Wildly Inappropriate (14 page)

It would help King's cause that Daniel knew and seemed to like his relative. That was how things got done around here. She might have actually saved Grams' house. Relief flooded her and Cynda soon tuned out their typical southern pleasantries in favor of musing on the idea that Daniel's mother's best friend was black.

Georgia.
Cammie's last diary entry mentioned going to talk to Georgia. With a start, she realized she'd forgotten to mention those diaries. She hoped he already knew about them, but the way he talked about his mother made her suspect he didn't. Why would he have left them concealed? For that matter, why would Cammie have hidden them?

She decided Cammie might've taken a bit of pleasure in hiding her innermost thoughts from Rafe using his own desk. If the father was anything like his oldest son, keeping a secret would be hard, she could bet. If Daniel wanted, he could coax anything from her, Cynda figured. He watched her so intently at times it seemed he could read her mind.

"And what's your offer?"

"Goin' rate 'round here seems to be about seven thousand an acre."

"And you're only interested in these five acres?" Though his forefinger tapped the map, Daniel wasn't looking at King, Cynda realized with a start. It felt like he was staring a hole through her.

"Yes, sir. Those five be plenty for my needs. From the creek to that little ravine, the part that backs up to John Carpenter's fields." He gave Dan a grin, but shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, his fingers digging into his shirt collar like it was lined with fire ants. "Y'all done let the bridge start to rot. I'll shore it up, so I can walk to Georgia's like your momma used to do. Gon' build a real small house. You'll never know I'm here. Been lookin' at a plan for one of them tiny houses like they had in the Sunday paper not long ago."

Daniel looked away from Cynda. Even though she'd kept her attention on the bastard that had taken advantage of her grams, thinking he sure sounded different back in his office talking down to her than he did speaking to Daniel, she
felt
his gaze leave her. She darted a glance at him.

Daniel unlaced his hands and stood. "I need to talk this over with my brothers, of course. I'll call you in a few days. C'mon Cynda, let's walk your client to the door."

When they stepped out of the office and started down the hall, Cynda saw Daisy standing at the child gate. To her dismay, the setter began barking loudly.

King stopped, causing Cynda to almost run into him. "She don't bite," she assured King.

"Sure she does," Daniel disagreed. "If a dog has teeth, it'll bite under the right circumstances."

To Cynda's surprise, he didn't order the dog to stop barking. "I'll check on her," Cynda offered, stopping outside the laundry room. Daisy didn't settle down, continuing to bark after Cynda stepped over the baby gate. Her bowls were brimming with food and water. Some dogs, it seemed to her, took an instant dislike to black people, but Cynda felt they cued off their owners, somehow. Yet that didn't make sense. Daisy had never barked at her. Perhaps she was upset over the dark form of King in his black suit, seen through her limited vision? She tried to soothe the dog, listening to Daniel and King say their goodbyes in between the loud barks. She rubbed the old setter's head and patted her sides, but Daisy's muscles felt taut beneath her silky coat. Jacques began wiggling around in the blankets inside the box blindly, searching for his mother.

"Daisy, quiet!" she looked up to see Daniel in the archway. The dog instantly stopped barking.

"Cynda, come here." He'd used the same tone on the dog. Swallowing her sudden fear, Cynda stepped over the gate. "Take off the dress. Then stand right in front of that hall tree until I get back."

He walked past her, disappearing into the bedroom. She reached behind her neck to undo the zipper and stepped obediently out of the garment, studying the hall tree. It was at least eight feet tall and the finish on the heavily striped oak had darkened with age. The brass hooks were dulled as well, but she'd wiped the cobwebs from the piece. Carefully, she hung the dress on the closest hook. A wide seat spanning the bottom was really a top that lifted on hinges, concealing a space below. She'd definitely peeked into that, disappointed to find only telephone books going back decades.

When he reappeared, he was holding several belts, the kind made of webbing with dual rows of grommets along the length. Laying them casually across his shoulder, he asked her to face the mirror. "Up you go." His huge hands went around her waist, lifting her to stand on the seat.

"Will this hold me?" she asked, concerned her weight might make the piece topple or crack the seat.

"It held my mother the day I saw my father spank her ass for lyin' to him," Daniel replied. His tone was conversational, but his words froze her heart in her chest. "Rafe removed two hooks and drilled behind them. Bolted this piece to the wall. Cammie watched him do it, crying the entire time. Grab those hooks at the top, Cynda. Get a comfortable grip, we might be here a while."

The apple hadn't fallen far from the tree in the creative torture category, Cynda felt. The plan was diabolical. She had to rise onto her toes to reach the hooks he'd indicated. Her reflection stared back at her from the big beveled mirror as she stretched to curl her fingers around two of the top hooks. The piece was so wide her arms barely spanned it. A third pair of hooks was mounted lower, about halfway down the outer columns that framed the hall tree. That set must be the ones Rafe drilled behind, those had ornamental plates. He fastened one of the belts around her wrist, looping it over the top of the hooks. He pulled it tight, but not uncomfortably so, yet Cynda knew she'd never be able to work her hands free. She feared her heart might somehow crack the mirror because it slammed so heavily against her ribs when he secured her other hand.

"I didn't lie!" she cried when he stepped back.

"Did I say you lied?" he replied, smoothing his hand over one butt cheek.

God help her, she was scared and yet she felt herself growing wet as he stroked her.
What has he done to me?
The beads in her hair clacked together when she shook her head.

"I do like that sound," he admitted. "I can't explain why, but I love hearing it."

"Mm-maybe Georgia wore them?" she guessed. "When you were small? Maybe the sound reminds you of the time when Cammie was here." The style wasn't a new one, after all. Black women had been braiding their hair with beads for centuries.

"You might be right." His fingers traced her slit. She could see his hand between her thighs by looking in the mirror. "Cynda, you're awfully wet."

Her nipples were hard. So hard they touched the glass, which was cold from the air being forced from the vent in the ceiling above her head. What was it about the way he restrained her that made her body go crazy at his first touch?

"What's Kingsley Dazza lying about, Cynda? I know he was lying. I just don't know what part of his story is bullshit. Yet."

"He did look 'bout as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs," she agreed, her eyes drifting closed as his finger pierced her. "All I know is he wants some of your land. He said he'd… he'd pay me if I helped him talk you into selling it."

The sting of his hand coming down on her ass jolted her. "That's a lie from you. You said you worked for Brian Case Development. This deal's far too small for Brian Case to dirty his hands with." His thrusts picked up speed, hard penetrations which underscored his displeasure.

"No, Daniel, I never said that. I don't know Brian Case. You assumed he'd sent me, but King drove me out here. It was his idea for me to wear that collar and leash, too. I swear that's the truth."

"Cynda." He added another finger, stretching her. "Why the hell would he give you nineteen thousand dollars to help him close a deal worth only thirty-five thousand? His offer was a fair one. That's probably the worst five acres I own. There aren't any valuable minerals to mine. Even if there were, five acres isn't sufficient for mining. Try as I might, I can't think of any other reason to want that exact piece of property. The ravine's deep and it runs right across the middle of that little plot. Don't play me."

"That's the truth." The sternness in his tone made her open her eyes. In the mirror, she saw how dilated her eyes were and watching his hand move between her thighs only drove her higher. Suddenly she felt pressure. He drove his thumb into her ass.

"Oh, Lord, yes, Daniel." She moaned, pushing back toward his hand.

His teeth raked the curve of her ass and when he bit down, she felt the first threads unraveling in the mantle of his control. She had to push him; she needed more. The columns running down the sides on the old piece rested on wide bases. Open bins holding umbrellas and golf clubs jutted out from each thick base. She grasped the hooks more tightly, raising her foot to test the width of the pylon, thinking if she could step onto those, it would raise her body, taking the pressure off her toes and arms. She thought she could do it. She raised her other foot.

He shifted his fingers, driving the middle two into her pussy, grasping her as he might a bowling ball.

"Where do you think you're going?"

She was worse off now than she had been. The delicious finger-fuck stopped. She lowered her foot and stood very still.

With his free hand he began to spank her. Each controlled blow pierced her with heat. His hands were so large, each strike felt like it covered her entire cheek. He moved lower, to the more sensitive skin below her buttocks. Those blows hurt, but the reward was that they seemed to send lighting into her core. She couldn't suppress her cries. She could barely wait for him to take her down and fuck her, but she had no choice. He'd do this in his time.

"You like this." His voice sounded ragged.

"Yes, Daniel." Their gazes locked in the mirror. The turbulence in his eyes suggested she wouldn't have to stand on this piece of furniture much longer.

"Uncle Dan! Uncle Dan! Guess what?"

Their eyes rounded simultaneously and Cynda wondered murderously whether his back door had a lock.

"Stop right there, Jonah. Do
not
take another step. I'll be right with you." Dan barked.

Daisy began to whine with excitement and Cynda wanted to cry, her frustration escalating when he pulled his fingers out of her. Covering her with his body, he leaned against her when he reached to fumble with one bucklee felt him chuckle. It vibrated through his chest, pressed against her back. He freed one hand and she balled it into a fist, driving it lightly into his side. "Don't you ever lock the door?" she whispered harshly.

"Never had a need to before, but after the last twenty-four hours, I'm thinking I might nail the damn thing shut." His lips were warm when he pressed them to her shoulder. He reached to unfasten the other belt. "You keep thinking about what you need to tell me. I wonder whether Jonah will notice I could punch through a steel plate with my dick."

"How old is he?" she asked, rubbing her wrists.

"Thirteen," Daniel replied. His lips were very close to her ear. His warm breath sent shivers down her spine. Her pussy was throbbing for attention.

"He should be able to sympathize."

Dan stepped back, grasping her waist to lower her to the floor. Pain shot up her legs as her toes protested their abuse, but she snatched her dress from the hook and stepped into it. She was very aware of the way her juices coated her thighs.

"Lift your hair," he ordered quietly, "and turn around."

"Uncle Dan!"

"There's cobbler in the fridge," he called. "Be right there. Help yourself to some."

Obediently she turned, her heart hammering wildly. The child was less than ten feet away. Her nervousness eased a bit when she heard the soft "pop" of the refrigerator door. In one second, he'd do her zipper and she'd be decent if the child came out into the wide hall.

Or not. His hands slid around her ribs to cup her breasts. He pinched her nipples and rolled them between his fingers, causing her juices to flow again. She felt his hardness pressed against her ass. She felt more than heard him chuckle again, the sound rumbling into her through his chest to vibrate between her legs. He released her nipples after a final hard tweak, then zipped her dress. The rasp of the older metal device sounded loud in the quiet house. She felt him move away more than she heard him do it. It was starting to seem as though every inch of her skin registered his nearness… or his absence.

"How you doin', kiddo?" Daniel said, turning to step through the arch.

Cynda took a deep breath before she walked into the kitchen. The young boy held the casserole dish containing the cobbler, peeking under the foil. He didn't respond to Daniel's greeting. His dark hair hung well below his collar, similar in length to Eric's. He began to dance a bit, making Cynda smile, but Daniel was frowning.

"Jonah!" Daniel clapped his hands together loudly, startling both the young boy and Cynda. He whirled to face them, and they could see small cords coming from his shirt pocket that led to his ears.

Cynda offered a silent prayer of thanks that it seemed no man in this family could pass a refrigerator without checking out the contents. The kid pulled one earplug loose.

"Hey, Dan! Guess what?" He caught sight of her, and smiled. "
You
must be Cynda. Thank God you're here. Lila was so happy to hear Dan had a girlfriend she forgot I was on restriction."

"Cynda, this is my nephew Jonah," Dan interjected. His hand moved to rest on her lower back. "As you can tell, he's shy. Jonah, this is Miss Avery."

"Aww, why can't I call her Cynda like everybody else?" Jonah complained. "School starts in a few days. I'm going to be saying 'Miss This' and 'Miss That' a bunch."

"Cynda's a teacher, too," Dan responded. "And this is the South, son, where you don't call a woman older than you by her first name unless she gives you permission."