Just Right! Read online

  EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ®

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2019 DawnMarie Richards

  ISBN: 978-0-3695-0003-8

  Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

  Editor: Karyn White

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  To my husband, for more than thirty years of happy Just Right!

  JUST RIGHT!

  DawnMarie Richards

  Copyright © 2019

  Chapter One

  Heart pounding, she raced against the fading light, her breath coming in great gasps. All at once, the root strewn path transformed, a blanket of bluebells springing up beneath her feet. Their delicate perfume calmed her frantic nerves, her steps slowing. Up ahead, a tiny cabin appeared, a curlicue of smoke rising from its chimney, the warm glow from the windows beckoning. Shifting the broad, wooden handle of the hamper she carried from the crook of one elbow to the other, she couldn’t help but think what a relief it would be to rest in front of a crackling fire.

  She wandered closer, but a nearby rustling gave her pause. Narrowing her eyes, she spied three large creatures emerging from the tree line. Moonlight reflected off their shaggy brown fur as they lumbered toward her. In her shock, the basket slipped from her arm, tea cakes and finger sandwiches spilling about her feet. The beasts lifted their heads and huffed the air. Rising onto their hind legs, they roared, their vexation echoing off the surrounding mountains. She clutched her hands to her chest only to realize she stood naked, utterly defenseless against the bellowing brutes.

  Surely, they would charge, their claws ripping tender flowers from the earth before sinking into her flesh, tearing her asunder. But instead of terror, an odd excitement built low in her belly, her nipples growing tight beneath her palms. It was then she noticed. Between the bears’ great muscled thighs, in the place where furred genitalia should have been, human cocks hung, smooth and straining.

  Christa Locke woke with a start, angling up onto her elbows. What the fuck? But before she could even begin to formulate a response, her head throbbed in protest. Oh, right. She moaned, lifting a hand to press thumb and forefinger tight to her temples. Tequila.

  She sank back down onto the bed, her groan cut short by a quiet gasp as unmistakably expensive sheets whispered over her bare skin. Holy shit! She’d actually done it! Gotten stupid drunk and convinced some poor sap into taking her home with him.

  Frantically, she searched her memories, but only managed a jumble of disjointed snippets … bodies pressing in on her … laughter … shots lined up on a bar … a slight sense of unease … male voices raised over pounding club music … a massive palm, tender against her cheek … nodding off as bands of light scrolled over her eyelids. Nothing complete, no clear idea of what—or more importantly, who—she’d done last night.

  Biting her lower lip, she reached out, tentatively mining the fine linen. But she found nothing. Not even a wrinkled depression where a man’s body might have been.

  With a sigh, she rolled onto her side. Hands tucked beneath her cheek, she pulled her knees tight to her chest. How could I have let this happen? It had been six months, for heaven’s sake! Yet a single insignificant sighting of her ex had been enough to send her careening off the deep end. Well, not exactly insignificant, she allowed, remembering the events of the previous morning.

  She’d just lifted her head from fishing her phone out of her purse when she’d noticed them. A striking couple huddled together about a half a dozen people in front of her. The man had his back to her, but she could see he was tall and broad-shouldered, his hair thick and tousled. The woman nearly matched him in height, blonde with porcelain skin, her clear blue eyes trained adoringly on her lover’s face. They’d spoken to one another in low tones punctuated by throaty chuckles. The corners of Christa’s mouth had begun to twitch with an indulgent grin when the man had turned and made eye contact.

  Lips curled with a chilling grin, Brandon had kept his gaze on Christa’s as he’d slid his hand down the other woman’s back and then cupped her ass. He’d pulled her close for a kiss more foreplay than affection, several of the people around them shifting uncomfortably. A few had looked away.

  Of course, Christa had had no such luxury, continuing to stare even after he’d broken off the kiss and leaned forward to whisper into the woman’s ear. He hadn’t finished before the blonde whipped around, long hair flying. She’d searched the crowd, her flawless features twisting with a peculiar mix of disgust and pity the second she’d sighted Christa.

  Mortification had lent Christa the strength she’d needed to finally break eye contact, though her heart raced out of control. And then she’d done the only thing she could think of… She’d tucked tail and run.

  Caffeine-deprived and dispirited, she’d wandered in the direction of her office building. Her mind was consumed, endlessly obsessing over the minutia of the ill-fated encounter. At least until realization had struck, bringing her to a faltering halt in the middle of the bustling sidewalk. For the last three years, she’d started every workday at that coffee shop. Something Brandon knew damn well. Fate had had nothing to do with it. He’d meant for her to see … to know … to hurt.

  With the pain had come a measure of clarity. And over the next several moments, Christa had—for the first time—seen their relationship clearly. Whatever they’d had together, love had played no part in it. Brandon was a predator of the worst order. He’d fed on her weakness. A commodity she had in abundance. And he’d used it to control her, mold her to his liking.

  But a crack had appeared in the thin veneer she’d managed to lacquer over what he’d termed her “unseemly side”. And she’d been rejected. Banished, not only from the upscale condominium she’d spent the better part of two years transforming from a sterile showplace into a home, but from a social circle in which she’d been entirely invested. He’d left her with nothing, but, apparently, it had been too much. He’d had to take it a step further and make certain she knew he’d found a woman who deserved everything he had to offer. Horrified, she’d wondered if he’d somehow known she’d been spending her nights on her girlfriend, Lana’s, couch, mourning a life for which she’d never had any right to hope.

  A flash of recall interrupted Christa’s unhappy reminiscing. She’d wanted a couple of drinks. And she and Lana had managed to snag the last two seats at the crowded bar. And there had been a man, sitting next to Lana. John? Jessie? Jacob? Brows bunched, she rifled her sluggish brain. It’d definitely started with a J. He’d struck up a conversation, made them laugh, bought them a couple of rounds before following them onto the dance floor. But Christa could swear his interest had been in her friend. She thought she remembered dismissing his and Lana’s protests about leaving her alone, going so far as to make a show of swiping at her phone as if scheduling a ride. But as soon as the couple had staggered out of sight, she’d made a beeline back to the bar. After that, events faded to black.

  One thing was for certain. She wasn’t going to figure anything out lying in bed. With a sigh, she eased her eyes open, waiting as they adjusted to the dim lighting. Her effort was rewarded by a most welcome sight. A bottle of water sat at the edge of the bedside table. A couple of bubble packs propped on its side. Reaching out, she picked one up by the corner and drew it closer to her face.

  Aspirin?
Hmmm. She had to give the man—whoever he was—credit. He’d at least thought about how she might feel come morning.

  Covers tucked beneath her arms, she pushed herself to sitting. Concentrating on inhaling and exhaling, she waited for the room to stop spinning before reaching for the bottle and twisting off its cap. The first sip went well, so she took a second. Then she tore the top off the packet she still held in her hand, tipping the two round tablets into her palm before popping them in her mouth and washing them down with a third gulp. Already, she felt better.

  Lowering her hands into her lap, she took stock. Aside from the aching head and spotty memory, she seemed no worse for wear. Her clothes were definitely missing, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. It seemed entirely plausible she’d passed out before anything had happened. Lifting the bottle to her lips once more, she decided to give the guy the benefit of the doubt. He’d put some thought into anticipating her needs, making sure she was as comfortable as possible. Could be he wasn’t the type to take advantage. Though it was suspect he’d been willing to bring home a woman so obviously drunk off her ass in the first place.

  As she pondered her mystery man’s character, the wall in front of her caught her attention. Was it … rippled? Squinting, she realized what she was seeing. Logs stacked one atop the other. A log cabin? What did I do? Go home with a lumberjack? Thoughts of high-laced leather boots and red, plaid flannel filled her head. Then she remembered the slip of the sheets over her skin. Evidently, a lumberjack who knows a thing or two about thread counts.

  Smiling, she shifted her gaze, carefully turning her head as she scanned the room, hoping for more clues about its owner. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to consider: tall dresser, bedside table, and the bed beneath her. A little sparse for my taste. Yet still cozy, somehow, like being in a grownup tree house.

  A quartet of photos—the only artwork as far as she could see—hung over the bed. Each framed the same wooded spot taken at different times of the year, the four seasons captured simply and brilliantly in distinct colors and lighting. The spring shot featured a blanket of bluebells rolling between the stand of trees. She tilted her head, puzzling over why it seemed eerily familiar.

  Unable to figure it out, her attention wandered, eventually settling on the impressive headboard. The single, massive plank had been stained and shellacked to a high gloss, its edges left raw. But it was the scene carved into its center which caused Christa to suck in a tiny breath of surprise.

  A cabin rested at the edge of a dense wood. Three large bears stood front and center. Her eyes flickered between the picture of the flowers and the scene on the headboard. Suddenly, the pieces clicked into place. Her dream! All the elements were there, except the phalluses. Of course, she had been looking to get laid, last night. Could be she simply had dicks on the brain.

  Just then, a gust of wind rattled the heavy-curtained windows, sending a shiver up Christa’s spine and presenting a new issue. She was in dire need of a bathroom. A frantic scan of the room revealed neither clothes nor any other possible cover up except for the cream-colored comforter. I’ll pay to have it dry cleaned, she reasoned. But when she grabbed for the bottom edge, her fingers sank into a pile of plush. Pulling the material toward her, she saw it was a terry cloth robe. As she slid her arms into the long sleeves, she awarded her unknown host another point for thoughtfulness.

  On her feet, Christa pulled the robe snug around her and tied the belt. Leaning on the mattress, she took a few cautious steps toward the foot of the bed. She spotted a short corridor on her left and staggered forward, hoping she was close. The last thing she needed was to have to explain a puddle on the floor. Fortunately, as soon as she turned the corner, she saw the glimmer of porcelain through a partially opened pocket door.

  Hurrying inside, she flipped the light switch with one hand while closing the slider behind her with the other. She made her way to the toilet, gathering the bulky robe at her waist, and breathed a sigh of relief as she turned to sit. The icy seat caused her to recoil for a fraction of a second before surrendering to nature’s demand.

  Christa took in her surroundings. An average size bathroom, it had log walls and a plank ceiling with exposed support beams, just like the bedroom. But the natural stone flooring and dual sinks set into unpolished granite kicked the rustic luxury up a notch. Not to mention the oversized mirror surrounded by marquee lighting. She eyed the multi-head, walk-in shower, imagining how good it would feel to scrub the remnants of last night's sins off her skin. But she had more pressing matters to attend to, like finding out where she was, and who, exactly, she had to thank for bringing her there.

  Finishing up, she adjusted the robe and then made her way to the vanity. Flicking on the lights with her elbow, she turned on the taps, squirting soap into her palm from the nearby dispenser before rubbing her hands together beneath the fall of warm water. Leaning over the sink, she took a long look. Her hair stuck out at odd angles and eyeliner smudged beneath her eyes. No doubt about it. She’d definitely had a night. Shutting off the water, she tried to wipe away some of the mess, succeeding mostly in smearing it further. She scanned the countertop for a box of tissues and noticed a basket set back in the corner.

  Pulling it closer, she shuffled through the contents. Not only were there tissues, but a travel size hairspray, mousse, and body lotion. She also found a toothbrush and toothpaste, a comb, a nail file, and a razor, all brand new in the original packaging. Obviously, she wasn’t the first unexpected overnight guest to use the facilities. Shrugging, Christa reached for a make-up remover packet and tore off the edge. Who was she to judge? After all, she was the one preparing to tell some poor schmuck he hadn’t left enough of an impression for her pickled brain to remember a damn thing about him. The least she could do was have fresh breath and a clean face when she did it.

  Chapter Two

  Christa peeped around the edge of the bedroom door, her mouth dropping open with disbelief at the scene at the end of the short hall. Not one man, but three, lounged at what looked to be a kitchen island, coffee cups in hand. Great. An audience.

  She glanced over her shoulder back into the bedroom. She wasn’t getting out that way. Never mind the fact she had no clothes or phone. No. She had to go out there. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders. Unfortunately, a wash of nerves turned what she’d intended as a nudge into a shove, and the door struck the wall behind it with a conversation-ending thump. Three heads turned in her direction.

  “Goldie’s up,” one of them quipped.

  Seriously? A nickname? Ignoring the irrational, but no less urgent, itch to wipe the smirk off the face of the bearded man who’d spoken, Christa strode down the hall.

  She’d just made it over the threshold into the kitchen when the men got to their feet. And her determined steps stuttered to a stop. They were huge! Well over six feet tall. Standing shoulder-to-shoulder, their expansive chests created a wall of muscle.

  The reality of her situation came into sharp focus. Alone with three towering strangers, she clutched at the edges of her borrowed robe, pulling it tight beneath her chin.

  “Who are you?” she demanded, though her voice was little more than a breathy whisper.

  Their eyes went wide, and, despite the panic threatening to overwhelm her, Christa noticed they shared the same rarefied shade of brown, a color so light and pure, it gave them an otherworldly quality. For a moment she wondered if she might still be dreaming.

  “You don’t remember?” the middle one asked.

  She had to grind her molars together in order to respond.

  “If I did, would I be asking?”

  The bearded one laughed, but the other two shut him down, throwing sharp, disapproving looks in his direction.

  “We met last night at Walden’s.” Middle man, again, touching fingertips to chest as he continued to explain, “I’m Asher, and these are my brothers, Felix and Tate.” He indicated each with a quick nod.

  Brothers. She managed to
shift her gaze from one to the other, but their faces barely registered.

  “Where am I?”

  “Please.” Asher lifted his hands, palms showing, and took a step toward her. But Christa shrank from the gesture, stopping him in his tracks. “We’ll explain everything. I promise. But … you’ve gone very pale. Maybe you should sit down.”

  No maybe about it, but her feet refused to move. And not just because it would mean being within arm’s reach of the men. With each passing moment, the likelihood she would cry, throw up, or—becoming more probable by the second—both, kept her rooted to the spot. She had no intention of moving one inch further from the only known escape.

  “Where am I?”

  She winced at the screeching edge to her voice, but it got her what she wanted.

  “Beddington.”

  Beddington! The small town bordered a national forest where she’d gone hiking several times. It was a beautiful place. It was also at least forty-five minutes from where she was currently crashing and remote in the way of most northern New England hamlets.

  She looked around wildly. But the view through the triptych of floor-to-ceiling windows only supported his claim. Beyond the flakes which swirled and hovered over the pane, trees as far as the eye could see.

  “Shit,” she whispered under her breath. “It’s snowing.”

  “Has been. Off and on, since last night.”

  Christa closed her eyes, recalling the vague memory of being in a car, the press of bodies on either side of her.

  “How did I get here?”

  “We brought you.”

  She turned and looked at the men.

  “Who drove?”

  “Seriously, Goldie?” The beard, again… A devilish light twinkled in his eyes; the same ironic grin curved his lips. She was beginning to suspect it was the natural set of his mouth. And she was shocked to discover, especially considering the situation, how thoroughly seductive she found it. “That’s what you’re worried about? Whether or not we had a designated driver?”