Journey from December to May

By P. A. Loder

Arayna Callahan and Tasha Carson board the train that will take them from Penn Station to the Carson mansion on Long Island for an obligatory appearance at Tasha’s parents’ annual political fundraising extravaganza. Attending the stuffy affair is a small price to pay for the rent-free week at the Carson’s opulent New York City penthouse overlooking Central Park.

This year, the typically tiresome event proves to be anything but. In attendance is Gates Gregory, the much older, high-powered, high-profile top cop from Chicago.

Even though he’s not her type, his effect on Arayna has her immediately on the defensive. For the past four years, Arayna and her best friend, Tasha, have been living in Florida and are regular members of an elite BDSM club. Arayna craves the command and control she finds only with a dominant. A vanilla relationship does not interest her. Gates projects the power and command, but can a man who is in the lifestyle satisfy her submissive soul?

Despite a stern warning from Tasha that Gates leaves broken hearts in his wake, the two set off on a harmless, exciting, and seductive vacation divergence.

Gates is simply a distraction, and Arayna has no intention of becoming another notch on his already-crammed bedpost. Little does he know just what’s hidden beneath the sexy and imposing facade. In that one fated moment, neither suspects how much their innocent dalliance will change their lives. But will the change be for the better, or will it destroy them both?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Dec 6, 2017
• ISBN: 9781546217961

P. A. Loder

P. A. Loder is a RN living in Florida with her husband of 33 years. They are members of an area BDSM club. She was born in the small steel town of Coatesville, Pennsylvania and she loves cheesesteaks. As a domestic violence survivor, she has always found solace and healing while getting lost in a good book. Her hope is to provide the perfect fantasy where others can get lost. The process of writing this book has been a healing experience as well as a labor of love. She is grateful for the wonderful people she has met on her journey. When asked about her favorite line in the books, she smiled and simply said: “You can ask me anything.”

Book preview

JOURNEY FROM

December to May

P. A. LODER

51137.png

AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

© 2017 P. A. Loder. All rights reserved.

COVER DESIGN BY: MihaelaJoeDesigns

FRONT COVER PHOTO BY: Ruslan Sointsev

FRONT COVER PHOTO BY: Sakkmesterke

BACK COVER PHOTO BY: elisanth

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 12/06/2017

ISBN: 978-1-5462-1795-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-1797-8 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-1796-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017917808

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

DISCLAIMER: None of the scenes in this novel are meant to be instructional and should not be used as such. Dominants practice diligently to perfect their skills. There are instructional manuals available.

CONTENTS

Acknowledgment

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

OTHER BOOKS BY P. A. LODER

JOURNEY FROM SEDUCTION TO SUBMISSION

JOURNEY FROM SUBMISSION TO LOVE

JOURNEY FROM LOVE LOST

THE JOURNEY BEGINS-HOLLY’S STORY

Acknowledgment

I would like to thank my husband of 35 years. Without your love and support, none of this would be possible. Doug, I love you. Special thanks to my children for tolerating and supporting my obsession with writing. Brian, Kevin, Jessica and Aimee-I love you. Thank you Misty for being not only my proof reader, but also my sounding board, and to my sweet music guru Melissa: Each time I called and described a scene, you never failed to come up with the perfect music. Nina and Angie, your friendship and encouragement is priceless. My deepest love and gratitude to you all.

Chapter 1

A rayna, you have nothing going on this weekend, right?

I shake my head warily. Every time my roommate begins a conversation by insisting I have nothing to do, I end up regretting whatever it is she has planned.

Good, then you can come with me to The Hamptons. Mom and Dad are eager to see you again.

What else, Natasha Elizabeth Carson? My tone is uncharacteristically admonishing. She prefers Tasha, but if I use her full name, I seem to keep her attention, at least for a little while.

There’s nothing else, Arayna.

Natasha?

Okay fine, my parents are throwing their annual political stuffed-shirt extravaganza this weekend, and I need backup. She hangs her head as though she’s remorseful, but I know better.

Tasha, I can’t believe you’re doing this. You know how uncomfortable that kind of event makes me, I pout.

Come on Arayna, it’ll be fun, she cajoles.

Tasha, you said yourself it’s a stuffed-shirt extravaganza.

Well, it probably will be. This event usually is, but at least we’ll be together. Look Arayna, we can take the train on Friday and we’ll be back in the city on Sunday. After that, we’ll have the rest of the week to enjoy New York on our own. Besides, my parents are looking forward to seeing you again. Please, I really don’t want to deal with it alone.

With a loud, frustrated groan, I lean my head back and search for some sort of reprieve. There’s no doubt in my mind I will regret giving in. Every time I allow her to talk me into things, I’m nearly always sorry.

Okay, I groan. But you owe me.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Tasha, I have nothing to wear to a function like that, I sulk.

Yes, you do, just take whatever you want from my closet.

The black and white Versace? I ask with a grin.

Yes, and I’ll throw in the black Louboutins for good measure.

Deal, I giggle. In all honesty, I would have relented without the bribes, but I’ll keep that to myself for now.

On Friday evening, Tasha and I walk through Penn Station on our way to the train that will take us to East Hampton. This stuffed-shirt event promises to be, at the very least, a trying ordeal. Tasha’s dad is cool, but her mother transforms into a character from Psycho when she’s planning an event like this. I’ve managed to avoid this event through most of the previous years, but I am obviously not so lucky this year.

Come on, we need to hurry. The train leaves at eight thirty, Tasha urges.

Tasha, we have time. Calm down, I giggle.

Boy, she’s really stressed. Obviously, that’s a trait she inherited from her mother, or perhaps the stress is because we will be spending our weekend with her mother. To be quite honest, this is kind of funny to witness since I’m almost always the stressed-out mess, and she’s the calm and steadfast voice of reason.

Why are you laughing? she asks with a pout.

Well, I’m finding it funny you’re the one stressed and I’m the calm one. Kind of back-asswards, don’t you think?

That is funny, she laughs. But you know how much I hate this big-wig, stuffed-shirt shit every year.

Yeah, but we get to stay in your parents’ penthouse in New York City—free. We only need to be in The Hamptons for the weekend.

You’re right. Thanks for coming with me this year.

You’re welcome. After all, I do get to wear a Versace. With a toss of my head, I do a snooty little up-turn of my nose and she smiles.

And Louboutins.

Yes, and Louboutins.

I glance toward the seat next to me. Tasha is busy networking via cell phone. There’s no doubt she’s a social mover and shaker, as opposed to my social introvert. We are so different. She comes from an obscenely wealthy background. Her parents divide their time between the mansion in The Hamptons, their penthouse in the city and their winter residence in West Palm Beach, Florida. They are the pinnacle of high society in each of the three locations.

My family is not destitute by any means. We are, what I think is termed upper middle class. Dad is an attorney and Mom is in real estate. Our high society events were mostly family reunions, and our summer home was a rented condo on the beach. We are different, but we hit it off the first day of our freshman year at Florida State. I answered an ad posted on the freshman website. Tasha was looking for a roommate and I was looking for a room to rent—we were a match made in heaven. And now here we are four years post graduation, working together in the same hospital and still roommates. After graduation, we moved from Tallahassee and now live in Bradenton, Florida where happily it never snows.

What was that evil grin for? she asks.

Oh, I was just thinking about why we chose Bradenton as the place we wanted to start our nursing careers.

Yeah, who would have thought a book would play such a major role in our lives? Tasha laughs.

Well, if we hadn’t read the book, the lifestyle would never have been the deciding factor in our choice of cities. I have to admit I had my doubts when you first came up with this brainstorm, but joining Paradise Isles was well worth the move.

Yes, that was a good brainstorm, she laughs.

Yes, it was a very good brainstorm, I confirm. Of course, it’s also great we get to spend our vacations in The Big Apple, rent free.

Yes, but only when my parents are in The Hamptons. Spending a week with them is not on my list of favorite things to do.

Just stuffed-shirt weekend?

That’s the price we have to pay for a free penthouse overlooking Central Park, Tasha laughs.

Well, in my opinion, the price is more than worth it, I giggle. We always have a good time when we’re in the city.

She nods, yawns and settles back into her seat with her cell phone held tightly in her hand. A smile forms as I wonder if she releases her death grip on it when she sleeps.

Cautiously, I reach over and give Tasha a shake.

Tasha, we’re pulling into the station, I whisper.

Okay, okay, she grumbles.

Tasha is quite possibly the only other person on earth who wakes up grumpier than me. Luckily, we understand each other, and so far, we’ve not come to blows.

With luggage in hand, we walk to the dark gray Audi SUV. Hannah stands by the car. Hannah is Mrs. Carson’s driver. She pushes a button on the key fob and the tailgate opens gracefully. Tasha and I load our luggage into the back. When we turn back to face Hannah, she hugs first Tasha and then me.

It’s good to have you two troublemakers back, she laughs.

We could have grabbed a cab, Tasha says with a shake of her head.

Oh no, your mother insisted I come and pick you up. She was worried because you took the late train and I think she wanted to show off her new car. I have to admit, it’s a pleasure to drive her around The Hamptons in this.

Tasha and I climb into the backseat and as Hannah whisks us into the night a horrific thought enters my head. Did Mrs. Carson buy this particular vehicle because she read the same book that influenced our move to Bradenton? I turn to face Tasha and instantly I know the same thought just hit her.

No, that’s crazy, I reassure her.

Tasha’s mother is way too narrow-minded. When we reach the Carson mansion, two staff members greet us, take the luggage and lead us to Tasha’s bedroom and my adjoining guestroom. This guestroom has been mine for the past eight years. The moment I’m alone, I strip out of my jeans and slip into bed. Jeez, it’s after midnight and today has been a very busy day.

Far too early on Saturday morning, Tasha enters my room.

Arayna, wake up.

Why? I grumble with no attempt to hide my agitation.

My mother just informed me she set up mani-pedi appointments for us. Do you want to shower before or after coffee?

Before, I mutter.

Okay, I’ll see you downstairs.

The moment I enter the dining room, a young woman dressed in a gray uniform and crisp white apron hands me a cup of coffee. I gratefully accept the tiny china cup and saucer and take the chair next to Tasha. In my head I make a mental note to bring my coffee mug with me next time. I prefer my coffee all at once. This china cup makes refills irritating and inevitable.

Where are your parents?

Dad is in his office, and Mom is getting her hair styled upstairs.

I nod and walk to the buffet for one more cup of coffee, a few scrambled eggs and a piece of toast.

What time are the appointments?

In about an hour. Hannah said she’d meet us out front.

Not yet in a talkative mood, I nod and take my seat. I’m starving. Neither of us took the time to eat last night before we caught the train out of Penn Station.

When we return to the house after our appointments, Constance and Gordon Carson swoop down on us without warning. At the end of their family hug, I am graced with a hug from Tasha’s dad and then her mother.

It’s so good to see you again, Arayna, Constance coos in that uppity manner she has mastered.

At this moment, I thank my lucky stars that except for the occasional stressing thing, Tasha takes after her dad.

Thank you, I whisper. It’s good to see you, Mrs. Carson.

Do you have an appropriate dress for this evening, darling? she murmurs close to my ear.

Mother, Tasha shrieks.

Constance. Mr. Carson’s tone is unmistakably scolding.

Oh pooh, I simply want her comfortable this evening, she murmurs defensively.

Yes ma’am, I do. As a matter of fact, I borrowed a dress from Tasha.

Mrs. Carson smiles approvingly. From the beginning, I’ve sensed that Tasha’s parents approve of me. To say they like me would probably not be the accurate terminology. They deem that I’m down-to-earth and I’m a good influence on Tasha, but my family is far from wealthy so I’m not an insider—simply a tag-along. Sometimes I get the impression it bothers Tasha more than it bothers me.

I’m sorry, Arayna, Tasha whispers as we climb the stairs. My mother can be such a snob.

It’s okay, Tasha. She wants to make sure my shirt is stuffed properly for her stuffed-shirt event. What time do we need to be ready?

The guests start arriving at seven, dinner is at eight and music, dancing and drinks are in the ballroom at ten.

Wow, the event seems to get bigger each year, doesn’t it?

Yes, it’s a fund-raiser for several of the local big shot politicians. This is one of the most anticipated events of the year, and my mother puts her heart and soul into it. My mother is a real social vampire.

After my shower, I sit in a salon chair in a room just off Natasha’s bedroom. My makeup was professionally applied and a hair stylist is now working her magic. Damn, the entire day has been rather overwhelming. I sort of feel as though I’m royalty—suffocated royalty. Poor Tasha has been apologizing the entire day. She knows me well, and she’s well aware I would prefer to do my own makeup and hair. However, there’s no fighting it, Mrs. Carson insisted, just as she insisted I call her Constance as opposed to Mrs. Carson. My mother would not approve, but I promised her I would abide by her wishes.

Holy fuck, Arayna. You look like a model.

Whatever, I huff. And if your mother hears you talk like that…

No seriously, I’m telling it like it is, Arayna. You look absolutely gorgeous.

Thanks, Tasha. So do you, I smile.

Together we stand in front of the mirrored closet doors. Tasha is beautiful in a white, snug fitting dress that accentuates her dark hair and eyes. My white Versace has black side panels that make my waist look tiny. The dress is beautiful and makes my hazel eyes appear more green than brown, or perhaps it’s the makeup. The black Louboutins add at least four inches to my height, and luckily, Tasha taught me the fine art of balancing on high heels years ago. I have to admit, Tasha is right, we both look good. My hope is we look good enough to please Constance.

Tasha and I descend the staircase together. Her dad stands at the foot of the stairs, his smile obviously proud and beaming.

You ladies are stunning, he says, kissing Tasha’s cheek and then mine.

Sighing, I smile. For as much as Constance is a social snob during events like this, Mr. Carson is just as down-to-earth and unassuming. He is a social charmer, but completely without the pretentiousness his wife could probably bottle and sell.

Mr. Carson extends his arms. Tasha and I grin, slip our hands into the crooks of his, and he gallantly escorts us into the ante-room for the meet and mingle before dinner.

The moment I enter, the crowd of people overwhelms me. The five boroughs of New York and The Hamptons’ elite have gathered together and are dressed up in their finery and mingling. There’s no doubt I will never fit into this world.

Don’t you dare shrink my little violet, Mr. Carson whispers. Arayna, you’re stunning. Hold your head up high, enjoy yourself and knock ’em dead.

I give his arm an appreciative squeeze and flash him a heartfelt smile. Mr. Carson has the ability to make me feel a part of this without even trying.

Don’t allow her to let these social butterflies intimidate her, Natasha.

I won’t, Daddy, Tasha smiles and squeezes my shoulder reassuringly. Come with me Arayna, it’s five o’clock somewhere.

A picture of Constance cringing at her only daughter’s brass flashes through my head. I laugh aloud, and Tasha smiles as though the same picture flashed through her head, too.

Tasha and I accept the glass of white wine offered by a waiter dressed in a starched white uniform. In a calculated move, we stand out of the way to watch the rich and famous meet and socialize.

In spite of the enormous crowd, a man in a deep conversation with Constance captures my attention. Curiously, even as my gaze is drawn to them, their gaze seems to be drawn to Tasha and me. I squirm uncomfortably under his intense and arrogant scrutiny. My interest is piqued, only because I’m intrigued by the obvious and uncharacteristic fawning over this man by Tasha’s mother. Who in the hell is he? My curiosity has taken on a life of its own, and somehow, I’m unable to ignore it or him. I’ve never seen Tasha’s mother fawn over anyone. Gosh, he is nice. He towers over Constance, and his dark good looks are difficult to ignore. There is an almost regal bearing that radiates from him, and his stance reflects broad shoulders, a muscular torso and a slim waist. Without even trying, he radiates power and an arrogant confidence. Personally, I find it a bit intimidating, but it’s the same kind of implacable stance I find so attractive in the Dominants at Paradise Isles. The man appears older with touches of gray in his hair, but damn, he’s beautiful and his bold stare is sexy as hell.

Ah, his name is Gates Gregory, Tasha whispers. For an older guy, he’s pretty hot. To tell you the truth, I’ve had fantasies about him for years.

Tasha, I never…

She laughs at my futile denial and I scrunch up my face.

How do you always do that? I pout.

Oh, that’s easy. It’s impossible for you to be dishonest in any way. When you’re trying to hide the truth, it shows all over your face. That’s why I love you, she giggles.

Dinner is served. A voice announces from the doorway between the massive formal dining room and the ante-room.

If the truth be told, I’ve always found the idea that the Carson’s have an ante-room rather funny. Before I became Tasha’s roommate, I never knew there was such a thing.

I follow Tasha into the formal dining room and we find our place cards. Unexpectedly, my chair is pulled out and I glance into the deep gray eyes of Gates Gregory. Damn, I suddenly can’t breathe. Tasha squeezes my arm when she notes my sudden debilitating paralysis, and I inhale deeply.

Thank you, I whisper nervously as I take my seat.

You’re welcome, he murmurs in a seductively soft voice.

A quick glance at Tasha tells me she finds my uncomfortable predicament amusing.

Good evening, I’m Gates Gregory, he says quietly.

Mr. Gregory, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Arayna Callahan. I extend my hand.

The moment his hand wraps around mine and he pulls it to his lips, my breathing ceases. Shocking little tingles shoot from my fingers to every part of my body, including that part. What the hell? Suddenly, I’m pissed at him for being next to me and pissed at me for reacting to the arrogant ass. There’s no doubt I need to practice the fine art of self-control. If I don’t, I’ll be up for a Tasha lecture the moment this event is over. Tasha leans close and I wait for the harsh warning.

Go for it. Gates is hotter than hell and I know he asked my mother to move his place card next to yours. You’re on your own—have fun and dazzle the hell out of him. This will be my final transmission until we both turn into pumpkins at midnight. Tasha giggles and then turns to the man sitting on her right.

Miss Callahan?

Yes sir.

The corners of his mouth turn up to form a sly smile.

Ah, that makes me feel older than I am. Please just call me Gates.

All right, Gates. I’m Arayna.

Beautiful name, he murmurs. And beautiful blush. His knuckles graze my cheek and an audible moan escapes as my traitorous body fails to manage the sudden flood of unwanted hormones.

Quickly, I turn to Tasha, who with a grin and a wink lets me know I’m fully on my own. The moment I turn back, Gates’ all-knowing, smug-assed grin tells me he knows how he’s affecting me, and now I’m pissed at him more than I am myself.

With a deep inhale, I attempt to draw in some much-needed restraint. This fucking shit is ridiculous. I’m a grown woman for heaven’s sake and this arrogant ass will not intimidate me. Maintaining a detached expression, I turn back to Mr. Gates Gregory and flash the smile I save for the people who irritate me the most. In a calculated move, I turn my attention to the salad someone has just placed in front of me. Without even tasting the salad, I realize if I could manage to chew, I probably wouldn’t be able to swallow, so I push my salad plate away.

I’m not very hungry, I state before he even has time to comment.

This is, without a doubt, the most uncomfortable place I have ever been. This is like being in a flipping sweatbox.

Slowly, I slide my untouched dessert away, close my eyes and pray for a quick end to this stifling dinner. Damn, I need to get away from him before I either spontaneously combust or throw up.

Gates leans close, his breath warm against my neck. Arayna, you didn’t eat.

His quiet whispers against my throat elicit an unwelcome shiver, and a rash of expletives explodes in my head. Every nerve in my body suddenly stands at attention and I cringe at my body’s traitorous betrayal.

Well sir, I wasn’t very hungry, I snap.

Too bad, dinner was delicious. I hope it wasn’t the company, he quips with an unmistakably arrogant tone.

Certainly not, I murmur in a low voice and then say another quick prayer for an escape.

Finally, when I’m ready to bolt, Mrs. Carson stands. Dinner is complete and I grab Tasha’s arm, pulling her as far away from the disconcerting Gates Gregory as I can get.

Damn Arayna, she giggles. What did he do, grope you under the table?

Of course not, I mutter. That man makes me uncomfortable. You know, you should remember that I didn’t volunteer for this.

Why are you letting this get you so stressed? Jeez, he’s only a guy, and it’s only one evening, she giggles. Her eyes shift and instinctively I know he’s behind me.

Arayna, would you honor me with a dance? he asks quietly.

With a sharp refusal on my lips, I turn and he’s too close. The ass is invading my space, and it’s both stifling and unnerving. My common sense and my brain are not working in-sync. Against my better judgment, I take his proffered hand, and he pulls me hard against his solid chest. And in that moment, I somehow lose everything that is me, and I am a part of him as we glide around the dance floor.

This is a natural attraction we’re feeling. An attraction such as this should be embraced, not feared, he whispers against my temple as though reading my uneasy thoughts.

Mr. Gregory, I am not afraid of you or anyone, I snap.

But with one gaze into his eyes, I am a wimpy mass of muddled confusion. This man has managed to overwhelm me, and even though I fight, a dark part of me likes it. He pulls me tighter and I surrender to his moves, following him step for step. All the while, the one small part of my brain that is obviously still functioning is sending me a warning. Foolishly, I ignore it and savor the thrill of being right here where I want to be.

47225.png

You spent the entire evening with Gates, Tasha states as we sit cross-legged on her bed. Even though it’s nearly two in the morning, somehow, I’m not tired.

Well, I had fun, I admit.

Be careful Arayna, he’s a peeper, not a keeper.

What does that mean? I ask with a frown.

That means he is a major player. Since his wife died ten years ago, he only plays casually. Gates is well known for playing around, peeping at all the girls, but none of those fine ladies has been a keeper. There’s no doubt the man is fun to be with. He’s got money, and he knows how to show a girl a good time, but he’s left a trail of broken-hearted women from New York to Chicago. He’s not someone you should get too involved with.

Don’t worry, Tasha. I’m not interested in him either. This turned into a fun evening, nothing more. Good night.

Night Arayna.

It seems as though I just placed my head on the pillow when I’m rudely shaken awake.

Wake up, Arayna.

Damn Tasha, are you planning on waking me early every day of our vacation?

No, but Mom said Hannah can drive us back to the city. We won’t have to take the train and it’ll cut almost an hour from the trip.

Why would she do that? If we go with Hannah, it will tie up her car for four hours or more.

Actually, I’m not sure, Tasha giggles. Maybe she’s grateful we behaved like ladies last night. Warning though, I think you should drink your coffee quickly. It appears she’s quite curious about you and Gates.

Ahh, I groan. I’ve been under the gun with Mrs. Carson before, and it isn’t pleasant. She’s relentless and invasive and constantly jumps to conclusions.

Damn Tasha, it was just a couple of dances for heaven’s sake.

More than a couple, Arayna. You need to hurry. If we get back to the penthouse early enough, we can go ice skating.

How many times have I told you I don’t ice skate? My ankles always turn in.

And I’ve told you before, that’s only because your skates weren’t laced right.

When Hannah drops us at the curb and pulls our luggage from the back of Mrs. Carson’s new and pretentious SUV, it’s a little after noon. The moment we enter the apartment, we both quickly unpack from our weekend excursion and head to the kitchen for lunch.

Mrs. Phillips is the Carson’s housekeeper at the penthouse, and she’s left us chicken salad and a delectable smelling vegetable soup. We decide to save the soup for after our skating adventure at Rockefeller Center. No doubt it will be a comforting warm up.

Tasha is laced up and gliding gracefully around the ice rink with the other skaters. I, on the other hand, sit bundled up, shivering and watching. Tasha’s second pair of ice skates are beside me on the bench. Basically, I think I’m a coward. Heaven knows I’ve never quite mastered ice skating. Tasha was able to teach me grace in high-heeled shoes, but I’m a major klutz on the ice, and I balk at making a spectacle of myself.

Why aren’t you out on the ice? You stay warmer if you skate.

The deep voice jolts me out of my reflections. His dark gray eyes stare boldly, making me squirm. Why does he have this effect on me? He’s old enough to be my father, but he is nothing like any other father I’ve met before.

Because I don’t skate. My ankles are weak, I whisper.

The problem is your skates were not laced properly. Take off your shoes.

Something in his voice leads me to believe this is not a request, and for some unfathomable reason, I don’t hesitate. Immediately, I pull my feet from my boots. Gates yanks and pulls at my laces and then quickly ties the laces in a double bow. He extends his hand. A weird electric charge pulses between his hand and mine, reminding me of a scene with the violet wand. Surely, I’m being silly, it must be static electricity.

It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you, he coaxes.

Gates pulls me to my feet, and I falter, a little unsteady. Carefully, he leads me past the statue of Prometheus and down the stairs to the ice rink and I’m on the ice. A thought suddenly strikes me as odd. The Greek Deity Prometheus stole fire from Mount Olympus to give to the common folk, and yet he stands watch over an ice rink—perhaps fire and ice. I shrug at the contradiction and realize I’m skating. I grin up at him.

Hey, I can skate, I giggle.

You can skate, he states, and his smile warms me.

Tasha speeds by us followed by a man who seems intent on catching her. She waves and laughs loudly when he grabs her waist. In my opinion, it was a calculated Tasha move.

Gates slides around me and grasps both my hands. He skates backwards and pulls me with him.

Are you having fun, Arayna?

Yes, I laugh. I’ve never really skated before.

Well, it appears you’re a natural. He flashes me a full-face smile that takes my breath.

Thank you. There’s no doubt I wouldn’t have even tried without you.

Well then, I’m glad I was here.

Suddenly I’m quite curious. Why is he here? Again, as though reading my thoughts, he answers my unspoken question.

No, I am not stalking you. His smile completely disarms me, and I can’t help returning it. He nods his head to his right. I follow his gaze and then turn back questioningly.

That’s my daughter and granddaughter, he explains.

Oh, I mutter because that’s all I can manage. How am I supposed to react to that? This perfect hunk of a man is a grandfather? Holy crap! He certainly doesn’t look like any grandfather I’ve ever known.

When my gaze refocuses on him, his eyes smile but the smile doesn’t show on his lips. He’s studying me, no doubt searching for a reaction to the grandfather remark. What reaction does he expect? In all honesty, I’m not sure how I’m expected to react. I shake my head quickly. This is not the time to try to analyze the situation. At this moment, I’m having fun ice skating, so I’ll save my analysis for later.

Your granddaughter is cute, I call.

He smiles proudly and we are again simply skating and enjoying it.

47228.png

How did he know we were at the ice rink? Tasha asks as we enjoy our reheated soup.

"Oh, I don’t think he did. His daughter