Safe From the Dark Read online

  SAFE FROM THE DARK

  By Lily Rede

  SAFE FROM THE DARK

  Copyright 2012 by Lily Rede

  All Rights Reserved

  First Kindle Edition, November 2012

  WARNING: This work contains explicit depictions of couples engaged in consensual sex and sexual situations. If you’re under 18, read something else!

  ADDITIONAL WORKS AVAILABLE AS SINGLE TITLES

  Hot for Joe

  Build Me Up

  My Fair Hex

  Passion & Pumpkins

  Pour On the Heat

  ANTHOLOGIES

  Hot & Sweet - Beginnings

  Email Lily at [email protected]

  Twitter: @RedeLily

  For my writing girls, who never let me stop.

  Contents

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  SAFE FROM THE DARK

  PROLOGUE

  THE SOUNDS OF PASSION were grating – soft murmurs and husky laughter muffled by the partially demolished walls of the house on this side and the sheets of rain pummeling the tarp overhead. It was a good hiding spot, the half-finished addition to the structure – no one would think to look here, and one could listen to every incriminating moment of seduction. Sin.

  She had come over, despite the rain, and Colin had met her at the door with surprise, exhaustion etched on his face. The poor man needed sleep, but she had talked her way in, her bleached hair artfully tousled, her overblown breasts brushing against him, her breathy voice promising all manner of carnal delights. He was no match for her aggressive overtures – how could he be? He was only a man, and men had needs that had to be fulfilled.

  It’s not his fault. It’s hers, the slut, spreading her legs for any eager cock that came along, luring good men into the muck.

  Right now he was probably taking off her tight clothes, filling his hands with her bloated curves, listening to her lies while she gloried in his strength and heat. He had ignored the little warning notes over the last few weeks, letting himself be drawn into sin and decay. He didn’t understand. The rage that followed the thought was hot and then icy cold.

  Patience. Love is patient. But maybe a stronger warning. Before it’s too late.

  The red SUV in the driveway glistened in the morning light, its wet lines mocking, like red lips curved in a seductive smile. Like blood.

  Above, a sigh of pleasure and a rough male groan.

  Wrath.

  Mine.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “SON OF A BITCH!”

  Evie Asher swerved to avoid the fallen tree, only to feel the sedan jerk as the tires sank six inches into the mud off the side of what only the most charitable of lunatics would call a road. It was only mid-afternoon, but the thunderclouds and sheets of rain had darkened the October day to twilight and turned the dirt road into sludge. Ten minutes of spinning wheels confirmed her bad luck – stuck fast.

  Fucking perfect, Evie thought, and slammed her hand against the steering wheel, instantly regretting it as splinters of pain shot up her aching arm to the partially-healed wounds in her shoulder and side. She had ignored the sling for the trip from New York, finding it awkward to drive one-handed, but after ten hours, even Evie’s legendary stamina was giving out and her whole left side was one big, burning ache. She squinted through the rain-slicked windshield at the split road ahead and considered her options. If memory served, her grandmother’s cabin was about a mile up the right fork. The nearest neighbors were the Daniels, a half mile down the opposite fork.

  Evie had a vague recollection of her Gram taking her to visit Martha Daniels, who smelled of lemon and clean linen, cooing over her and wishing she had a little girl of her own. It was a nice memory, one of Evie’s last good ones before her life went to hell. She wondered if Mrs. Daniels would remember her fondly or if disapproval would fill her eyes when she opened the door. If Evie were lucky, she wouldn’t remember her at all. Evie had changed, grown up miraculously in one piece, and remade her life as a tough and capable member of the NYPD, until a few weeks ago, when two bullets had knocked her out of commission and her monumentally bad relationship decision had blown up in her face. Apparently the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

  The discovery that her grandmother had left her the property in Bright’s Ferry, despite everything, had been a welcome surprise. There was a chance the gossip hadn’t spread this far. Bright’s Ferry was about as rural as you could get, quietly tucked against a secluded New England bay, a good spot to start over. Unless, of course, your parents were at the center of the biggest town scandal in decades. Still, it had been twenty years, and Evie had nowhere else to go.

  Maybe this time it will stick, she thought with a sigh.

  At the very least, Martha and Hank Daniels would let her use the phone to call the town’s lone garage. It was the good human thing to do, regardless of whatever news about her might have made it back to them.

  Evie checked her cell phone, unsurprised by the lack of bars, and shoved it into her backpack. There was no way around it, she was going to get soaked. She had never waited around to be rescued, and she wasn’t about to start now. Evie took a quick glance around the car, reached for the door handle, and then paused.

  You don’t need the gun, she reminded her inner cop, who grumbled.

  A brief inner struggle and Evie opened the glove compartment, grabbed her 9mm, and awkwardly shrugged into her shoulder holster, gasping in pain. She immediately felt better when the weight of the weapon settled into its customary place, and cautiously eased her hoodie on over it.

  One more hour, she promised herself. One more hour and you’ll be lounging in front of a fireplace, drinking a nice pinot and reading about the dark-eyed Sabatino doing deliciously illicit things to his Contessa on the library floor.

  She hefted the backpack onto her good side and stepped out into the rain.

  SHIVERING AND COMPLETELY DRENCHED, Evie dropped her backpack on the Daniels’ porch. It was a beautiful hundred-year-old farmhouse that was obviously in the process of being restored – scaffolding protected a new wing off the side of the two-story structure. Evie spared only a quick glance around – her teeth were starting to chatter.

  Fingers tight with cold, Evie raised a hand to knock.

  Nothing.

  Come on, come on.

  Someone had to be home, judging from the sporty little SUV in the driveway sitting next to a more utilitarian truck. The lights within blazed with beckoning warmth and the smoky scent of a fireplace teased Evie with promises of heat and comfort.

  She knocked harder, kicking the door for good measure, stumbling back as it jerked open.

  “What the hell, Tom? Can’t a guy take one Sunday afternoon – ”

  He broke off abruptly, hazel eyes widening.

  Evie tried to form words, but her brain inconveniently chose that moment to shut down, obviously overloaded by impending hypothermia and the sight of six plus feet of bare, tanned muscle standing in the doorway, clutching a blanket around his waist with lean, elegant hands. His skin had a light sheen of sweat and his dark hair was ruffled over those bright hazel eyes.

  Hot.

  Even the inner cop whimpered and she gave it
a mental shove.

  Pull it together, Asher.

  “I’m so sorry to bother you, but I was looking for Mr. or Mrs. Daniels – ”

  His brows snapped together with a frown.

  “They’re dead. Over a year now. Car accident.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I was headed to the old Asher cabin down the road and my car got stuck.”

  “You were trying to get out there in this?”

  Incredulous, he gestured and the blanket slipped just a bit, exposing another inch of taut waist and a narrow pelt of dark hair under his navel that arrowed downward in a most interesting manner.

  Evie swallowed and kept her eyes on his.

  “I just need a phone to call the garage, if that’s okay.”

  “Colin?” The breathy voice drifting down the stairs had Evie’s face heating in a blush, despite her shivers, as her brain stuttered back into working order.

  Two cars in the driveway, panting sex god in the doorway. Way to go, Asher. You just cock-blocked your new neighbor.

  Said sex god muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “Fucking hell,” and stepped back to let her in.

  “Give me five minutes and I’ll take you myself.”

  “You really don’t have to do that.”

  She wavered slightly as she stepped into the warmth of the house, closing her eyes for a moment as heat curled around her frozen limbs. Evie shuddered in reaction.

  “Colin!”

  The voice was less breathy and more annoyed, and Evie caught a glimpse of a buxom blonde in a blue lace confection on the upstairs landing. It looked uncomfortable, but Evie supposed it wasn’t designed to be worn for long. The woman’s silicone breasts were clearly trying to make a strategic escape to avoid chafing.

  “Wait here while I get some clothes on.” He pointed toward a living room, where a fire crackled merrily in the fireplace and the remains of a romantic interlude were strewn on the coffee table – half a bottle of wine, a couple of glasses.

  “It’s not necessary – ”

  The sex god paused at the foot of the stairs, impatient.

  “Pete Jackson runs the garage by himself, and I’m pretty sure he’s got his hands full helping other stranded drivers crazy enough to be out in this mess. I’m not going to make him drop everything to come all the way out here when I can have you over at the Asher cabin in fifteen minutes. Okay?”

  Evie started to retort, but then shut her mouth and nodded. She was cranky, wet, and still freezing. If there was ever a time to make her Type-A tendencies take five, this was it. Her half-naked knight in shining blanket turned his back on her and headed up the stairs, treating her to the sight of the strong curve of his spine and more slabs of muscle leading down to what was no doubt a perfectly sculpted ass.

  Evie squelched the long-dormant lust circuits that sparked to life and made a bee-line for the fireplace.

  “I’M BEING PUNISHED,” COLIN muttered as he pulled on jeans in front of a seriously pissed off Deirdre Small. She was busily covering up those bombshell curves she had been so busily baring for him just a little while ago.

  Sorry, old buddy, he thought to his poor, neglected cock.

  “I knew this wasn’t going to happen.”

  “Come on, Deirdre, this will only take a few minutes. Then I’ll be back and we can – ”

  “I’m not in the mood anymore.”

  Fully dressed, she glared at him with icy baby blues.

  “Last week it was that meeting for the Harvest Festival, and the week before it was the high school pep rally, and the week before that it was that stupid Town Hall meeting that went over by like, six hours. It’s always something, Colin!”

  “I’m the mayor, Deirdre, remember? You were at the swearing-in?”

  “Well, I didn’t realize that meant you were never going to fuck me again! You work twenty-four hours a day and now you’re skipping sex to go help some stranded tourist?”

  “I couldn’t just leave her out there. What do you want me to do?”

  “Get your priorities straight, Mr. Mayor.”

  Fluffing her bleached curls, she disappeared into the bathroom and slammed the door.

  Colin winced and reached for his boots. Deirdre Small had always been something of a drama queen, but she was eager and available and more interested in his body than in any long-term relationship. Unfortunately, in recent weeks, the sex – when his schedule actually opened up enough to permit such a thing – had become a little boring. Colin couldn’t quite pinpoint the problem. She was hot, uninhibited, and always let him take charge. Lately, it just left him a little…uninspired.

  He pulled on a sweater and grabbed a clean sweatshirt from a drawer before reaching for his keys and heading back downstairs. Maybe once he took care of his clueless half-drowned guest, Deirdre would be back in the mood to help him burn off some of the stress he’d built up in the six weeks since he’d become mayor of Bright’s Ferry. Colin sighed, knowing she’d be out the door by the time his truck cleared the driveway. Irritation sizzled through him and he decided to place the blame squarely on the crazy woman downstairs.

  Colin stepped into the living room.

  “I thought you might want – ”

  He stopped short, awareness prickling along every nerve ending. Talk about inspiration.

  The woman was standing in front of the fireplace, eyes closed, mouth dropped open in pleasure as she absorbed the heat. Her hair was drying to long ribbons of rich brown, and she’d removed the soaked hoodie to reveal a white tank top that lovingly hugged a curvy, compact little body and sweet breasts that would fit his hands to perfection. Colin drank in every line, feeling a little like a voyeur, and then frowned as his eyes landed on the bandages that covered one shoulder and spread down her side.

  The frown deepened at the sight of the gun in the holster, lying on the coffee table.

  “I hope you have a permit for that.”

  She looked up as he spoke, her clear gray eyes wide and framed by thick lashes. Her face was devoid of makeup, and she nervously licked a lush lower lip.

  “I’m a cop. That is, I was a cop.”

  God, she’s pretty. He hadn’t noticed before, but now she was warm and dry, with firelight licking along those sweet curves. The hard punch of lust surprised him, settling low in his abdomen. He struggled to focus on more important things.

  “What happened?” He gestured at her bandages.

  “It’s nothing.” She reached for her soaked hoodie, grimacing in distaste.

  “Here.” Colin stepped forward with the sweatshirt, and for a moment it looked like she was going to turn it down. “Come on, I’m just trying to be helpful.”

  “I don’t need help.”

  His skepticism must have shown because she had the grace to blush and snatch the sweatshirt from his hands. For a moment, Colin watched her try to pull it over her head, jostling her bad side as little as possible, and trying to smother the little gasps of pain when she moved the wrong way. Rolling his eyes, he stepped forward and carefully untangled her from the fabric. She stiffened immediately. Colin worked on keeping his hands to himself, though his fingers tingled at the accidental brush of soft skin at her waist where her tank rode up. He stepped back.

  “Thanks,” she muttered grudgingly, “I’m Evie.”

  The sweatshirt bagged on her, falling to her thighs and slipping off one shoulder as she reached out a hand. Something hot moved through Colin at the sight of her wrapped in his clothes, but he shook it off and enveloped her hand in his, noting the firm grip and graceful fingers.

  “Colin Daniels. Welcome to Bright’s Ferry.”

  THE COLD, WET DASH to Colin’s truck doused most of the precious warmth Evie had greedily soaked up in front of the fireplace. Her shoulder and side were on fire, and every muscle was tight with exhaustion. She stared out the window of the spacious cab in disbelief at the downpour that showed no signs of letting up.

  “Is it always like this?”


  “Wait until it starts snowing,” Colin grinned, running a hand through his damp hair and cranking the heater, “Mother Nature doesn’t do anything by half up here.”

  Evie noted resentfully that while she probably looked like a wet cat, Colin Daniels still looked like a cover model, with drops of water beading the lashes of those incredible eyes, and more running down his jacket. She was too miserable to really appreciate the fine male specimen in all his hotness, but she wasn’t dead yet. Still, she focused her attention out the window as he put the truck in gear and slowly pulled out of the driveway.

  “Looks like someone keyed your girlfriend’s car pretty badly. Did she report it?”

  Colin looked over, frowning at the ugly scratches that marred the cherry red paint on one side of the SUV.

  “When did that happen? Shit, she’s going to throw a fit.”

  He shook his head and eased the truck onto the road, carefully making his way back down through the sludge that Evie had plodded through earlier.

  “And Deirdre’s not – ” He cut the statement off abruptly.

  She’s not what? Not my girlfriend, she’s my wife? My mistress? My fuck buddy?

  Evie immediately berated herself for being curious one way or another, and readjusted the vents to blast warm air over her chilled skin, burrowing into the borrowed sweatshirt that smelled of clean laundry, cedar, and faintly of a spicy, woodsy aftershave that she told herself didn’t care for even as she took another heady breath.

  “I’m so sorry to hear about Martha and Hank. What happened?”

  “They hit a patch of black ice one night around Christmas and Dad lost control of the car. Did you know them?”

  The pain in his voice was not a surprise, but the way he covered it with cool control felt uncomfortably familiar to Evie.

  “I met them a couple of times. They were nice.” The words were inadequate, but really, what could she say in the face of such blinding loss? “I didn’t realize that they had a son.”