When She's Mine (The Forever Collection Book 2) Read online

  W H E N S H E ’ S M I N E

  ___________________________________________________

  By

  Dani Wyatt

  Copyright © 2016

  by Dani Wyatt

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places,

  events and incidents are either the products

  of the author’s imagination

  or used in a fictitious manner.

  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,

  is purely coincidental.

  www.daniwyatt.com

  Cover Credit PopKitty

  Editing Nicci Haydon

  Cover Photo Lindee Robinson

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  When She's Mine

  C H A P T E R O N E

  C H A P T E R T W O

  C H A P T E R T H R E E

  C H A P T E R F O U R

  C H A P T E R F I V E

  C H A P T E R S I X

  C H A P T E R S E V E N

  C H A P T E R E I G H T

  C H A P T E R N I N E

  C H A P T E R T E N

  C H A P T E R E L E V E N

  C H A P T E R T W E L V E

  C H A P T E R T H I R T E E N

  C H A P T E R F O U R T E E N

  C H A P T E R F I F T E E N

  C H A P T E R S I X T E E N

  E P I L O G U E

  WHERE SHE BELONGS

  SWEET RIDE

  Other Titles by Dani Wyatt

  FOLLOW ME

  Thank You.

  A NOTE TO MY READERS:

  I appreciate every one of you.

  Dedicated to the Poptart lovers out there

  And those who believe every girl deserves

  An orgasm (or ten) her first time.

  .

  Stalkers welcome.

  Sordid fun and other dirty shenanigans

  Follow me here: FACEBOOK AUTHOR PAGE

  Be my Friend here: FACEBOOK FRIENDS

  Visit my author page

  Dani Wyatt on Amazon

  C H A P T E R O N E

  LEAH

  It was a nice little service. My sister’s wedding that is, to her whirlwind new love, Decker. I’m happy.

  Right?

  Well, let’s go with ambivalent.

  You know what else I am?

  Horny.

  I can’t believe I just used that word. I’ve never felt that before and I’m not sure I know how I feel about feeling it now.

  But, my God. The man that’s about to sit in the back of the limo with me is causing all these new sensations. They are confusing to say the least.

  And wonderful.

  And a little wet.

  I mean...the sensations are making me wet. Gah. This is uncomfortable.

  Allister.

  That’s his name. That’s a great name.

  He’s Decker’s best man and best friend. I do my best not to stare as he lowers himself into the back of the limo, leaving the door still open behind him. I hear the rustling of leaves, the shrill call and response of birds, the scuff of shoes on gravel as my driver approaches.

  Allister Marshall fills the available space: side to side, roof to floor. His massive hands come to rest on his thighs, just above his knees, and I notice him squeeze gently. I’m mesmerized by the veins that stand out, shifting against the tendons on the back of hands that look as though they could crush bone.

  My gaze drifts a bit upward as a deep breath fills his chest. His lungs fill and the starched white shirt he wears under his perfected fitted charcoal gray suit stretches across his the flat of his chest.

  He looks directly at me, and I do my best to swallow the golf ball lodged in my throat. The look in his eyes... the hunger... it’s as though he’s afraid I will disappear.

  Hunger.

  For me.

  The girl with braces on her legs. The girl that gives in to the wheelchair at night because she can’t stand the pain anymore.

  Me.

  This man wants me in some way.

  Maybe in ways I’ve only read about in my stacks of books with wispy, corseted women on the covers.

  Ways I’ve never known in real life.

  Never felt.

  I feel it in the dampness between my legs and the hairs standing up at the nape of my neck.

  It’s a fight to try to make eye contact. My eyes flit and fly around, alighting briefly on pieces and parts of him. Not staying anywhere long enough for him to notice, then landing on some incredibly compelling fleck of dust on the floor.

  I’m fairly sure there is some secret Zeus clone factory that spat him out. Where every single specimen is checked, double and triple checked to assure its gritty, masculine perfection before it is unleashed on the women of the world for them to swoon and drool over. This mythical factory that must have created Allister made him with a heartbeat so fierce it resonates in the very air that fills the space in the back of the car.

  And his heartbeat must be setting the pace for my own, because mine is threatening to burst out of my chest. He looks so comfortable sitting here in this deafening silence. His cut features look intensely relaxed.

  One of his golden brown eyes is slightly more closed than the other. A short growth of dark hair covers his formerly slick bald head and I wonder what made him start to grow it out.

  Wilson, my driver, closes the limo door behind Allister with a soft click. I feel the slight movement of the car as he sets himself in the driver’s seat and shuts his own door.

  Allister is older than me by more than a bit; I see it in the lines around his eyes. The three horizontal lines that accent his forehead make me think the years between us are slightly less than ten. That only flutters my heart more. He’s other things besides just older.

  Experienced.

  Controlled.

  Impeccable.

  The limo moves with barely any noise down the expressway. The Bentley insulated and made for luxury.

  Why doesn’t he say something? God, this is so uncomfortable. How can he sit there looking so calm?

  The silence throws me over the edge into my suffocating anxiety. The growing heat and tingling that is forcing me to press my legs tightly together also forces me to break the silence.

  “I can’t believe my little sister is married.” It’s impossible to hide the quiver in my voice. The words tumble out in a single, long stream.

  My face is flaming hot as Allister swallows and shifts his hips, then the limo gives a slight jerk as Wilson maneuvers through traffic heading for Decker’s guest house. I’ve been staying there ever since the police found me locked and bound in a room in the basement of my family’s mansion.

  Well, the police were there, anyway. Really, the person who found me was him.

  Allister.

  Why do I love that name so much?

  “Why can’t you believe she’s married?” Allister’s voice matches his physical presence perfectly, like a sonic boom, so powerful it nearly throws my head into the headrest, as if Wilson had just slammed on the brakes.

  It’s a reasonable question, and I turn away, looking out of the window, trying to think of an answer that doesn’t make me sound like a selfish brat.

  I was afraid of Allister when he came in that room to rescue me. That day a couple weeks ago when he walked into the lo
cked, dark room at the estate where I’d been hidden away still plays over and over in my dreams.

  The next moment I felt relieved, surrounded by people, light streaming in from the doorway. I remember my first thought.

  I’m Safe.

  Then there was Allister, nearly blocking out the light again, and I screamed at him. I pounded him with my fists as soon as he cut the bindings. Not one of my blows drew a wince from him. But they did hurt.

  Not him. My little, cotton candy fists banging against the solid lead under his clothes.

  Now I’m lost in my feelings, the contradiction of them. Just being this close has my breath coming short... teetering between fear and awe.

  I sense the undertone of his kind nature, the golden heart glowing straight through his perfectly tailored suit. And yet, on the other hand, he represents everything that I’ve lost. He is Decker’s best friend.

  Decker, who’s taken May away from me.

  Right when I need her the most.

  I shake away the selfish thought. May is happy. Decker is amazing. I’m being a petulant child.

  “I don’t know.” I consider his question about May and try to pluck up an honest answer. “I should be the one taking care of her, not some stranger she only just met.”

  His eyes rest on me and I shrink back into the seat. They remind me of a tiger’s eyes, gold and deep brown. They’re fascinating but in an almost unnatural way. I can’t tell where the gold ends and the brown begins.

  I look out the window before adding, “She just doesn’t seem grown up to me.”

  Ugh, I wish my heart would stop fluttering.

  “I can see that.” A low chuckle catches in his throat in agreement. “Bet you had your hands full with her since your mom and dad passed, right? I can’t tell you how sorry I am for your loss.”

  He looks down, his enormous hands rasping back and forth over the gray wool, working their way from knee to mid-thigh and back. I’m mesmerized by the movement.

  “I know it was years ago you lost your parents, but God.” His gaze moves from the floor to the ceiling and then back to me. “You’ve been hurt so much.”

  Something about his voice hits me in my belly. A flock of butterflies batting their wings flick and tickle me from the inside.

  They are the same ones that are tip-toeing all over the skin on my arms and neck. I’m fidgeting. Shifting from hip to hip, my hands finding it impossible to light anywhere for more than a second or two.

  I know I’m avoiding Allister’s eyes, but I can’t stop myself. My mind is filled with thoughts of how Victor would never meet your eye when he’d speak, like he didn’t really want to acknowledge that you were there. He was Simon our conservator’s son and May’s former fiancé. I hope I don’t have to see him or Simon ever again. Never. They should be out of my life for good. No more overlords.

  Now they are convicts.

  Although Victor is out on bond. And that thought turns the happy butterfly parade to a cold chill.

  But while Victor would never look you in the eye, Allister is the polar opposite. Although right now I’d welcome a break from his fastidious gaze, dissecting parts of me from across the back of the car.

  Power ripples off him like silent thunder, making it hard to breathe and harder to try to hide the contraptions on my legs that I wear as a constant reminder of what one person’s careless, selfish decisions can do.

  A four-pound bouquet of white roses and pink and purple peonies sits on the supple, caramel-colored leather next to me. The bouquet I just held for my sister’s wedding.

  She doesn’t need me anymore.

  The scent of the flowers is suddenly overpowering. I didn’t carry them as I walked up the aisle, though. No, I sat with them in my lap, because the thought of limping up the aisle on my metal crutches, the thought of the clink, clink, clink of the braces that hold my legs in place... well, it wasn’t a humiliation I chose to endure so I took a seat at May’s side while the rest of them walked up the aisle until it was time for their vows.

  I struggled to stand there, doing my best to not sway and grimace through the ceremony, but it took a lot out of me.

  There were no other attendees besides May, Decker, myself and Allister. Just us and the Justice of the Peace. But still. I wish I didn’t have to always be ‘considered.’ The car accident crushed both my femurs into confetti and left my lower legs decorated with titanium pins and bolts.

  But May looked so happy today, I have to admit. Even though the selfish part of me worries about what I’ll do with my life now, I can’t deny the joy I feel seeing her so much in love.

  And oh my god, Decker cried during their vows. Which made me cry. There is something about a strong, tough man showing true emotion that gets me every time.

  Their relationship might have been a whirlwind, but I’ve never been able to deny the love I see between them. Not only see it, I can feel it too.

  The way Deck looks at May is something I wish for myself someday. He worships the ground she walks on and I’m so happy she’s found her Prince Charming, I really am. They remind me of Mom and Dad, and that’s something special.

  My parents started out differently, of course. In our world, arranged marriages are as common as dandelions in spring. But they ended up falling deeply in love and we grew up watching a perfect example of how a husband honored and loved his wife.

  I’m happy that we had that, an example of how it should be, but the lump in my throat reminds me that for myself, as much as I might not want to admit it, being a wife and mother is my dream. And yet, with what the accident took from me, it is the one thing I may never have. I still have my writing and my books, and that comes in as a close second. Oh, and blueberry Poptarts.

  Always blueberry Poptarts.

  And that will have to do for this life.

  The limo makes a sharp right turn and I shoot my arm out to brace myself from falling over. It’s not like Wilson to make such an abrupt move. And suddenly, the scent of the flowers doesn’t mask Allister’s own earthy, manly cologne. Combine that with our close proximity and the one glass of champagne I drank feels more like six. Thinking of Mom and Dad, May and Decker, only makes sitting here with Allister that much more humiliating.

  I’ve never reacted like this to a man. My life has always been about protecting May and trying to keep us safe. But right now, when I take a breath or even blink my eyes, all I see is him. The way he looks at me hurts because I know I’ll never have the kind of love I dream of.

  No one will want me like this let alone a man like him. How could they?

  Where May is naturally captivating, energetic and beautiful, chirpy and nearly dancing through each day, I’m broken and crooked. Serious and a bit distrustful.

  May used to always tell me how beautiful I was. How she thought of me as Cinderella at the ball. Or how she would do her best runway model walk in my bedroom. Strutting her stuff while saying I was the one that should be walking the runway in Paris or Milan.

  I never saw it before the accident and well after, I can barely look in the mirror.

  My mind is warped, half wanting to snatch May back from her happiness so that I can keep her for myself. I’m sure I’m mistaking what I see in Allister’s eyes. It must be pity, not want, because how could it be anything else?

  The Bentley limo we are in is one of our family cars, so it’s just a standard, hearse black classic limousine. Not one of the bachelorette-party-super-stretch kinds with an interior adorned with disco ball and moon roof.

  Which sets Allister and I closer than I would like. A yard stick wouldn’t fit between us.

  I catch myself shaking my head again, trying to shake off the feeling, but it just keeps coming right back.

  I clear my throat before I look at his hands again and do my best to keep my voice steady. “You didn’t need to come, you know. I can manage on my own.” Each word is snappy and I’m immediately sorry. Instead of apologizing, I turn to look out the window instead of acknowledgin
g my defensive coping mechanism.

  I glance back to see Allister tip his head to the side an inch. His lips tighten a bit as he tries to stay the smile that is threatening to erupt. For a second, anger bubbles up inside me, thinking the expression is condescending, but then I see the deep kindness in his intense eyes and I melt back into my seat.

  “I’ve seen how well you manage on your own.” His return tone is nothing but kind. “I just wanted to escort you home, that’s all. Every lady should have an escort, be treated with reverence and respect. It has nothing to do with what you can or can’t do, Leah.”

  My name on his lips sends adrenaline racing through me.

  “Sorry.” I attempt to meet his eyes but I can only bear it for a couple heartbeats before my gaze drops and lands squarely at his crotch. That only ignites new fire in my cheeks and forces me to bite back the little moan that comes from my throat. “I’m not sure why I’m being so rude to you.”

  It’s the first honest thing I’ve said to him and relief swims through me.

  “It’s okay, Leah.”

  We ride in silence for the last few miles. I don’t look back at him but there is no mistaking that he’s keeping his eyes on me the entire time.

  By the time the limo pulls into the driveway of Decker’s house, I’m ready to leap out of my skin. Instead of looking at him, I study the house like I’ve never seen it before. Its sleek, modern lines and lush, manicured gardens. A guesthouse typical of Decker’s way of life, I suppose, but such a contrast with the opulent mansion where I’ve lived until two weeks ago.

  Decker told May he’d designed both the main house and guest house himself. He’s a fan of architecture, with Frank Lloyd Wright being one of his favorites, and he even has one of the famous architect’s quotes chiseled into an enormous boulder that accents the garden at the entryway of the main house. It reads, ‘If you invest in beauty, it will remain with you all the days of your life.’

  “Well, thank you for escorting me.” That snarky tone seeps back in and I don’t know why I’m such a brat to Allister. I adjust my attitude before finishing. “Wilson will take you wherever you need to go. I’ll get myself to the door.” I lean forward, my body tense, ready for the onslaught of humiliation that will accompany me as I get out of the car.