Enslaved (The Inbetween Novels) (43 page)

Shayla didn’t know what they were going to do for receptionist when she came up with the idea to open the center. Then Faye quit her job two weeks before the baby was due. She wanted to have more time with her little girl. Shayla offered her the job on the grounds she could take as much personal time as she wanted and they converted the suite’s lunchroom into a daycare and nursery. Having Emma in the office with them gave clients a slice of hope they couldn’t have instilled otherwise.

Deryck stepped behind Shayla and pulled her into his arms. “I give them two hours before they’re in bed. Steve was already thinking about it. I didn’t have to do anything.”

“At least they have a sex life. The Stephenson’s won’t touch each other and I’m not sure she wants to have a second child or if it is expected of her.” Shayla had been worrying over them since their first appointment.

He kissed the top of her head. “We’ll worry about the Stephenson’s later. They don’t come in until tomorrow.”

Faye joined them in the short hall leading to their offices. She had Emma strapped across her chest with some sort of infant-sized hammock. The baby snoozed. Faye brushed her hair and smiled. “It’s your anniversary and you’re still working? I thought for sure you’d call to cancel your appointments today and stay in bed.”

“She wouldn’t let me.”

“I didn’t want our happiness to be at someone else’s expense. They looked cheerful when they left. I’m glad we didn’t move their appointment.” She needed to see their success. It made all of the work and stress worth it in the end.

“It will work this time. We’ve done all we can, the rest is up to them.” Deryck closed and locked their office doors. “Faye, would you lock up the suite, please? We’ll be out for the rest of the night, but if something comes up, call.”

Faye gave a knowing smile. “Have fun, you two.”

Deryck slid into the passenger side of Shayla’s Mazda. He had yet to master driving further than a straight shot down the street in front of their home. Right turns were hairy, and the last attempt he made at a left turn ended with the car’s front wheels on the sidewalk. Shayla did all the driving, which made his desire to surprise her difficult. He was glad for the GPS program on his phone, though. He held it in his lap, the screen hidden from Shayla when she joined him in the car.

“Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise, sweetheart. Follow the GPS’s directions.”

“You’re bad at being sneaky.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek.

“I’m getting better at it.”

The car slipped into gear. Shayla followed the robotic male voice of the GPS, driving toward the freeway leading north of the city. She made all of the right turns, occasionally tossing a glance his way. They were leaving the city behind and drove on a small two-lane road cutting through the foothills. The car pulled off the road and parked at the command of the robotic voice from his phone.

Shayla leaned against the wheel to look at the hill to their right. “Did you bring me out to the middle of nowhere so no one could hear me scream? This is kinda creepy, honey.”

Laughing, Deryck climbed out of the car and circled toward the back. “No, I brought you out here so I wouldn’t have to share you with anyone. Pop the trunk.”

The Mazda’s trunk unlatched and bobbed open, exposing two large picnic baskets and two bags full of a tarp, blankets, and pillows. A pair of electric lanterns were tucked against the sides of the trunk so they wouldn’t roll around.

Shayla climbed out of her seat. “When did you pack all of that in there? More importantly, how did you fit it all?” She reached for one of the lanterns.

He playfully tapped her hand. “I can do this. Sit and wait. I don’t want you hurting yourself in those shoes.”

Shayla leaned against the car. Deryck couldn’t resist stealing a kiss before he snagged the tarp out of one of the bags and spread it out on the flattest piece of ground he could find further up the hillside. He used a few rocks to hold it flat while he went back for the bags with the blankets. In about fifteen minutes, he’d fashioned an area larger than a king-size bed resembling the floor of a harem tent straight out of an old movie—pillows and trays of exotic food scattered everywhere with room to sit and relax. All they were missing was a dancing girl and some music, but he refused to share Shayla with anyone else on their anniversary.

Deryck walked down to the car and handed Shayla a pile of clothes. He wanted her to be comfortable. She smiled at the set of her favorite pajamas and sandals. “Go sit. I’ll join you when I’ve changed.”

He sat at the nearest edge of the blankets, watching Shayla in the front seat of her car. She stripped off her shoes and pantyhose. Without removing her skirt, she pulled the sleep pants up. Only then did she shimmy out of the skirt. Deryck grinned. She had no clue how entertaining her little show was.

Shayla locked the car and joined him. “Enjoying yourself?”

“I loved the little wiggle move you did to take off your bra.”

“Letch.” She kissed him. “Thank you for the change of clothes.”

“Anything to make you happy.” He laid back and grabbed a tray from across the blankets. “Speaking of . . . .”

“Potstickers. I love you.” She snagged one and popped it in her mouth.

“I will assume you were talking to me and not the food.”

Shayla chewed, her eyes closed. “It’s a draw. Those are really good.”

He knew they were. All of the food he’d packed was from her favorite restaurants and aisles in the grocery store. Deryck picked up a cracker from the cheese tray he’d made and scooped a bit of soft white cheese onto it. Shayla reached for it, but he ate it instead. She huffed and leaned over his lap to get her own. He took the opportunity to massage her ass, noting at some point she’d taken off her panties. His fingers traced the line where they should be.

Shayla looked over her shoulder. “If I’m going to be comfortable, I wasn’t going to leave my underwear on.”

“Have I told you how much I love the way you think?”

She sat up, a triple layer sandwich of crackers and cheese in hand. “Nearly every day, but you could say it more often.”

Deryck opened the wine. He kept Shayla’s glass full until he was sure she’d left the worries of work and their life behind. She’d been incredibly tense during the long process of getting their offices together, down to hauling boxes of paintings and desk parts up the elevator by herself. She needed the down time. This was the first time he’d seen her smile easily in weeks.

Glass in hand, Shayla laid back into the pile of pillows. Deryck let her relax and packed up the food so bugs and the gods know what else tried to steal their romantic feast. He topped off their glasses and set them on the other side of the pillow on a metal tray to keep them from spilling. Shayla tugged him down beside her. He couldn’t deny her and rested his head beside hers on a large pillow. Their hands found each other, fingers intertwining. For a while they laid there, content to watch the first stars chase the sun over the horizon in their dark blue-black blanket.

“I want to expand our reach,” Shayla said, breaking the silence.

“How so?” They’d done what they could to reach doctors who’d refer patients to them. Short of having a dancing sperm outside the building, he couldn’t figure out a way to bring in new clients. They needed to be patient, but if she had an idea, he’d love to hear it.

“After Cyrus—Eros—died, I was left alone, dealing with the miscarriage and it damn near drove me insane. You can’t understand how it is to feel something alive inside you one day and the next, there’s nothing. And you’re left with a room full of tiny clothes and things that eat at you. I didn’t rebuild my life hundreds of miles from the home I’d been married in to escape Cyrus’s memory. I left to get away from Ryan. That’s what I wanted to name him, my boy. They won’t know that where he is now.” A tear rolled down the side of her upturned face and soaked into the hair above her ear.

Deryck dried the tear’s trail with his thumb and did the same on the other side. He cradled her head on his shoulder. “If you think you can handle it, we will.”

“I don’t want these women to be left alone.”

He kissed her brow. “They have a good champion in you.”

Shayla gave a short laugh. “Min didn’t give me his blood for me to champion distraught women.” She sat up suddenly, eyes wide and excited. “All incubi are taken at eight months in the womb, right?”

He wasn’t following her line of logic. “Yes, I believe so. Why?”

“Deryck, if we find another case like mine—a woman who miscarries at eight months and loses her husband shortly after—we may have the key to freeing another incubus. What if we find a way to match them up? I think this is what Min wanted me to do.”

He shook his head, wishing she were correct if it would help ease her mind. “He doesn’t care about the women the god’s abuse, Shayla.”

“You’re wrong. I can’t tell you why, but you are.”

Passion flared in her eyes. Her energy danced across his skin. She truly meant what she said. Even if he said no, voiced his concern about her tackling her past face-to-face through the emotions of their potential clients, she’d press on. Deryck’s hands were tied, he knew it. Shayla had a point, though. They were best suited to help not only the human women the gods had used, but his brethren trapped in their service. There was a lot of risk involved. They couldn’t do it alone.

“You’ll have to play go-between and arrange things with Wolfrik if we’re going to make this work.”

Shayla made a happy noise and crawled on top of him. Her lips found his. Her fingers fisted in his hair. Deryck tasted her excitement, fed off it. He nipped her bottom lip and shifted a hand between them to adjust his arousal—the zipper of his slacks bit in painfully.

Shayla peeked around them. “How much privacy do you think we have?”

Deryck grinned. “Enough. I did drag you out to the middle of nowhere so no one could hear you scream.”

About the Author

R.C. Murphy spends her nights writing urban fantasy novels and a slew of short stories for her blog,
The Path of a Struggling Writer
. By day she is a not so mild-mannered housewife, wrangling vampires, demons, and various other nasty creatures. R.C. has joined forces with fellow writers, artists, and actors to form the
Zombie Survival Crew
where she reviews movies, TV shows, as well as penning articles on important survival skills.

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