Infamous: (A Bad Boy Romantic Suspense) (5 page)

Anton was kissing his way down a spine, his hands running along soft skin, resting on full hips. There was a feminine moan as he kissed the sweet spot in the hollow of the small of her back just above the swell of firm, plump cheeks.

He smiled against the soft skin and brought his hands around those hips to a delightfully round belly. He tickled gently, rewarded with a throaty, flirty laugh.

The body shifted, turning over, giving him full access to that splendidly round belly. He kissed around the bellybutton, let his fingers stroke up, grazing just enough to tease. They found plump breasts, claiming them as he kissed up and found a peaked nipple. It tasted sweet, puckering under his tongue. He suckled and licked it roughly, hearing a groan that made him feel a little lightheaded with desire.

“Now. Kiss me where you know I want to be kissed most,” a voice said, playful but passionate.

He moved down, taking his time, lips nibbling and gliding over skin. Delicate but firm hands ran through his hair, guiding his head down, down, down.

Soft curls greeted him and he smiled, parting warm skin. She was pink and slick and he brought his mouth to her, tasting her, sipping her. Legs draped themselves over his shoulders, hips began to thrust at him, and he reveled in her. He licked around and around, wide circles, then smaller, smaller, before he finally concentrated on that firm, sweet spot.

When he felt her start to climax, his slid a finger gently but firmly inside her. She was hot and tight and when she shouted, he smiled.

She pushed him back, hair obscuring her face. Ran her fingers down his stomach, a trail of fiery desire. She touched him where he was hard and ready. And then she laughed.

She pushed back her hair and it was Taylor, resplendent and beautiful.

“Do you want me, Anton? Do you want me now?” she asked.

“Yes. I want you. I always wanted you,” he said.

“Good,” she said.

Her lips were soft against his collarbone, he could feel her warmth against him below, but she moved away. She kissed down his chest, bit softly at a nipple, then swirled her tongue around his navel.

He watched her as she looked up and clasped him in her hand. He was harder than he had ever been in his life, pulsing against her palm. She opened her mouth and began to slowly descend over him. Down, down, he could feel her breath against the tip…she was almost there….

And then he woke up.

Anton was uncomfortably hard and he groaned against his pillow. He hadn’t had a dream that intensely erotic in years. It figured it would end without orgasm. He lay back, early-morning light filtering in through his window, thinking about Taylor, feeling himself staying hard and aching.

He was going to have to do something about this.

He was going to have to do something about Taylor Harlow. Today.

Sweethollow Library was a surprisingly large and modern building in the middle of town, on the corners of Main Street and Hill. When Taylor was a kid, the library had been a two-story building down the block with bad lighting and not a great selection of horror stories, Taylor’s passion. This spot now occupied by the library had been a bank and laundromat. Obviously there’d been some improvements in the last decade.

Inside was well lit, warm, and spacious. There was a children’s storytelling corner and a large area for sitting and reading for grown-ups, and while it was still two floors, they were now packed with every kind of book for anyone.

Taylor was looking for the archives and a helpful young girl with blue hair showed her to the area they kept the old newspaper files in hard copy and on the computer. She sat down and got to work.

Someone had been pretty thorough at documenting the history of Sweethollow, scanning newspapers and even local journals that had been donated, as far back as the Revolutionary War. There were all the usual sorts of pieces on the Deathless Rider, mostly cute pieces about local superstitions and tying it all to Halloween.

What was suspiciously lacking were documents about the deaths that occurred roughly every ten years. It wasn’t exact; some years went by and nothing untoward happened to anyone. But Taylor knew that strange deaths had gone back at least as far as the war and continued after. Whether it was deaths that just happened to occur around the same time or ones that were actually connected to the legend, there were almost no files, articles, or even journal entries about them. Which was very odd considering how much the town relied on the legend. It seemed like they’d want people to think it was an ongoing “ghostly” phenomenon. Upped the tourist attraction.

As she combed through files, she tried not to think about her dream or her encounter the night before. She’d woken up relatively rested, but feeling keyed up and strange. And she kept expecting to see Anton around every corner, down every street, since she’d left the inn. It was a little too much. She had to get a grip.

After a few hours she went up to the main desk and found the helpful blue-haired girl. Her name was Ellen.

“Ellen?” she asked, smiling.

“Ms. Harlow? Did you find what you needed?” the girl asked, stacking some books on a cart.

“Well, yes and no,” Taylor answered.

“Oh! What couldn’t you find?” asked Ellen, coming over and looking genuinely concerned. Taylor smiled at her again. She remembered being that young and enthusiastic.

“Well, I found journals and articles going a ways back, so thanks for that. What I couldn’t find, though, was any of the stuff on the Deathless Rider that wasn’t kind of the fluffy stuff. I grew up around here, and I know there have been a lot of deaths around this time of year. It seems a little strange no one else has mentioned it in a newspaper article or something,” Taylor said.

Ellen blinked, then looked thoughtful. “That’s a good point. I mean, it’s a silly old story, but it is really creepy. And people around here sort of like to pretend it’s all cuddly, but, like…those recent deaths? That was pretty bad,” she said.

“Do you think they could be in some other files, maybe? Or maybe I’m just looking in the wrong place?” Taylor asked.

“I’m not sure where they could be, though. I mean, that’s supposed to be all the stuff we have. Mrs. Keeper, she scanned them all herself,” Ellen said.

“What, old Mrs. Keeper? She still works here?” Taylor asked, surprised. The lady had seemed ancient when she was growing up. White hair, spectacles, and the required cardigan. She’d even had a shrill little “hussssh!” she used to admonish anyone caught talking in the sanctuary of the library. It had been a popular make out spot when Taylor was young.

“Yeah, she comes in like twice a week now. Can’t get around as much as she used to. She’s mostly retired. But she insisted on doing that job herself,” Ellen said, shuffling some papers.

“Do you know where she lives? I’m working on this book, about the area, and I’d love to talk to someone who’s been around and probably seen more than anyone else. I mean, who notices a librarian?” Taylor said, grinning.

Ellen smiled back, then pointed to her hair. “Well, I get noticed, they call me Blueberry. But I’m just an assistant. You kind of stick out around here if you do anything even remotely ‘different,’” Ellen said, using quote-y fingers.

Taylor started at the nickname, feeling sick. Then she covered it with a laugh. She hadn’t been as brave as Ellen in high school, actually changing her outer appearance in a noticeable way, but she knew what she meant. Even though she’d tried to hide, she just hadn’t fit in it around there. She suspected Ellen didn’t either, though at least now blue hair was not nearly as unusual. But the nickname had been a nasty shock.

“True, but I like it. I’m a writer down in the city and I’m up here doing a little research. Maybe prove to some people that small towns can be just as weird and dangerous as the city, you know?” she said.

“Oh, cool! You’re a writer and you live in the city? Wow,” Ellen asked, eyes wide and eager. Taylor remembered that feeling, too.

“Yep. Although I have still have roommates, so it’s not very glamorous,” she admitted.

“Psh. I’d live in a shoebox there in a heartbeat if it meant I could get out of here.” Ellen snorted.

“Most apartments are kind of like shoeboxes down there,” Taylor said. They both laughed.

“Well, Mrs. Keeper is at the old folks’ home down on Chestwood. I don’t think she gets many visitors. Most of her family is gone, I think. So I’m sure she’d like the company. She’s pretty chatty, when you get her going,” Ellen said.

Taylor found that surprising, but then she’d never tried talking to Mrs. Keeper in a way that would have invited friendly chatter.

“Thanks a lot, Ellen. You’ve been a huge help,” Taylor said.

“No problem. Good luck with your book!” And the girl was off with her cart of books. Taylor hoped she kept that enthusiasm. And the blue hair.

The wind had picked up outside and Taylor stopped to check her email on her phone. Work was anxious for some updates but they’d hold on a little while longer. She was avoiding talking to the police just yet because one thing she was pretty sure hadn’t changed in Sweethollow; the way they closed ranks and didn’t discuss any crimes in town. Especially this time, since two of the dead men (and former Saints) had been cops. Nick and Rob had become officers after high school, and she was pretty sure one other Saint had as well. That’s about all she’d been able to find out from the obits.

She’d go talk to Mrs. Keeper, get some scuttlebutt first. That way if the police weren’t forthcoming, she could still get her boss something juicy. She knew what they really wanted was a kind of tabloid-y piece full of small-town intrigue, innuendo, and gossip. What she wanted was the truth.

Or at least, she thought she did.

The truth was a funny thing. What was true to her might not be for someone else. The truth about the Deathless Rider could be really mundane. But Taylor didn’t think so. Otherwise there’d be no reason for people to cover up deaths or hide articles. There was no reason to treat this “legend” as a tourist attraction but also get secretive and conspicuous about deaths around that time of year. If they were just what they claimed, accidents, then that info should be open and available. It was too weird a dichotomy. Something was off.

Taylor wrapped her scarf around her neck a few more times, then pulled it loose around her mouth. She’d forgotten how much colder it got up here, north of the city. The wind had an edge, making her cheeks sting. She looked at her phone and saw that it was well past 3 p.m. No wonder she was suddenly starving. She headed towards Main Street, wondering if the Sweethollow Diner was still there. She’d practically lived there as a teen, reading, eating French fries, and watching the town.

When she turned the corner she saw that, indeed, it was still there. And it looked almost exactly the same, although the window now proudly displayed a sign that said “Free Wi-Fi!” She wondered if the patrons, who all looked over seventy from where she was standing, even knew what that was. When she saw one of them was sitting with an iPad, she realized she was being kind of backward. Sweethollow might be quaint, but it wasn’t an actual time warp.

She went in and was offered a booth by a young waiter who looked like he wasn’t old enough to drive yet. He was like one tall line, all arms and legs. He seemed nervous talking to her, so she smiled and asked for coffee and a turkey sandwich with fries. Then she sat and looked out over Main Street.

Sweethollow really was scenic. And quaint. And picturesque, and all the words people usually associated with small towns. Most of the buildings had been there a long time and a few had even been restored to look even more “vintage,” with old-fashioned signs and curling roof adornments. They’d renamed things to really give it that old-world feel, like the General Store and Apothecary. There were plenty of modern businesses as well, however, and Taylor could see that they’d made extra effort to improve parking.

If you followed a straight line from the diner down Main Street, you’d hit the large pine tree in the middle, the one with the jaunty pumpkin she’d seen from her room on it. There were also banners and signs about the upcoming festival, ads for local businesses and brews, lots of pictures of the Deathless Rider looking spooky. In most of them he was holding a flaming cutlass, like a pirate, and his face was always a skull.

Taylor thought about her dream and tried not to analyze it. So, okay, she’d had a crush on Anton Quinn in high school. A big, painful, completely unrequited crush. She most definitely hadn’t been the only one, and it wasn’t like having a crush on the “bad boy” was particularly unusual.

What had been unusual was when he’d unexpectedly shown interest in her and asked her to the senior prom. She’d only been a junior but was taking extra classes to see if she could qualify to graduate early. She’d been done with the bullshit by then and her grams had encouraged her to get out if she could. Technically all she needed was to take her GED, but she wanted that diploma. She’d been through enough, she figured she’d earned it.

Young Taylor had been too surprised and naïve to think anything of Anton asking her. They’d been friendly for a while, chatting, even meeting after school, though she’d never noticed it was always when no one else could see. She’d been flattered and grateful, which was embarrassing enough. But she’d gone out and spent real, hard-earned babysitting money on getting her hair straightened and shiny and buying a dress that actually fit (even it had been secondhand) and a sweater that matched, with little embroidered birds on it. Anton had once said he liked birds. She’d really put in the effort, even though she couldn’t do anything about the braces.

He’d shown up, which was miracle enough. Looking beautiful in his suit, even if it had been a bit too big at the cuffs and hem. They’d driven to the dance and then…

Everything had gone horribly wrong. Not quite Carrie wrong, but close enough. She hadn’t been able to trust anyone for a long time after. And if she was being honest, she wasn’t sure she trusted anyone now. Certainly not men, that was for sure.

She sighed, sipping the coffee when it was brought and then picking at her fries. Memories were such a pain in the ass. Why couldn’t she remember nice things from her childhood? Like picking flowers? Or her first time going swimming? Or how great Grams’ pies were?

Well, okay, she did remember Grams, and that was always good, if a little sad. She ate her lunch and went over her notes. There wasn’t a lot, but there was some decent town history and the beginnings of what she hoped would be a good, meaty piece. Something about small-town secrets and cover-ups. She just needed to get some actual facts so the piece would be more than gossip.

She’d made of list of people to see and places to visit. There was Mrs. Keeper at the old folks’ home; as former head librarian she might know a lot. There was Nate Powell, Senior Detective. She’d known Nate in high school and he’d been a decent guy. Quiet, nerdy. Focused. The Saints had picked on him a lot, so she hoped he’d talk to her. There were also the Riderites, a sort of fan club/historical society in town her grams had founded. They’d be useful, especially since most of the members were small-town busybodies. They’d dedicated an entire old farmhouse to Rider lore, trinkets, and assorted crap. At the very least they could fill her in on whatever Rider story elements she’d forgotten over the years. And they’d certainly provide some of the gossipy tabloid stuff and superstition her editor was looking for.

As she was flipping through her notes, which had been taken the arcane, Luddite way on actual paper with a real pen, someone sat down across from her.

“Excuse me, I’m just finishing up my lunch here and—” she began.

“I noticed. Hi,” said Anton. Taylor looked up in complete shock. “Need another cup of coffee? Or pie? They make a halfway decent apple.” He grinned. She scowled.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she asked, closing her notebook with as much vigor as she could. She began to scroll through her phone, trying to get him to take the hint.

“As I remember, you were fond of pie,” he said. “Two apple pies, Dave. Thanks.”

“I was leaving,” she said.

“You can stay a little longer to catch up with an old…friend. Last night was a bit of a misfire.” He grinned.