Page 75 of Calamity Rayne Knocked Up

My back bone melted into a puddle in my panties. “Hale…” I whined, completely turned on.

“Rayne,” he answered, knowing by the sound of my voice that he was going to get his way—the cocky bastard.

How could I deny him anything when he went all growly-alpha and told me I was pretty? My foremothers would be so disappointed, but my inner slut was reveling in his high-handed dominance.

“I’m not happy about this.”

His hand closed around my ass as he loosened the button of his pants. “Are you sure?”

Shutting my eyes, I dragged my knuckles over his swollen length.

“There’s my good girl.” He kissed my throat and my knees softened. “You spoil me.”

Reaching into his clothes, I gripped his length. He groaned when I stroked him.

“Yes.” He pushed his hips forward. “Your touch feels incredible.”

He knew I couldn’t resist him, and he used his potent sexual magnetism to his full advantage. So, I had to deliver at least one digin defense of feminism. “We better hurry, Hale. I heard the dick-measuring contest starts in ten minutes.”

He didn’t even flinch. “I’ve got that one in the bag.”

We Like Things Chipper

“Snoopy!” I cheered as the giant parade float filled the television screen.

Elara’s grin widened as she stared at the procession, mesmerized by the production. “’Noopy?”

“Right there?” I pointed to the float when the camera panned out again.

We had been hiding in the den for some time, and the Macy’s parade was almost over. Pretty soon, we would have to be with the people again. Back in Oregon, we would be peeling potatoes and snapping green beans right about now.

“Oh, look, Elara!” my mother cheered. “It’s Santa!”

Elara was still figuring out the wholeSanta Claus thing. We made every mention exciting enough that she understood the dude in the red suit was a big deal, but for a child who basically had every toy she could want, the Clauses paled in comparison to the powerful Davenport men.

“I can’t believe it’s almost Christmas again,” my mom said. This was her time’s flying speech earmarked for fall. She also had a summer speech and one for when the leaves started to turn in October.

“I miss Christmas in Oregon,” I confessed, thinking of how basic and chintzy our dollar store decorations were. The Davenports did Christmas very differently than my family, and Thanksgiving, and all the holidays, for that matter. It occurred to me that Elara was only exposed to Davenport traditions. “Mom, do you remember Gran’s apple pie recipe?”

“Of course, I do. I made it for the past thirty Thanksgivings, Ray.”

I glanced out the window at the changing trees. The world was awash in radiant hues of red and gold. When I was little, we would go on walks to collect leaves and press them in books or color over the ridged veins with crayon.

“Let’s go for a walk.” Several rows of apple trees grew on the property in a small orchard. “I want to make a Gran’s pie. Elara needs to have traditions from our family, too.”

“Oh, we would need the ingredients, Rayne. I don’t know if stores are open today.”

“We probably have everything here, Mom.” I stood and set Elara on her feet. “Do you want to have an adventure with Mommy and Grandma Penny?”

“Go bye-bye!” She cheered.

It was settled. I asked Marta for a bag, and she gave me a sturdy tote. Once I bundled Elara up in her jacket, I laced up my boots.

Laughter burst from the parlor. The men were getting louder by the hour. My mom led Elara out the back door and I glanced back, deciding not to interrupt or tell anyone what we were doing. They probably wouldn’t even know we were gone.

The estate was beautiful year-round, but in autumn it was radiant. Scarlet maples, golden birches, and amber oaks painted the landscape in fiery hues that contrasted brightly against the clear bluesky. Dry leaves rustled underfoot as the faint scent of chimney smoke drifted through the air.

The orchard was visible from the house, but I’d underestimated the distance. By the time we reached the first apple tree I worried about lugging our harvest back to the kitchen.

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