ROMANCE: Badass Boss (Billionaire Alpha Bad Boy Romance) (Western Mail Order Bride Calendar Contemporary) (27 page)
Authors: Susan Fleming
This deliciously dirty story is a part of Susan Fleming’s super-charged, highly lewd collection of love and lust, written in 2015. Those who attempt to steal any part of this goldmine and take it as their own risk being a fiery, hot death from a hunk bearing copyright notices—and she’s not about to play with you.
This is a work of fiction—although we wish that people like this really existed, it’s nothing more than a figment of a very, very overactive imagination. Any resemblance to someone you know, a place you love or anything you hold dear to your heart is nothing more than a craving in your heart that these carnal desires and actions were true!
It goes without saying that this book oozes with erotic sex appeal, and is filled to the rafters with a smorgasbord of acts that you certainly wouldn’t tell your grandmother about. Bodice-ripping, panty-dropping and glasses-steaming, the scenes contained herein are wickedly naughty!
Although all the saucy characters are flirting with forbidden desires and sometimes taking the naughty fruit they really shouldn’t be, all are consenting adults over the age of 18 and not blood-related. What they are is passionate and eager to explore their carnal desires all day long.
In short, this book is going to get you very, very hot!
© Susan Fleming
All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any many whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the author’s imagination. Please note that this work is intended only for adults age 18 and over. All characters represented are age 18 or over.
Table Of Contents
Chapter 1: Fatal Mistake
Chapter 2: Unmarked Body
Chapter 3: Take a Chance
Chapter 4: Date
Chapter 5: Maternity Clothes
Chapter 6: Sniper
Chapter 7: Administrative Problem
Chapter 8: Flawed, Impossible, Uncomfortable
Chapter 9: Repairing Stone
Chapter 10: Reality
Chapter 11: Tattoos and Scars
Chapter 12: The Truth
Chapter 13: Life Choice’s
Chapter 14: Leave
Chapter 15: Import/Export
Chapter 16: Wrap It Up
Chapter 1
Fatal Mistake
Harvey Wikilstein died in 2010, yet a man carrying his identity sat at a desk in the Navy recruiting office in Los Angeles in 2015. Harvey looked at a spot in the center of its dull plastic surface. He touched it with a shaking hand. The hand didn’t touch paper. It touched plastic. Both hands began to shake.
He saw his boss walking down the aisle. He waved his hand “Mr. Thomas, I was working on a folder today. I went to lunch and it’s gone. It was sitting in the middle of my desk. Do you know what happened to it.”
Mr. Thomas replied, “Harvey, do you feel alright? You’re a bit pale.”
“I’m fine. I just get frustrated when I start something and can’t finish it.”
“Don’t worry about that. We made the collection of out-of-date folders while you were gone. It will go to the station-of-origin and be put away and forgotten. It was out of date.
Harvey gathered himself together. “Alright. That’s good.” He paused. “Sir, I think I would like a little time off, if it’s all right.”
“Certainly, Harvey. Go home. Get some rest.”
Harvey drove two blocks away from the government office and pulled into a parking lot. He nervously called his other boss, the one who killed people.
“Sir? The folder was taken from me. I’d finished it and went to lunch. When I got back, it was gone. My boss here says it was taken to the office where it was created to be put in storage. I’m sorry. I never thought they’d take it from my desk.”
The voice on the other end sounded uninterested and unpleasant. It never changed timber or cadence. “We will take care of it. Our tracking device...”
“...which I suggested.”
“...yes, which you suggested, is telling us that it is headed toward the Los Angeles main office. It will go to Las Vegas when there’s a slow day. We already have an operative in that office. He’ll tell us when it leaves, and we can intercept it.” He covered the phone for a few seconds then came back. “Don’t worry Harvey. This wasn’t your fault. We have two operatives in the Los Angeles office. One in headquarters and another in the motor pool. We’ll get the folder back.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Go home. We’ll get back to you.”
Harvey never made it home. His car was forced off the road on Mulholland Drive.
Harvey’s underground boss, a swarthy man named Fahad Issa, told his second-in-command, “We’re going to go deeper into this mission than usual. We must retrieve that folder. Since it has so little obvious value to the stupid Americans, it will be sent from Los Angeles to Las Vegas on the slowest day of the month and by American agents with little value and in a disreputable car.”
Fahad laughed, a short, mean laugh. “These Americans, second only to Germans in their predictability. Always the proper administration. Always the method that requires the least thought. We will get our file back and kill the agents who will be delivering it.”
“Praise God.”
“Yes, praise God. We can have a little fun with this. Let’s find the weakest agents and put them together. This will work.” He smiled. “Habib, create two websites and two brochures. We’re getting into the romance game.”
“Yes, sir.”
Chapter 2
Unmarked Body
Delia Stackhouse grimaced as she looked at her bed. It was a comfortable bed with a lovely headboard. She had the bed made especially for her with extra length to accommodate her five foot ten inch body. The bedspread came from her mother who had quilted it by hand just for her. Pictures of her family in Sacramento stood on the nightstand. Every night she looked at them just before she turned out the lights.
She knew she wouldn’t go to sleep for hours after she turned out the lights. Lately, her emotions had run out-of-control when she didn’t have something to occupy them. She knew the problem. She demonstrated it every night by lying on her back and stretching her arms and legs to the side. Her fingertips and toes never touched another human being. Her bed was always cold and empty.
Delia was willowy. She had curves; definite curves that broadcast to the men around her that she was desirable. Unfortunately, she worked for the Army, and military men tended not to want their wives to tower over them.
The phone rang. Delia answered it. Her best friend, Becky, said, “Delia, how are you?”
“Fine.”
“No, sweetheart. This is Becky. How are you?”
“Beck… I’m ready to die. I knew I’d have trouble getting used to being alone after Ted died, but it’s harder than I thought. I didn’t think I’d be a widow at twenty five. I’m so lonely.”
“Tell me about it.”
Delia sat down on the bed and fell back on the cover. “Actually, It’s going to bed that makes me want to cry. There’s never anyone else there. It used to be a happy place. Now, it’s empty.”
“You and Ted had a great relationship. I can see why it would be hard going back to the single life. What about men? Is there anyone at work who might be husband material?”
“They’re all too short or too married. I have friends, but I’m in charge of all of them. They can’t date the boss.”
“You met someone you liked at the Andersons last week. He was tall.”
“Yes. I thought he had possibilities, but he had tattoos. I saw the edge of one under his shirt. I hate tattoos. He had a scar too. It was on his neck. Maybe it’s because I’m an Army brat, but I can’t handle scars or tattoos.”
“How about a dating site? You could put in that you aren’t open to any man with tattoos or scars.”
Delia sat up. “I feel so bad about that, especially considering where I work. I know we have veterans with scars, and they need to be accepted. I just can’t do it. Speaking of guilt, have I ever told you about my father and brother.”
“You said your brother lost an arm in Afghanistan.”
“I always feel queasy whenever I look at him. My father’s worse. He fought in Viet Nam. Two tours. He has PTSD. My mother does nothing but care for him. It’s wearing her out. I want somebody who isn’t military in any way.”
“That shouldn’t be hard.” There was a pause. “I’ve got to go. I’m cooking a roast, and it needs me.”
“Okay. Bye Beck.”
“Take care.”
Delia walked toward the bathroom and caught her reflection in the full length mirror on the closet door.
She did ‘The Pose’. She’d started doing it when she was a teenager and unsteady in her femininity. It consisted of tilting her hips, lifting one knee and sticking her chest out. She ran her hands up the sides of her chest, moving slowly as her hands went past her breasts. She completed the movement by sliding her hands up her neck into her hair and looking at some imaginary man and smiling. She liked it and did it at least once a day.
The next morning, she drove down to the 140
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Intelligence unit at the Camp Breed military base and parked her car.
She walked to her office and through a door. Ahead of her sat a group of men who were all short or married and who always watched her walk from the door to her office. She liked the attention but couldn’t show it because it would undermine her authority.
The day went well. Her job consisted of handling field agents who investigated terrorist intelligence in the Los Angeles area.
That night she faced her empty bed again. Her face hardened. She turned around and stomped back to her computer. She fired it up and found the Veterans Together website. She’d found out about the website a few days earlier when an advertisement came in the mail.
As she flicked through the list of eligible men, her mouth drew down in discouragement and disgust. She’d seen a lot of soldiers. There was always one or two that captured her attention. The dating site seemed to appeal only to ugly men. She didn’t want to judge men by their looks, but her emotions required it.
She turned to the fifth man on the list and stopped. Luther ‘Stone’ Stonersland caused her to stop moving, even stop breathing. He was handsome and looked rugged and capable. She read his bio. He’d been on two tours of Afghanistan and worked with the Army reserve. She saw his description and nearly fainted. He was six feet eight inches tall. She could wear heels.
She filled out the form to begin contact. She wrote, “Hi Mr. Stonersland. I’m a lonely widow, age 25. I want a good, strong man to date. You can’t have any scars or tattoos. I like an unmarked body.”
Chapter 3
Take A Chance
Stone saw the notice and paced around the room. He knew what he looked like in the mirror. He muttered, “It’s only one date. What the hell. I’d like a date with a beautiful woman. It’ll end when she finds out I have markings on my body, but I’ll enjoy it until then.”
He replied to her message. “Hi Miss Stackhouse. I’m 27. I’m not gorgeous, but I don’t get many complaints. Let’s go to dinner and talk. I’d love to talk with a beautiful woman.”
Luther Stonersland got out of the shower and stood in front of a mirror. Since he’d seen it before, he didn’t notice the depth and breadth of his chest or the size of his arms. He barely glanced at his face. It was a good face, not pretty, but nice, especially when he smiled. When he frowned his buddies told him he looked like the death of all hope.
He counted the bullet holes along his side. He saw five. He had another one on his chest, low on the ribs. It was smaller than the others. There were always six. He measured the slash across his ribs on the other side. It was always as long as the distance between the fingertip on his little finger and the tip of his thumb. He counted the tattoos; still four on the front and three more on his back. His favorite had a girl in a bikini, an American flag and the heftiest Harley Davidson motorcycle that the company made. The words ‘ Babes, Big Bikes and Democracy. Is this a Great Country or What?’ were written underneath.
He moved slowly toward the closet in his bedroom. As he walked, he rubbed his left hip. The Army replaced the hip socket the IED blew apart. The metal joint worked well as soon as he warmed it up in the morning. His knee replacement on the same side not so much. He’d have to go back and have it adjusted. It caught sometimes when he knelt down.
He put on his uniform. He’d wanted to wear something that didn’t have all of his medals and insignia. He couldn’t function as a team leader in his Special Forces unit so he shouldn’t have the round insignia on his arm. The Army disagreed.
He was grateful for the Army’s care. As a Special Forces veteran with a silver star and two bronze stars, they owed him something. He stayed in shape and wanted field assignments. The Army disagreed. His desk job was demanding and important, but it was still a desk job. He didn’t resent it. The Army could have separated him from the Service. They didn’t, and he still qualified for Army medical care. The job gave him something to do during the day. The nights were his own to fill.
He drove to work in the Intelligence Unit of 124
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Special Forces Command. He had to walk down a row of desks with men and women at each one. When he entered through the frosted glass door, They all stood up.
He grinned. This made up for everything else, almost. He did the usual male handshake and pat-on-the-back with the men and got a full hug from the women. Each woman ended the hug with a kiss on the cheek. Nobody spoke. It wasn’t necessary.
His boss was Colonel Andrew Hanson. They had a ceremony each day. It started with Andrew and indicated how the day was going to go.
Sandra Collins walked into his office. “The Colonel wants to see you.”
“Thanks, Sandra.”
Sandra was thirty nine and felt it. She had crows feet from too much sun and wind and a figure she considered bony and unlovely. Her mousy brown hair and dull brown eyes didn’t help much. She was a civilian, hired by the Army as the Colonel’s secretary until someone else could be found.
Colonel Hanson was two years away from retirement. He still had the straight-up posture that the army drilled into him. His blue eyes made women of any age look twice. He was a grandfather five times over.
He walked into Stone’s office and said, “Hey Stone. How’s life today.”
Stone grinned. Andy said ‘Stone’ not ‘Sergeant Stonersland’ which meant no big fires to put out and they could loosen up slightly. “Same old. Same old.”
At age twenty six, Stone could have been Andy’s son. Sometimes Stone felt like he was.
The Colonel said, “How did you sleep last night?”
“Just one dream, and I didn’t scream once.”
The Colonel looked at him with intensity and didn’t speak.
Stone said, “Alright. I’ll give you the entire situation. The therapy works as long as I don’t have a lot of stress. Last night was better. The doctor says she likes me.”
“Your therapist likes you. Might be a chance there.”
“No,” Stone shook his head. “She’s almost sixty, gives me a hug after every session.”
“Better than a punch in the mouth.”
“True.”
The day went well. Stone knew Intelligence work. He coordinated the surveillance of their possible suspects and loved when it a complicated task was completed successfully.
The day had to end. They all did. Stone drove home in silence. He could have gone to a bar with his friends, but he didn’t drink. Growing up with an alcoholic father made him uncomfortable in bars.
He ate, watched TV and worked on his computer until bedtime. He took a hot bath to help his muscles and prosthetics settle down. The bed was still empty. He looked at it in disgust. He stood still for a moment, trying to think of some way of avoiding the sterile bed. He found one. He’d joined a website dating service the day before. He checked Veterans Together and saw a response to his ad. He answered.
He was so excited he couldn’t sleep. To keep his mind occupied, he went through the steps of making a cherry pie. He’d made one the day before, and he could smell it from the kitchen.
