Excerpt from Fantasy

"GOING ONCE...going twice..."

With anticipation think in the air, the announcer called out, "Sold!"

And Sebastion Sinclair watched as the man just purchased was led off the stage to the sounds of raucous feminine cheers. Soon it would be his turn.

How the hell did I get myself talked into this? He wondered. Wearing a suit, watching huge amounts of money change hands with no consideration of the cost, being the center of attention-he hated it all. It reminded him of his youth and the fact that he had nothing in common with these shallow blue bloods.

Most of all, he hated the idea of being bought like an expensive toy for the amusement of rich women-regardless of the cause.

He seemed to be the only male not thrilled with the prospect of displaying himself. The others, in ages varying from late twenties to early forties, were smiling, flaunting their wares so to speak, and generally getting into the spirit of the thing. Only one man remained in line before Sebastian now and judging by the brawn of the guy and his rough-whiskered chin, he wouldn't last long. The women were really going berserk on the macho ones.

Which was probably why the construction workers had on very snug, tattered jeans and T-shirts too tight for men half their size-an adjustment for their female audience, no doubt. There was absolutely no way a man could work comfortably in a shirt that tight.

Likewise, the landscapers wore their work boots and jeans, some of them with no shirts on at all. And the carpenter-he had a heavy tool belt hanging low on his hips. The ensemble was complete with wrenches, a nail pouch, and the largest hammer Sebastian had ever seen, no doubt a pitiful attempt at symbolism. Sebastian shook his head and tried, without much success, to mask his amusement.

The announcer, a woman with a very wide, toothy smile, led a man around the stage by one finger hooked in his belt loop. The audience roared, then roared again when she had him turn, showing him to advantage. The spotlight moved over his backside and feminine shrieks filled the air.

Sebastian wondered if any of these rich people had realized the seriousness of the benefit, the purpose the money would serve in assisting abused women. He doubted it. To them, it was a lark, not a humanitarian deed to build shelters and help those in need.

To Sebastian, it was much more personal.

The brawny guy ahead of him bounded onstage, anxious for his turn to titillate the giggling masses, and Sebastian was left with a female attendant waiting for his cue.

As he'd guessed, the bewhiskered fellow went quickly, the last bid coming on a crescendo of womanly squeals and bawdy jests. The attendant took Sebastian's arm and directed him forward.

As he reached the center of the stage, hot lighting flooded over him. He stared out at the audience, satisfied with their reckless spending, but thoroughly disgusted by their careless attitudes. None of them gave a thought to where the money would go or how badly it was needed. They were all the same, full of glitz and shine; shallow, frivolous, concentrating only on their own pleasures. He was disdainful of them all.

And then he saw her.

She stood alone, a small dark-haired woman with huge eyes that dominated her face and expressed her fascination. She didn't smile as he met her stare. She didn't yell out suggestions or a bid as the other women were doing. She didn't laugh or joke; she didn't do anything but watch him. He no longer heard the announcer, no longer felt the heat of the bright lights. Her boredom and disinterest seemed to melt away. Her face was upturned, her lips slightly parted, as if in surprise. And he know-she couldn't look away. Some how he held her physically by the connection of their gazes.

Sabastian didn't dare blink. She seemed awestruck and innocent and he found her utterly irresistible. For some insane reason, because something inside him had stirred and heated at the sight of her, he had no intention of letting her go.

Maybe he wouldn't berate Shay after all. He just might be thanking her.

She wanted him.

Brandi stood in the middle of the floor, right beneath the stage. The men had been coming and going none of them overly remarkable to her mind, but then, she wasn't there to buy a man. She was only attending this benefit to support her sister, Shay. In truth, she avoided gatherings like this one, where the testosterone filled the air so thick you could choke on it. And there were any number of ways she would have preferred to spend her birthday.

But none of that matter at the moment. The man onstage was incredible, and once her gaze locked with his, she couldn't seem to find the connection to him, and she couldn't seem to find the wit- or the will-to walk away.

The woman handling handling the bids chuckled at some jest Brandi had missed, then turned to catch the man's arm. Holding a microphone in one hand, she gripped his arm firmly with the other and cuddled up to him. "Such a generous bid!" she called out sounding very excited, though Brandi, deeply involved in her own scrutiny, hadn't heard the exact amount offered. "He's worth every penny, ladies! Come on now, don't be shy. This one is quite a specimen." She squeezed his upper arm testing his muscle, then made an "oohing" expression to the audience.

The man didn't look overly complimented. He looked disdainful, and rather than work toward drawing more attention to himself as the other men had, he merely crossed his arms and braced his long legs apart. He seemed impossibly tall and strong and masculine in his rigid stance. As impenetrable as a stone wall. Almost barbaric in his strength. And he continued to look at Brandi.

The announcer struggled to gain his cooperation. She tried to force him into a turn, wanting to display him as she had the others in order to raise the already astronomical sum they'd collected. He resisted her efforts with ease. The announcer couldn't budge him a single inch.

And the women loved it. They called out more bids, made explicit suggestions on what they'd do with him and haggled amongst themselves.

Brandi's fascination built. Never before had she felt it, at least, not in eight long years. And before that, she's simply been too young. But there was no denying the interest surging inside her now. She'd made a decision earlier that day, a decision that would change her life-hopefully for the better. But this? Could she really consider bidding on a man? On this man?

***************

Excerpt from Tantalizing

Tugging at the hem of her miniskirt, Josie Jackson came the rest of the way into the noisy room. Seeing to the end of the bar was almost impossible in the near darkness with blue-gray smoke clouding everything. But she finally spied a man, his back to her, sitting on the end bar stool, just where he was supposed to be.

Brazen, she told herself, trying to get into the part she needed to play. Daring, sexy, confident. She'd scare the poor man to death and he wouldn't be able to leave quick enough.

Josie had chosen the busy, singles meeting place, hoping that would end it right there. But he'd surprised her by agreeing with her choice. At least, her sister claimed he'd agreed. But her sister had also said he was "perfect" for her, which almost guaranteed Josie wouldn't like him. Susan had described him as responsible. Mature. Settled.

Josie was so tired of her sister setting up blind dates, and she was even more fed up with the type of man her sister assumed she needed: stuffy, too proper and too concerned with appearances. Men who didn't want anything to do with romance or excitement. All they wanted was to find someone like them so they could marry and get on with their boring lives.

She was twenty-five now and had spent most of her life working toward her goals, pleasing her sister with her dedication. Well, she'd reached those goals, so it was time for other things. Past time. She deserved to have some fun. Bob Morrison may be interested in a nice little house in a nice little neighborhood with a nice little family, but Josie Jackson had other plans, and if the location for this meeting hadn't put him off, one look at her would.

She sauntered toward him. There was a low whistle behind her, and she felt heat pulse in her cheeks. The next thing she felt-a bold hand patting her bottom-almost caused her to run back out again. Instead she managed to glare at the offender and stay upright on her three-inch heels. No small feat, given that she normally wore sturdy, rubber-soled shoes. She could do this, she told herself, she could.

All thought became suspended as the man turned to face her.

Good heavens. Her breath caught somewhere in the region of her throat and refused to budge any further. She stared. Well. He certainly doesn't look stuffy, Josie girl, not in those nice snug jeans and that black polo shirt. This can't be the right man. For once, he seemed too.right, too masculine and attractive and sexy. Definitely sexy. Fate wouldn't be so cruel as to actually send her a gorgeous, stuffy man. Would it?

She forced herself to take another halting step forward, hampered by the tight miniskirt, the ridiculously high heels and her own reservations. "Bob? Bob Morrison?"

His dark eyes were almost black, as was the shiny, straight hair that hung over his brow, unkempt, but still very appealing. His gaze went from a slow, enthralled perusal of her mostly bared legs to her midriff where he paused, looking her over from chest to belly, his look almost tactile in its intensity, then he reached her face. He drew in a long breath, apparently feeling as stunned as she did. She waited for him to speak, to do or say something that would prove her assumptions had been correct, that he wasn't what she wanted in a man, that he was another typical offering from Susan who was supposed to further domesticate her life.

But then he stood, towering over her, six feet of gorgeous, throbbing male, and he smiled. That smile could be lethal, she thought as it sent shivers deep into her belly. The man exuded charm and warmth, and there was absolutely nothing stuffy or uptight about him. In fact, she felt like Jell-O on the inside. Nothing stuffy about that.

He held out his hand-a large hand that engulfed her own and seemed to brand her with his strength and heat. With the type of voice that inspired fantasies, he said, "I'm Bob. It's very nice to meet you, Josie."

HARD TO HANDLE

CHAPTER ONE

A light sheen of sweat clung to his body. With each heavy, broken breath, the musky, appealing scent of sex filled his nostrils. On a groan, Harley Handleman rolled away from the woman lying facedown beneath him. Eyes burning and his heartbeat still thundering, he fell onto his back.

Lord have mercy. She had drained him, used him up; he definitely felt sated.

But still, curiously, he remained unfulfilled.

Several minutes passed before his pulse slowed to a normal pace and cool air dried the dampness on his chest. The woman never stirred.

He was glad of that. Any small talk after sex bored him. Anything more than small talk annoyed him.
He was a prick and he knew it, but he told women upfront what he wanted, and what he didn’t. Gloria – he didn’t know her last name - had crawled into his bed with her eyes wide open, her illusions dashed... and an anticipatory smile on her face.

Staring at the ceiling, Harley put his right arm behind his head and, by male instinct alone, reached his left hand over to palpate a lush derriere. Silky skin encouraged the light caress, but it was an uninvolved gesture.
Already his thoughts had gone from sex to other, more pertinent things.

Life.

Family.

The upcoming fight.

His brain ticked like a bomb.

Because of his MMA fighting success in the SBC organization, and his easy carnal triumphs with women, most men would envy him.

But they didn’t know everything.

They didn’t live with his constant, gnawing need to not only succeed in mixed martial arts, but win an SBC title belt.

Thinking about it demolished his relaxed state; his every muscle went taut.

So many times he’d come close to proving himself as a champion, working his way through the ranks, annihilating every fighter in his path. Three times he’d been scheduled for the title fight.

He hadn’t made it to a single one.

Fate played some dirty tricks, constantly tossing obstacles into his path to be champion. How many more opportunities would the SBC give him?

The disquiet he suffered had haunted him for too long. Some things were out of his control; other things were not. It was past time to make some changes.

Where to start?

An icy wind threw sleet against the windows. The light of a full moon and street lamps added illumination to the darkened bedroom, sending shadows to dance over the ceiling. Second by second, Harley grew edgier until he could no longer stay still.

He sat up in the bed and swung his legs over the side.

Time to go. Past time to go.

Over his shoulder, he glanced at the woman still stretched out on the mattress, her breathing soft and even in heavy sleep.

He never slept with women.

He couldn’t.

His gaze tracked her soft body from the soles of her arched feet, over that tantalizing rump, up the length of her delicate spine, all the way to her manicured fingertips.

He felt nothing.

He definitely didn’t feel the need to snuggle down and sleep.

Anxious to go, he reached for the silk scarf binding her slender wrists to the slatted headboard. Thanks to her enthusiasm, the knot had tightened, making it difficult to undo. As Harley worked it free, she remained utterly limp in the way of sound slumber.

He envied her that.

Brushing long, tangled blonde hair away from the side of her face, he studied her serene expression, her parted lips. A few strands of long hair tangled with her thick lashes.

Wanting something, some small response, Harley trailed a fingertip down her nape, her back, all the way to her tailbone.

She squirmed a little, sighed, and smiled.

His eyes narrowed; the smile was enough.

He couldn’t control much in his life right now, but he had controlled her. He’d controlled the pace, her pleasure, and his own. On impulse, and because he was a bona fide ass man through and through, Harley bent and pressed a soft kiss to one cheek.

The woman snuggled deeper into the covers and let out another sigh.

Being a gentleman, Harley made sure to bring the thick coverlet up and over her before he left. Even indoors, the bitter weather left a bone-trembling chill in the air.

After carrying his clothes and shoes into the living room, he dressed. Then, holding his keys in a closed fist so they wouldn’t make a sound, he put on his coat and exited her house for the frigid outdoors. The woman would want him to call again, and maybe he would.

But probably not.

Leaving the warm bed only made the night wind that much worse. The moon played peek-a-boo with heavy clouds, leaving Harley’s path alternately well lit, then dark as sin.

But the weather didn’t matter. To keep his options open, Harley never stayed over at a woman’s place, just as he never brought a woman home to his place – wherever home might be at the time.

Right now, home was three hours south of Harmony Kentucky, in a small cabin in the hills near Echo Lake. After fucking up his elbow and losing out on another title bout, he’d needed the seclusion, the time to reflect.
The time to do as he damned well pleased without everyone scrutinizing his every move, worrying about him, making assumptions on his state of mind.

The jeep hummed to life, kicking hot air over Harley’s jean covered legs. Hands cupped together, shoulders hunched against the cold, he looked out the windshield at the rapidly sinking moon. The long, winding road to his rented cabin would take him into daybreak.

But so what?

He didn’t punch a time clock – never had. Here in the hills where he routinely came to prep for a fight, he could use any schedule he wanted. His time was his own, and he bent it any way he liked.

The isolation worked to his advantage.

While rehabbing his elbow, he’d spent weeks jogging alone, pushing himself when he wanted, relaxing when he felt like it, all in higher altitude. Without the lure of fast food restaurants, he’d eaten only specially prepared meals that had him especially lean and muscular. Getting up at dawn – or sometimes, as now, being still up at dawn – made it convenient to work on cardio and stamina.

He was in the best physical condition of his life, and soon he could rejoin Dean’s gym to start boning up on technique. Sublime had already defended his title belt once.

Next, if things worked out as they should, he’d have to defend it against Harley.

But even if the SBC set up the fight, who knew if he’d actually make it into the competition? Every damn time things seemed to be going his way, something bizarre happened to fuck up his plans.
He hated it.

He was fed up. He...

Ah hell.

Putting the jeep in gear, Harley backed out of the driveway, past the tall pine trees until his tires hit the snow-covered gravel road. He would not sit around stewing on the unfairness of life.

Instead, he put his mind to thinking about all he planned to do that day.

This was his third year staying in the same cabin. Like the lovely lady he’d just left, tourists were the norm right now. They came and went, a new crowd each year, and that suited Harley fine. So far, the only familiar female face in town was that of Anastasia Bradley, the woman who rented him the cabin.

Anastasia knew to hold the place for him during certain months. They had an unspoken but solid agreement that worked for them both.

She had guaranteed rental on her cabin.

He had a reliable place that suited him.

With his thoughts bounding this way and that, Harley drove through the dark night. Sure enough, gray dawn cut through the never-ending sleet by the time he started past Anastasia’s cabin, which sat half a mile down the hill from the one he rented.

To his surprise, she was out front already, bundled up head to toe and chopping – or attempting to chop – wood.

What the hell?

It was all of about twenty-five degrees and blustery to boot. Even the roosters weren’t awake yet. The ax she swung probably weighed more than she did.

Frowning, Harley pulled into her drive. She had an ancient CD player blaring hard rock music and didn’t hear his approach.

Dangerous.

They were far from the miniscule town, hidden in heavy woods, with no neighbors to speak of.

The ebb and flow of female tourists meant Harley didn’t have to worry about any one woman becoming too clingy. But there were just as many men traveling through the area, strangers who could be nice – or not.
Living in seclusion was unsafe for any woman, but especially a woman who didn’t take necessary precautions.
After turning off his jeep and getting out, Harley watched Anastasia. On many levels, she fascinated him.
She never came on to him, didn’t try to impress him, and spoke as upfront as any man, but with less colorful language.

He appreciated those qualities every time he did business with her.

As a man, he wondered at her apparent indifference to him. Not that he was conceited. But... yeah, he’d come to expect it from women.

Right now, Anastasia wore a navy blue stocking cap pulled down low over her shoulder-length dark hair, a hooded sweatshirt over that, and a lumberjack type coat over that. Quilted knee boots protected her feet.

She swung the ax with verve, and inaccuracy. If he didn’t intercede, she’d maim herself.

Out of self preservation, Harley kept his distance. “Anastasia!”

The wind sucked away his words, making them indecipherable from the music. Damn it.

Looking around, Harley spotted a long stick and a rock. He chose the rock.

Tossing it just beyond her, so that it landed in the meager pile of splintered wood, he waited.

Anastasia paused, stared toward the rock, and without haste or worry, looked over her shoulder. Above her red nose, her dark brown eyes warmed. “Harley.”

Simon Says

CHAPTER ONE

    
“How come we’re doing all the work, and you’re just directing?”

Simon glanced at his friend Dean – better known as Havoc when he’d competed – and he grinned. “Both you dumb asses owe me, that’s why.” As one of the very best trainers in the SBC fighting biz, Simon had taken Dean to the top until Dean retired to open his own gym. Before long, Simon would have Gregor leading the pack, too. Gregor had real talent, but he lacked finesse. They were working on it.

To Gregor, who held up the back end of the king size mattress, Simon said, “Slow down. You’re knocking Havoc over.”

“Havoc is a pussy.”

Quietly ornery, Dean planted his feet, throwing off Gregor’s forward momentum and causing him to lose his balance, and the hold on the mattress. It dropped to the floor and Gregor nearly fell on his face.

Before things got out of hand, Simon unlocked the front door and stepped into the condo he shared with Bonnie. “Leave that in the hall until we get the old mattress out of here.”

“A new mattress,” Dean said around a chuckle. “Helluva way to celebrate five years with a woman.”

“Yeah Sublime,” Gregor said, using Simon’s fighting name, though Simon had given up fighting a few years back to manage fighters instead. “If you’ve worn out the mattress, don’t you think you ought to go ahead and make it all legal?”

Acknowledging the sexual reference with a smile, Simon said, “We’re waiting for the right time,” as he led the way to the bedroom. He didn’t add that the “right time” had come and gone more than once. For whatever reason, Simon always balked at the idea of tying himself down legally, emotionally, and officially. Not that he wanted anyone other than Bonnie; he was a one-woman man, through and through. Bonnie met all his needs, especially in the bedroom. And they got along well.

But still...

As usual, Bonnie had everything neat and tidy, with the bed made, the room well dusted, and all clutter put away. He really enjoyed her tendency toward neatness, given he was a bit of a neat freak himself.

Simon scooped the designer comforter and matching pillows off the bed and put them on a nearby chair. “Grab that side, Havoc, and we can move the mattress into the hallway.”

Gregor took the opportunity to look around the large room with curiosity. “Jacki ain’t much for housekeeping,” he mentioned. “But then, I’m not either.” He leveled a look on Dean. “And making the bed is pointless, since –”

“Shut up, Gregor.”

Simon grinned. Ever since Gregor had married Dean’s sister, he’d had a great time ribbing Dean. And Dean, who used to claim he wasn’t a protective brother at all, always took the bait.

Ignoring his friends’ knowing grins, Dean hefted his end up. “Eve is orderly, but not in an obsessive way.”

“You’ve both found your perfect counterparts.” The best part, from Simon’s perspective, was that the women didn’t fuss when Dean and Gregor had to spend months away, Gregor to fight and Dean to play corner man. Now that Dean had his own gym, they could do most of their training in town, but there were still extended trips out of the country to occasionally train with other camps. Variety added a lot to a fighter’s repertoire. And then there was the endless promotion, finagling sponsors, and autographing events.

As icing on the cake, the wives enjoyed the sport, even if they didn’t understand it. Not only did they not get in the way, they offered positive encouragement.

As they eased the old lumpy mattress to the side of the bed, several photos fell out to the floor. Dean froze, leaving Simon to balance the heavy mattress.

Gregor bent to pick up the shots. “What’s this? You stashing porno, Sublime? Bonnie will have your head if she finds out you –”

The words dropped away.

Expression arrested, Gregor looked up from the photos. Anger tinged his obvious shock.
Simon frowned at him. “I’m too old to hide porno under the mattress, you ass.” He set his side of the mattress onto the floor, leaving the bed only partially askew.

“Yeah, uh...” Tight-faced, Gregor pulled at his ear in uncertainty.

Finding his reaction more than curious, Simon stared at him. “What is it, Gregor?”

“Well...” Gregor looked at Dean as if seeking assistance. 

“You look ill, damn it.” With an awful foreboding, Simon strode toward him. “Hand them here.”
Gregor took a quick step back.

Dean said softly, “Wait, Simon.”

“Wait for what?” He reached for the photos again, and Gregor dared to hold them above his head.

“Simon,” Gregor murmured in miserable warning, “maybe you should –”

“Knock the shit out of you for playing games?” Sick dread crept through Simon. “Damn right. Now hand. Them. Over.”

Because Gregor was such an enormous freak of nature, standing six and a half feet tall and weighing in at over two hundred and fifty pounds – all of it rock-solid, rippling muscle – few men ever confronted him. The twining of wicked tattoos around colossal biceps also offered discouragement to most.
But if Simon had to take the photos from Gregor, they both knew he could.
Rather than oblige Simon, Gregor looked to Dean for guidance.
Dean said, “Go ahead and give them to him.”

It didn’t bode well that Gregor turned away before complying with that instruction. The second Simon had the photos in his hand, Gregor split. He didn’t just take a few steps away.

No, he left the bedroom.

And Dean followed him out, giving Simon privacy for God knew what.

But damn it, even before looking, Simon knew what he’d find. Only one thing would make his friends look and act the way they had. He ran a hand over his shaved head, hesitated, but he had to see for himself.
Simon turned over the first photo and without even seeing her face, he recognized Bonnie.
The woman he’d planned to marry one day.

The woman he’d just bought a new and expensive mattress.

She was naked, her face turned away from the camera, sitting astride an equally naked man. In a detached way, Simon noted her long legs, her heart-shaped ass, her cascading dark hair.

He’d been intimate with that body for five years. In the photos, she was intimate with someone else, some nameless male face on a muscular body. The photos showed the man only from the shoulders down.
Bonnie looked to be enjoying herself.

It was the oddest thing, but the overriding emotion that pervaded Simon was curiosity. Somewhere there was hurt, and definitely humiliation. But foremost was a weird loss of all sensation, and a resounding question: why?
He locked his jaw.

Bonnie wasn’t stupid, and in fact, her intelligence was one of the things that had initially drawn him. Why did she feel the need to wander? And why the hell had she hidden the photos beneath the mattress, where he might find them?

Simon no sooner asked himself that last question than his memory jogged and he recalled Bonnie’s surprise when he’d come home early last night. She’d been sitting on the bed in a skimpy nightgown gazing at something, but he hadn’t paid that much attention.

Before proceeding to his closet to change, he’d given her the same perfunctory kiss of greeting that he’d been giving her for years.

She’d kissed him back the same way.

Searching his memory further, Simon remembered her jittery responses to his questions, and her attempts to distract him.

When she asked if he was going to shower, he told her he had at the gym.

She jumped up to get him dinner, and he told her he wasn’t hungry.

She wanted to check the front door locks, and he assured her he’d taken care of it.

He’d even left the bathroom door open as he brushed his teeth. But Bonnie had turned out the lights as if she planned to go to sleep.

That’s probably when she stashed the photos under the mattress, because he hadn’t given her an opportunity to hide them anywhere else. He hadn’t given her the chance to hide them some place better. Of course, she had no way of knowing he planned to replace the mattress today.

Once he’d joined her in the bed, he found her stiff and aloof. But he’d softened her. Simon laughed at himself. Hell, he’d made love to her with determined patience, and unless her acting skills were well honed, she’d come with enthusiasm.

That reminder fisted Simon’s hand around the photos, crinkling them. Had Bonnie already been with another man that day? His stomach lurched at the thought of playing second in line.

He thought about that, then he recalled that the bed in the photo wasn’t his, thank God. But he’d thought the woman was.

Humiliation overtook the numbness; he felt like a blind ass.

Dean stuck his head into the room and without a lot of emotion or sympathy, or anything else mushy that might have made the situation worse, he asked, “You okay?”

A pretty outrageous question for a man of his capabilities, his fighting record, his size and weight and strength.

So... was he okay? Simon queried himself, his mind and his heart, and actually... yeah, he was A-okay.

Embarrassed, sure. He had the same ego as any other man in the SBC. Pissed, you betcha. But he didn’t have the need to find the unnamed man and pound on him. Far as he was concerned, the guy could have Bonnie.

He also felt determined to get through this new wrinkle without dramatizing things further.

But he didn’t feel heartsick. Maybe that’s why Bonnie had wandered, because he didn’t love her madly and she knew it. It wasn’t a good excuse, but it’d do for now.

Simon looked up at Dean. “You have anywhere you have to be?”

“No.”

Havoc was often a man of few words, and he was always a man straight to the point. As his former trainer, manager and agent, Simon appreciated that.

“Wanna help me move my shit out of here?”

One big shoulder rolled. “Sure. If that’s what you want.”

Simon nodded. “It is.” He tossed the photos onto the nightstand. Bonnie would find them, and that’d be explanation enough for his departure from her life.

“Hey Gregor?”

Gregor appeared in the doorway. He looked embarrassed for Simon.

“Knock it off, will you?”

Gregor glanced at Dean and then Simon again. The sympathetic expression intensified. “Sure thing, Sublime.”

Simon rolled his eyes. Gregor might look like a muscled behemoth, but he had a heart as big as the rest of his physique. The doofus. “You have time to hang around and help me move out of here?”

“Absolutely.” Then with caution, “Where are you moving to?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Simon surveyed the now disheveled bedroom, wondering where to start. “Good thing I never got around to marrying her.”

“Yeah. Good thing.” Hands on his hips, Gregor looked around the room. “You’ve got a lot of stuff.”

“I’m taking all of it.” The finality in that statement made Simon feel better. “Today will be a clean break. Once I walk out the door I don’t plan to make any trips back.”

“Right.” Gregor rubbed at an ear thickened by too many precise punches. “How about I run up to the grocery and see if they have any empty boxes?”

“That’d be great. Thanks.”

Gregor escaped with a stomping stride, but Simon noticed that he already had his cell phone in his hand. Great. He’d tell his new wife Jacki, and she’d tell her sister Cam, and Cam would tell Dean’s wife, Eve, if Dean hadn’t already.

“Stay with Eve and me.” Dean crossed his arms and stared at Simon. “You know Eve would welcome you.”

Eve was a beautiful person, inside and out. Simon was pleased for Havoc to have found her. “Thanks, but no. I think I’ll go home for awhile.”

“Home?”

“To Ohio. To see my parents.”

That decision came out of nowhere, but it worked to stiffen Simon’s backbone. Being around family was always a good thing.

Going to his closet and unloading the clothes, Simon added, “Mom and Dad will love it.”

Suddenly a new voice intruded. “Simon? What’s going on? What are you doing?”

Havoc stiffened, but Simon smiled in evil delight. Talk about a clean break – this little confrontation ought to do it.

Without turning to face her, he said, “Hello Bonnie.