began to cry again.





***





"It's just like skip tracing for credit."

Sebastian leaned over Claire's shoulder and began to nibble the spot below her ear that drove her crazy.

"Stop that!"

"Isn't it time for a break?"

"No, I'm trying to teach you the ropes here."

"I have some ropes upstairs," he said, delighting in her shivers. "Besides, can't we just hire someone for the grunt work?"

"That's Kellner thinking, and it has no place in Willoughby Enterprises."

"I love your determination but I hate it too." He grabbed her hand from the keyboard and placed it on the bulge in his swimming trunks.

She squeezed and sighed. "As much as I would love to explore that we do have some clients waiting."

"You know when you told me what you'd been doing in Toronto was secret I didn't expect it was this boring."

"Corporate espionage is boring, but it makes money. Now watch me work on this." Showing him the services and back doors, she began to compile information for a company preparing it's IPO desperate for information on how far along competitors were with the new circuit board similar to theirs.

Six months had come and gone. That long ago night Michael had died but Sebastisan had been able to subdue and restrain Jonathon Baroni. He'd been extradited to Toronto and still had to stand trial but Claire was prepared to testify.

Sebastian had decided to hand his company over to a board and retire. They'd settled into the house on Cooper Island but Claire needed something to occupy her time. In her travels back to Canada to meet with prosecutors she'd connected with some old clients and her list of new cases had grown.

Sebastian had a fine mind for engineering the fates of companies but when it came to grunt work he was like a little boy. Claire didn't mind, eventually like her he'd feel the need for something to do. 

It was their third day trying to work together and for the third day in a row after one hour he succeeded in his game of seduce-the-boss. Petulant at being an employee he'd found some of her stockings and tied her hands behind her back and then proceeded to instruct her.

By the time they finished, exhausted and satisfied, it was time for lunch and then a nap. Tropical living was a different pace, but she really did want to keep on top of work. As they lay in bed, waking up to the hot sun of the late afternoon, an idea hit her.

Turning in his arms she kissed his chest and stroked his long hair. "You know, I can give you an independent project to work on that might suit you better. More face-to-face time and meetings than grunt work."

"That sounds promising, what is it?"

Claire took a deep breath. "Planning our wedding."

He froze for a moment but she felt his heart hammering and spread her fingers over his chest, taut with anticipation. "Claire...are you serious?"

"Yes. Oh, yes."

He leaned down to kiss the top of her head then cupper her chin, tipping her face to his. "I'll accept on one condition."

"Name it."

"No family."

Laughing, she kissed him, and they got to celebrating the honeymoon prematurely. Neither would have had it any other way.



Out of the Past



*******

Several days later I returned home. The county sent a nurse each day to nag me about getting exercise and taking my new medication. She as well as Dr. Prescott commented on my mood. I was withdrawn; seemed preoccupied. That's normal, they said. But you need to develop a more positive attitude.

They couldn't have known. That deep in the past had lived a boy who somehow saved the life of a man in the present time. That I had, it seems, a guardian angel.

I now spent more time than ever on my porch. I knew that sooner or later I would see the boy, and I did. It came on a perfect April evening just after the sun had set. By the fading blue light of day I saw him approach on his bicycle. It was an old Western Flyer, maroon with white-sidewall tires and a safety light. A nice bike.

The boy was still wearing his newsboy cap, now with a wide-collared plaid shirt and dungarees. He slowed a bit as he approached the house. My heart pounding, I nodded to him, then waved. He returned the wave, a smile on his face. And then continued on. His smile said he was just out for an evening ramble, and had decided to ride by his neighbor's house. That's all.

A few days later as I was relaxing on the porch, an SUV pulled into my driveway. The driver was Clara Heinrich's granddaughter Jessica, who got out and helped the old woman from the passenger side of the vehicle.

"Afternoon, Clara, Jessica," I greeted the two women.

"Hello, Dennis," Clara said as she slowly labored up to the porch, "I brought you some of that jello salad you like so well. Thought I might visit a while if you like."

"I'd be pleased. Have a seat in this rocker, it's more comfortable."

The old woman took the chair and instructed her granddaughter to come pick her up in an hour. After Jessica had left, we sat in silence for a while, drinking iced tea and watching white clouds drift across the sky.

Finally Clara spoke. "I've heard funny stories about your heart attack. I was wonderin' if you'd tell me what happened. And anything else you'd like to talk about."

For the next few minutes I recounted all my strange experiences. Finally I told her about the heart attack; the boy who had saved me; and how I had later seen him pass by my house.

As I spoke, tears began to flow down the old woman's cheeks; at first she seemed unaware of them, but after a moment she took out a handkerchief and dabbed them away.

There was silence after I had finished. Still wiping away the tears, Clara then said in a tremulous voice, "Th' boy you saw was named Harold Denson. When I lived here in this house, me and his older brother Johnnie was sweet on each other. Johnnie used to come visit me, late in the afternoon, and we'd sit on this porch. Over seventy years ago."

A smile crossed the woman's face. "Harold would ride by on that bicycle, grin and wave at us, and Johnnie would get so mad. Harold was younger than me, but I think he had a kinda crush on me."

"Such a sweet boy, he was. Went off to war, and like Helen Reinart's husband, never come back. I ain't thought of Harold in fifty years, but as soon as you described him, I knew who it was. No question in my mind."

The old woman turned and stared intently at me. Her eyes, pale and watery, now had a baleful look. In a low voice she said, "You come back here with your head full of stories of the old times. And you renovated this old house, brought it back to life." 

"Somehow when you done that, its past came back to life too. All the people who lived here; the folks who lived around here and was their neighbors."

My mouth as dry as sand, I said, "When they greet me, are they really seeing me?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's just an echo of what happened over and over in years gone by, folks sayin' hello to each other. But the past somehow knows you're here, and looks after you. Wants to keep you and this house alive. It's almost like they're your neighbors now. So when you had that heart attack, someone from the past went for help."

The old woman sighed. "There's an awful lot about the world we don't know. This house ain't haunted. It's just that people who live in a house become part of it, as much as the stonework and wood trim. Does it bother you?"

"No. It did at first, but not now. Especially after my heart attack."

A wry grin crossed the old woman's face. "Folks at church talk about how lonesome you must be out here all by yourself. Guess you're not all by yourself after all."

"No," I said, nodding in agreement, "I've company enough."

After Clara had left I sat on the porch, enjoying another sunset. Now and then I could hear the restful tick-tock of a grandfather clock in the living room, even though I own no such clock.

But now I know. I am certain that the past is not gone forever. It lies around us in secret places just out of sight. And to the right person at the right time, it reveals itself. 

My life is enriched by living in both the present and the past. The years gone by have closed around me, and are now as familiar as my rocking chair. But I have only a brief time here before I too become part of the past. 

Perhaps someone else will then make this place a home, and I can be a spectral neighbor to them. But I'm in no hurry for that, mind you. No hurry at all.