Hearts Afire [Companionship Inc., Book II] Read online

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  Amber Quill Press

  www.amberquill.com

  Copyright ©2003 by Debi McMartin COPYRIGHTNOTICE Vickie Wakely

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  Companionship Inc., Book II:

  HEARTS AFIRE

  by

  VELVET VEERS

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  ISBN 1-59279-082-8

  Amber Quill Press, LLC

  www.amberquill.com

  Also By Velvet Veers

  ~Companionship Inc.~

  Book I: Cinder-un-rella

  Book II: Hearts Afire

  Book III: Double-Dare Claire

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  ~Virtual Reality Inc.~

  Book I: Project Temptation

  Book II: Stake Out

  Book III: Virtual Hearts Club

  PROLOGUE

  Arriving home much earlier than usual, Richard Wakefield stood at the patio door of their home and watched his wife of five years getting her weekly massage.

  Alana lay prone and totally nude on the folding table beside the pool on this warm summer day. The massage therapist rubbed the oils onto her back, slowly kneading the tight muscles along her neck and circling down, between and over her shoulder blades. Alana's tanned skin gleamed from the oils, her body an exquisite sight, her barely-there tight buttocks slightly raised, her long, slender legs stretched out before her. Her perfect shoulders with taut, tight muscles relaxed against the table, her head sagged into the hole in the table. Not a muscle moved, and she appeared totally relaxed.

  Richard's penis stiffened at the sight of her, pressing against his pants uncomfortably, and it turned him on even more to watch the male massage therapist obviously enjoying his work.

  A moan escaped Alana's lips as Franz ran two fingers down her spine, stopping at her waist. He deftly ran strong fingers up her sides, skimming over the side of her breasts, stopping there to stroke them in tiny circular motions.

  Richard stood hypnotized. He would love to walk over to Alana and take her—right in front of Franz, even while Franz continued his ministrations.

  Alana, blessed by genetics, had the consummate body—Latina and sultry. She worked out religiously for at least two hours every day to enhance the gift nature had bestowed on her. Richard had always overlooked her character flaws because she was so exotic, mesmerizing even, with those amber eyes, full lips and Cherokee cheekbones. He knew it to be superficial, but that's the way it was.

  Her high-maintenance body had its drawbacks, though. Alana had refused to even consider getting pregnant for fear of losing her figure, knowing full well that Richard desperately wanted children.

  Franz moved to her feet, kneading the correct reflexology points for healing. Moving up to her legs, he massaged her calf muscles, then lifted one leg up and over to stretch the tight, taut muscles. He moved her legs further apart and Richard could see Franz staring at his wife's vagina. Richard should put a stop to it, but as much as he hated to admit it—he was enjoying it.

  Franz rolled Alana onto her back. Circling down her neck and shoulder blades with his nimble hands, he moved to the side of her breasts—massaging them, then rubbing down her stomach to return to the valley between her breasts and up to her neck. Over and over he made the same erotic circle. Richard watched as her breasts moved up and out with each motion and the stimulating action made him even harder.

  Muscled hands moved down the top of her hips to the outside of her thighs to circle back up the inside. He had spread her legs wide by now, and no doubt could even see her nub protruding from the folds.

  Deftly and deliberately, Franz placed an oiled thumb onto her clit, moving it in slow, sensuous circles. Alana moaned again and spread her legs wider, her hips rotating to the rhythm of his circles.

  Richard grew harder and his penis throbbed, remembering the slick heat of her clit, the way it swelled and responded to his touch, the way it tasted in his mouth like a live raw oyster, fresh from the sea, teasing his tongue. Alana gripped the sides of the table and her hips bucked up harder. Franz smiled as if loving the control he had over this woman, and his strokes grew harder.

  "Oh, Franz,” she begged. “Put your fingers in me now, just like you always do."

  "How many fingers do you want this time, my Alana?” Franz asked in his German accent.

  "I want four fingers—with a twist,” she panted, throwing her head back in ecstasy.

  Franz curled the four fingers of his right hand together and thrust them into her. “Is that enough for you, baby?"

  "Oh, yeah, you're cooking. My God, you know how to please a woman. Your fingers feel better than Richard's dick ever could.” She writhed in enjoyment. “Oh, Franz, I'm getting so close. Now put your tongue on me. I want to feel your tongue on my clit."

  Franz pulled her legs roughly to the end of the table and knelt down, spreading her legs wide and placing his head at her crotch. Richard watched his tongue looking for the entire world as big as a penis, dart in and out of her vagina, sending her quickly into spasms of bliss. Alana screamed, moving with such force she almost fell off the table.

  Feeling sick, tired and cuckolded, he now knew without a doubt he couldn't satisfy Alana. That was why she screwed around—he didn't do it for her.

  Alana rolled back onto her stomach and Franz moved to her head, the tip of his penis sticking proudly out of the top of his tennis shorts. Richard watched as Franz leaned in mere inches from her to massage the oil into her neck. Alana lifted her head and flicked the top of his penis with her tongue. Franz jumped back, stopping the massage for a moment. Then he began kneading her muscles again using a circling seductive motion and moved closer to her mouth. She flicked the head of his dick again, but much more boldly this time moving in to circle the top with her tongue. Now he moved close enough for her to put the whole head of his penis in her mouth.

  Richard stood in shock, watching his wife happily blowing her massage therapist. He couldn't believe it. Now he was seeing what he had suspected for years and he still couldn't believe it. For years now they'd not had a marriage because she had all but cut him off in bed. Now he knew why.

  When Alana unzipped Franz's shorts and took his shaft into her mouth, Richard turned and walked out of the house.

  Jumping into his convertible, Richard screeched out of the driveway, tearing down the street with tires screaming. The acrid smell of burning rubber made him sick. He just wanted to keep driving, at least until his mind felt rational. Richard wanted to kill Franz. He wanted to kill Alana. Hot rage mounted up within him, and he flew down the interstate. The speedometer kept rising ... 90-mph, 100-mph, 120-mph.

  How fast can this little red Porsche fly before her wings fall off? Would he become airborne at one-eighty and float happily over the horizon? He could only wish.

  Driving around, Richard couldn't think beyond the humiliation. The sad part was he didn't really care that much anymore. It was more that his pride had been punctured. Shouldn't he be the least bit hurt by his wife's betrayal? The longer he drove, the stonier his heart became.

  Forty miles down the road, Richard began to calm down, his rational mind kicking in. He turned off at the next exit and planned his strategy. He would do the only thing he could—go back to the house and confront her head on.

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  Back at the house, his footsteps pounded on marble floor, echoing throughout the high-ceilinged dome. He found Alana upstairs dressing. Richard stood at the door and watched her brush her long, chestnut colored hair.

  "I want a divorce,” he announced. He didn't know any other way than abrupt and up front.

  After placing her brush on the vanity, Alana sat on the bed. She hesitated in the process of putting on her shoe, contemplating it as if she'd never seen it before. Standing up, she walked up to Richard, and leaned in, her face an inch from his. “No."

  "What do you mean no? Our marriage is a sham. You whore around with low lives like the massage guy. I saw you at the pool today."

  She sighed nonchalantly. “It means nothing. It's just sex, Richard. A bit of child's play by the pool, that's all. You really shouldn't take it so personally. I will not give you a divorce. Stanfords do not divorce for any reason."

  "It might mean nothing to you, but it means everything to me. You're not a Stanford anymore. You're a Wakefield and you're getting a divorce."

  With eyes blazing, Alana got even closer to his face and hissed, “You know you enjoyed watching us today. Don't tell me you didn't get a rock of a hard-on when you watched us at play. Tell me you didn't enjoy it, you hypocrite. I saw your reflection in Franz's sunglasses. I knew you were standing there watching us and that turned me on even more, knowing my husband watched and knowing you wanted to be right there in the middle of us—a happy threesome. I saw your dick straining against your pants."

  Alana's expression turned quickly from hostile to seductive. “You know, Richard, you really have a great cock. Your anatomy is perfect. You just never learned how to use it."

  Alana reached in his pants, grabbing his member and squeezing, a smug look of satisfaction covering her face as she felt it harden. She leaned up and whispered in his ear. “You want to know a secret, Richard? Confession time—you never gave me an orgasm."

  Richard stood there feeling the blood drain out of his face, ice cold rage threatening to overtake him. “What about all those screams?"

  "I'm a damn good actress. Should've tried out for Broadway. And you're a complete idiot, Richard. A fool if there ever was one. So inept at how to please a woman—from your fumbling fingers to your boring presence, you don't have it. And never will.

  "I married you because I felt sorry for you. I thought maybe I could help make you feel better about yourself by marrying me—a beautiful, sought-after woman. I had to go out and find other dicks to satisfy my sexual—and emotional—needs. You don't do it for me, Richard. So you are not going to be the one to walk away. That's a privilege that belongs to me and me alone.

  Richard just stood and stared at her.

  Alana twisted the knife one last time. “Oh, yeah, boy, you've got the goods. You just don't know how to use it. Franz does.” Alana turned and grabbed her purse. When she got to the door she said, “By the way, I'll let you join us next time so Franz can give you some lessons."

  She stalked down the stairs, slamming the door on the way out. Richard could have run after her, but it wouldn't do any good. He stood frozen at the top of the stairs, listening to the tires screech as Alana peeled out of the driveway in the Jaguar.

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  The shrill ring of the telephone shortly after midnight woke Richard from his nightmare. He fumbled in the dark for the receiver. “Hello."

  "Sir, this is Officer Tom Malone from the Minnesota State Police department. Are you the husband of Alana Wakefield?"

  "Yes, she's my wife."

  "I am sorry to inform you, sir, but your wife has been in a serious car accident and is on route to Fairview Hospital by ambulance. Can you meet us there?"

  "Yes. Yes, I'll be there as soon as I can."

  With shaking hands, Richard hung up the phone. He and Alana had had fights before and nothing like this had ever happened. He dressed quickly and drove to the hospital.

  He was met at the emergency room door by Officer Malone and immediately escorted to the surgery waiting room. Officer Malone informed him that Alana was in emergency surgery. According to the police report, Alana had been traveling at a high rate of speed and lost control of the car, sending it into an embankment.

  While waiting what seemed like hours for the doctor to come and tell him news, Alana's sister, Rachel, made a grand entrance, her husband in tow. She screeched and flung herself in Richard's arms, crying and carrying on dramatically. Embarrassed, Richard tried to calm her down because people were staring.

  He spoke to her in a low, calming voice, “It'll be okay. Please don't cry, Rachel. We don't know how bad it is yet."

  Rachel shut down the tears as fast as they began. It was like a performance that had come to the end. “You have seen the doctor and he said she was fine?"

  "No, not yet."

  "Then how do you know?” she wailed.

  "Look, Rachel, I don't know for sure. Okay? We just have to wait and hear what the doctor has to say."

  "What happened?” Rachel demanded, scrutinizing Richard with squinted eyes.

  "The officer at the scene said she was driving her car too fast and lost control."

  "Where was she going? Why weren't you with her?” Rachel asked accusingly.

  "Rachel, we had a fight and she ran."

  The anger flamed Rachel's face and her eyes narrowed. “You ... you are the cause of my sister lying in the hospital.” Her voice rose with her accusations. “You were never good enough for her and now because of you she might die."

  Richard stood perfectly still, allowing her to continue ranting at him. Technically she hadn't said anything he hadn't thought of himself.

  "You never loved her. It was her money you loved."

  "That is not true.” Richard raised his voice.

  The doctor stepped into the waiting area and asked, “Are you Mr. Wakefield?"

  "Yes. How is she, doctor?” Richard asked.

  "I have some disturbing news for you. Alana has experienced severe trauma to the head and spine area. Apparently, she was not wearing her seat belt. The surgery will help ease the pain in her back and the swelling on her brain. I'm sorry to have to inform you of this, but Alana is paralyzed from her waist down. The chances of her ever walking again are very, very slim."

  The doctor shook his head sadly, folding his hands in front of him.

  Rachel started screaming at the top of her lungs, “No! Oh, my God, no!” She grabbed onto her husband and her whole body went limp as her wimpy husband tried to keep her from falling onto the floor.

  The doctor started to help then frowned. “And I am not sure how much damage was done to her head. Time will tell. She's been moved to ICU."

  Richard asked, “What do you mean by damage to her head?"

  "Until she regains consciousness we're not sure if she has sustained permanent brain damage or memory loss."

  "My own sister may not know me?” Rachel screeched.

  The doctor flinched from Rachel's hysterics. “In all likelihood, she'll be fine. You need not worry until we know for sure. Would you like a sedative?"

  No ... I'll be okay in a minute. When can I see my sister?” Rachel poured herself another cup of coffee, guzzling at it like a woman lost in the desert.

  "As soon as she's been placed in a room and stabilized, I'll have the nurse send for you."

  Richard shook the doctor's hand and thanked him.

  Today was the day when everything in my world turned upside down, Richard thought.

  Suddenly everything seemed surreal. Just hours ago he'd been watching his wife with another man, and now she was clinging to life, paralyzed.

  CHAPTER 1

  One Year Later

  Richard sat in a booth at Lotus's, drinking a dark draft while waiting for Dustin, his best friend. He's probably hung up in court, Richard thought, looking at his watch. Dustin's law practice had been thriving for the past two years; so much that he'd had to stop taking new clients for a while.

  Ric
hard glanced at the woman sitting alone at the bar. He spied her stealing a look at him, darting her eyes away when he caught her gaze. She crossed her legs slowly, her skirt inching up to mid-thigh. Richard looked away—and felt not a glimmer of attraction.

  Alana had been in the ground for six months now, and he wasn't anywhere near ready to take on the challenge of the dating scene again. She'd lasted for six months in a vegetative state, on a ventilator and respirator, before her organs began to shut down—one by one. When the machines only seemed to beat her up and prolong her death, Richard made the decision to unplug the respirator. She died with him by her side, slipping away peacefully while Richard held her hand. No matter that their relationship had been a tempestuous one in real life. It would be one of peace and resolution upon her death.

  But Richard's guilt over Alana's accident and subsequent death ate at his guts everyday like corrosive battery acid eroding its container.

  Dustin charged in the door and slapped Richard on the back, sloshing his drink on the table. “Whoa, sorry, buddy, didn't mean to getcha."

  Plopping down in the other side of the booth, Dustin took charge, just like he did with everything else in his life. Richard watched as Dustin smiled flirtatiously at the redhead sitting at the bar.

  Dustin rubbed his hands together. “Hey, bud. You ready to eat?"

  Sliding off the bar stool, they made their way to a table in the back of the restaurant. They didn't need the menu because they both ordered the same thing every other week like clockwork.

  "How you been?” Dustin asked.

  "Okay, I guess. How's our lawsuit going?"

  "I've filed it, but pushed the court date back so I have more time to prepare ... and to piss Rachel off. It is a complicated case as you well know, but we'll win, no problem."

  "You seem so sure.” Richard cast him a doubtful glance then took another swig of beer.

  "I am sure, buddy. You know and I know you had nothing to do with Alana's car accident and death. Just because her sister is a bitch doesn't give her the right to make these kinds of accusations. She's claiming you married Alana for her money, but she's suing you so she can get her hands on that same money. Gold-digging bitch."