Tie Me Up, Tie Me Down (Vikings Underground #2)(12)
Author: Sherrilyn Kenyon

Ace sat on a bench with his back to her. His hands were cuffed behind him.

And he looked awful.

“Oh, good grief,” Rhea said as she surveyed the mess that was Ace dressed in a PVC teddy and fishnets. The black wig on his head did nothing for his features, which were outlined in grotesque, overdone makeup. He looked like a cross between Gloria Swanson and Bozo the clown. “If Bender thought for one minute that you were a woman, I am seriously offended on behalf of every member of my gender.”

Ace turned around to see her. “You okay?”

“Her?” Joe asked disgustedly. “It’s your own ass you should be worried about, Krux.”

Still, Ace’s concern for her made her strangely weepy.

Ace’s intense blue gaze never left hers. “Before you fire me, shoot me, or hand me over to German custody, could you give me a few minutes alone with her, Joe?”

“Sure.” He walked out and shut the door.

Part of Rhea wanted to kill Ace for what he’d done. “Why did you do this, Ace?”

He frowned at her. “Don’t you know?”

“No. I can appreciate the fact that you didn’t want me hurt, but this is what I do. It’s what we do. You can’t just go off half-cocked and pull a stunt like this. What if Bender had gotten away?”

Ace let out a tired breath. “Look, Rhea, I never wanted to feel like this about anyone. But there was no way on earth I could have stood there and let that bastard hit you. I don’t care if they lock me up for the rest of eternity, I will never allow another man to hurt the woman I love. So I figured it was either this or I kill him.”

Rhea couldn’t breathe as she heard those words. It couldn’t be true. “You don’t love me, Ace. How could you?”

He looked aghast at her. “Look at me, Rhea. Do you think anything other than love would ever have me in this godforsaken outfit?”

Tears welled in her eyes as she closed the distance between them. “Really?”

“Yes, baby, really. You’re all I’ve ever wanted.”

How could any woman ever hold that against a man? Cupping his face in her hands, Rhea kissed him soundly. She broke off the kiss a few seconds later, laughing.

“What?”

“You have no idea how confusing it is to kiss a man dressed as a woman.”

He grimaced at that. “I don’t know how you wear this stuff. The hose alone are killing me.”

Laughing, she pulled the wig off his head and unlocked the cuffs.

Ace seized her then and held her close as his tongue explored every inch of her mouth. Rhea sighed at the kiss and held him tight.

She laughed again. “You look so ugly as a woman.”

He joined her laughter. “Yeah. This stuff definitely looks better on you.”

The door to the room swung open.

“Ugh!” Joe snapped. “I’m blind and repulsed.”

Rhea tried to move away, but Ace held her close.

“What do you want, Joe?” he asked gruffly.

“I only wanted to remind you that this room is wired and we’re still recording everything the two of you are saying.”

“Did you hear?” Rhea asked.

“Every word, and I have to say that in all the years I’ve known Ace, I’ve never known him to say that to another living woman, except for his mother.” He shook his head at them. “Fine, Ace. Since we got Bender, I’m going to let you off this time. But if you ever do this stunt again…”

“I know. You’ll cut off my tenticles.”

Rhea laughed at Ace’s imitation of Dagmar.

“Exactly. Now as you two were. Just don’t forget you have a debriefing in an hour and a plane to catch in three.” Joe started out of the room.

“Hey, Joe,” Ace called.

Joe paused.

“Thanks, bud. I owe you.”

Joe nodded, then quietly left.

Ace gave her a devilish grin. “So, we have an hour…”

Cocking her head with attitude, Rhea stepped back and seized a whip.

“What are you doing?”

She cracked the whip near him. “I want to make an honest woman of you, Ace.”

“Huh?”

“Get on your knees and propose.”

Ace laughed. “You’re not serious?”

“Are you?”

He sobered. “Yeah. For the first time in my life, I am.” Without hesitating, he got down on his knees. “Rhea, will you marry me?”

“I dunno. Now that you’re proposing, I really have to think about this…. Transvestites really aren’t my thing.” She walked over to him and brushed his hair back from his forehead. “Do you promise to never again interfere with my job?”

“I can only promise that I will do my best. I know you’re capable, I do. But you have to understand that emotions don’t always think before they act.”

That was true enough. Rhea doubted if she could ever stand by and let him be hurt either. She would have done the same exact thing had their roles been reversed. “Okay, we’ll take it on a case-by-case basis.”

“Thank you.”

Rhea shuddered as one of his false eyelashes came free. “Can you at least promise me that you’ll never, ever wear that outfit again?”

“Definitely.”

She nodded. “Then fine. I can marry you.”

Ace grinned and rose to his feet. He lifted her up in his arms and headed for the door.

Before he could open it, Rhea stopped him. “By the way, just for the sake of clarification, I will be the one in the wedding dress, correct?”

“No doubt about it. Now I have to go get out of this outfit before we hit debriefing.”

Rhea gave him a playful look. “So does this mean I get to see you nak*d?”

“Yes, ma’am, it certainly does.”

Promise Me

Forever

Melanie George

Chapter One

The Bombers were up by seven, with two and a half minutes left on the clock. The Cowboys could still win it with an eleventh-hour comeback, but the chances seemed slim that they would.

Donovan surveyed the field, deaf to the roar of the crowd. Forty-five thousand fans chanted his name, but he heard nothing.

He felt that familiar surge of adrenaline, a rush of atmospheric pressure. White Lightning, the press had dubbed him. A phenomenon. And at that moment, he felt like one.

His moves were liquid as he threw the football down the field like a bullet, his arm on fire from the force of the pass—followed a split second later by a crushing tackle as the Cowboys’ defense propelled him back to the thirty-yard line in what seemed like slow motion, his entire life flashing before his eyes as he slammed into the ground with brutal force, the breath knocked from his lungs. Searing pain radiated up his right side before darkness descended in blessed relief.

Donovan’s eyes snapped open, his heart hammering. It took him a moment to realize that he was no longer on the field but in bed, and not in Detroit but back home in Mississippi.

He rubbed his eyes. Christ, even now, two years later, that cold Sunday in January was as vivid as the day it had happened.

He sucked in a deep breath and stared up at the ceiling, watching the paddles of the fan swing above his head, a layer of sweat coating his nak*d body.

Out of habit he flexed his right arm, still feeling a twinge of pain. A year of physical therapy had given him a working arm, but not a throwing arm; it had been broken too badly. A career-ending injury for a quarterback.

The White Lightning was gone forever, and with the end of the only life he had ever known and the only thing he had ever truly done well came a bleak emptiness that nothing had been able to fill. Alcohol and a string of meaningless affairs had managed to keep the void inside him at bay.

He tried to sit up but the room began to spin, forcefully reminding him that he had overindulged. Again. He’d eventually be an outstanding drunk at the rate he was going. Anything done in excess had a dulling effect over time, or so he’d heard. He figured he’d test the theory.

Gripping the edge of the mattress, he swung his legs over the side and acclimated himself to an upright position, waiting for his alcohol-saturated brain to float toward functioning consciousness.

Christ, how many shots of tequila had he downed? Five? Six? Twenty?

“Damn,” he groaned. “Still alive.”

He should be able to hold his liquor better than this. In high school, he could party with the best of ’em and still kick ass in football practice the next day. Even in college at good old Mississippi State, he could tie one on and stay loose.

Playing ball had been what he had always wanted, what he had worked his whole life for. But the dream had come to an abrupt and painful end during that last game of the play-off season, nearly eight years to the day after the wild ride had begun.

He had learned to coexist with the fate that had been doled out to him. But he had never come to grips with what he had thrown aside in his quest for the gold ring. The one thing he had truly wanted, he had left behind. The one person who had the power to topple him from that pinnacle.

Savannah.

Her name ran through his mind like an echoing plea for salvation. That’s what she had been to him, but he hadn’t realized it at the time.

Donovan forced back the image and pushed to his feet, steering himself toward the window, where the sun was just creeping over the mountaintops, a backdrop to the sleepy little town in the distance. He had been in such a rush to leave this place. How ironic that life had brought him full circle.

Bedsheets rustled, and he glanced over his shoulder at the nak*d female body sprawled across the spot where he had been lying only moments before. A mass of red hair spread across the pillow, and one extravagantly long leg twined in the sheets.

A fuzzy image surfaced of her sitting on his lap last night, pouring whiskey shooters down his throat while telling him that she sunbathed in the nude—and that she wasn’t wearing any panties beneath her short skirt. What happened after that was a blur.

Donovan raked a hand through his hair and sighed. Most women were only interested in his money and didn’t give a rat’s ass about the Southern boy who had grown up impoverished and fought his way to the top.

Only one woman had really known him, had really cared, and he had foolishly let her slip through his fingers.

Donovan moved back to the bed and sat down on the edge, his bleary gaze taking in the remnants of a party. Half-empty glasses of Stoli and bone-dry bottles of Jack Daniel’s littered the room.

He rubbed his hands over his face and lay down, remembering what, or rather who, had precipitated the party: his longtime friend and former teammate from the Bombers, Nick Stanton.

Nick had decided to surprise Donovan on his first day home by showing up at his door—to help him settle in, he’d claimed.

Nick’s idea of settling in had turned into a twenty-four-hour alcoholic haze—and for that, Donovan intended to introduce his friend to his left and right fists, just as soon as the world stopped spinning.

The sun was just beginning its descent, its crimson-gold hue spreading over Savannah’s farm, dappling the horses grazing in the distance with warm paint strokes. A rocking chair swayed gently in a southerly breeze that blew in over the mountains, the air carrying a hint of jasmine and pine.

She had always loved this time of day, when all was quiet and her mind had a chance to slow down and reflect.

But for two days she had not been able to find that peace. Donovan had come home, and everything seemed out of tilt with the world.

He had turned his back on Mississippi and her ten years ago, and she had believed her heart had healed. That she was over him for good. But deep down, some feelings yet remained. He had been her first love. And her first heartbreak.

“What’cha lookin’ at Mom?”

Savannah glanced over her shoulder and smiled as her daughter, Reese, walked into the kitchen, swiping a wedge of the sliced apples Savannah had intended for a pie off a plate on the counter. She had picked the apples from her very own orchard.

Pushing away from the back-door screen, she moved to hug her daughter. Ruffling Reese’s long, dark hair, she replied, “I was just watching the sunset.”

Reese glanced around her mother and out the door. “It sure is pretty. I bet heaven is a lot like this, don’t you?”

“I certainly hope so, sweetie.” She kissed Reese’s forehead and whisked an apple wedge from the plate, poking one in her own mouth. “So where’s Uncle Frank?”

Frank was her older, and very protective, brother. Ever since Donovan had devastated her life, Frank had made a point of making sure no one ever did it again. He had interrogated, and run off, a number of potential boyfriends. But Savannah had never really minded. Until Jake, her heart had never been in it.

“He’s still outside tinkering with that old tractor,” Reese replied. “He swears he’s going to get it to work any day now. He’s been sayin’ that for almost three years.”

Savannah chuckled. “You know your uncle. He is dedicated to a cause.”