Welcome To Corbin's Bend Page 9

  "No, she's going away on assignment."

  Nodding, Marcus closed the door and darted backwards as the helicopter slowly lifted off and made its way through the snow down the mountain.

  "—and let him know there will be public disciplinary action for it," Brent said tersely into the phone as he stood just outside the hospital entrance.

  "Don't worry. We will." Jonathon sounded as pissed as Brent felt. "Deciding to go hunting when his wife was expecting a baby any minute? I mean sure, he looks like hell and very sheepish, but that was crap. How's she doing?"

  "Pretty well considering she gave birth to a twelve pound, three ounce baby boy. Laurent should be here with her, and while she is trying to hide it, she's a bit depressed about the fact that he isn't. On the more positive side, the baby is cute. Has his father's coloring and his mother's delicate features. Loud little sucker, too."

  "Good. Maybe he can keep his daddy up at night so Deliah can rest. What's she naming him?"

  Brent felt a little blush fill his cheeks and was glad Jonathon could not see him fidget. "Brent Trenton Michaelson."

  Jonathon cleared his throat. "Laurent's gonna love that one."

  "Shut up."

  He chuckled. "All right. I'll stop teasing you now. But when you get back and everyone finds out the name of the baby?"

  "Hey, this isn't the first." To his embarrassment, Brent was the most popular baby name in the development. Even a couple girls had been named Brentley. It was very awkward whenever he ran into one of those baby's fathers.

  "True. That makes what? Ten Brents now?"

  "Twelve. Not that I'm counting."

  "When are you coming back? We have a new lawsuit that just arrived. You're going to want to take a look at it. Oh, and Jason wants to discuss protection of Char's home."

  Brent rolled his eyes. His friend had come up with several ideas since he first convened a meeting about it a week ago, none of them involving actual protection of her home. All of them had to do with Char moving in with Brent. And while Brent was not opposed to the idea, he had the feeling Charmagne would be. Her independence was sometimes a thorn in his side.

  "Once Laurent arrives, I'm going to go visit my parents, and after the snow stops, I'll have Jerry fly us back."

  For two days, Brent was trapped down in Denver. It wasn't bad. He spent time with his folks. The problem was that to get himself out of a date his mother wanted to set him up on, he revealed he was dating someone.

  "Really?" Rachel Carmichael said, her eyes twinkling. "Well, good. It's about time. Tell us about this Char."

  "Is she into that weird spanking stuff?" Denton Carmichael added with a raised eyebrow.

  Groaning, Brent leaned back. "Yes, Dad. Char likes to be spanked as much as I enjoy spanking someone. She's amazing, okay? Smart, independent, great sense of humor, gorgeous. Truly? She's the whole package."

  "When can we meet her?"

  His mother's question both amused and worried him. He wasn't sure if Char was ready to meet the Carmichaels yet. Because sure as it was snowing in Denver, if he brought Char down to meet them, the entire family would show up. Which meant over fifty happy Carmichaels watching her every move and asking her when they were getting married, if they were planning children, and "oh, do you really like to be spanked?" coming out of at least a dozen mouths. His family would not try to be rude, but their interest in his lifestyle would bubble over to her. He was not quite ready to subject her to that yet.

  "In time, Mom. We've only been dating a little over a month."

  Rachel watched him and then gave him the kind of nod that told him she had just made a decision. "You bring her down for New Year's."

  Packing her bag, Char was glad this particular jaunt was almost over. Gena had said it would be oh-so-simple to get the information she needed at the convention.

  Not quite.

  Everyone had been tight-lipped, so her article ended up being mostly supposition and guesses, which she hated. Thankfully, Gena seemed okay with that. "And tomorrow I can go home."

  Her lips curved into a smile as an image of Brent the last time she had seen him filled her mind. It was the morning before he had to fly down to Denver and she left town. Damn, but the man was a sight with his strong arms, shoulders, abs… not to mention his cock, which made her salivate. And his hand, which he had made wonderful use of in the shower. Spanking had interested her for a while, but it wasn't until Brent spanked her that she understood how much she needed it.

  It was as if she knew something was missing in her life and the moment his hand met her rump the light went on. Brent told her that he and his deceased fiancée had been in a domestic discipline relationship. She had read information on DD and was very interested in the concept. Of course, she was also nervous. How different was a discipline spanking to an erotic one anyway? It seemed to her that his hand fell pretty hard already. She could not imagine it falling any harder. Added to that, she was an independent person. Brent wanted to take care of her; that much was obvious. But was she ready to give up that part of her? To trust him enough to let him?

  That was the real question. And one she did not have an answer for yet.

  Her phone ringing brought her out of her ruminations, and she realized she had folded and refolded the same pair of pants several times as she stood there. Putting the jeans in her bag, she answered the call without checking the caller ID. "Hello?"

  "Enjoying St. Louis?"

  She smiled as Brent's voice poured over the phone. "Not really. In fact, I fly back tomorrow."

  "Good to hear. I'm flying back tonight."

  "How's little Brent?" she teased, laughing as he groaned.

  "That's twelve of us. In a few years, someone will yell 'Brent' and will receive a dozen replies."

  "Ahh, it's cute. And it just shows how well they think of you."

  "I know. Doesn't stop being awkward though. Oh," he cleared his throat. "I think you should be aware that my parents now know about you, and my mother can hardly wait to meet you."

  "Should I be afraid?" Brent always talked as if his parents were the best people in the world, but meeting them was a scary concept. She remembered meeting Nathan's parents. Her whole body shuddered at the memory.

  "Yes. Be afraid. Be very afraid. My mom wants to see me married and will no doubt ask you about us."

  "Oh dear." It was worrisome, but also amusing. "I don't think we're there yet."

  "I agree," he chuckled. "But that won't stop her from asking. Or my aunt. Or my sister-in-law. Or… Well, you get the point."

  "Good thing we're in winter. Maybe the roads will stay rough," she said.

  "We can only hope. What time do you think you'll be getting in?"

  "My flight lands just before noon. So around two, I expect."

  "Perfect. See you then, Honey. Call me if you need anything."

  "Night, Brent."

  After finishing up her packing, she crashed onto the uncomfortable hotel mattress and closed her eyes. In just a few more hours she would be home.

  Awakened with a jolt, she sat up, her eyes darting around in the dark, unsure of what had woken her up. The sharp knock on her door surprised her, and she rolled off the bed and padded over to the door. Looking through the peephole, she spotted a man in a dress suit holding a briefcase. Glancing across the room, her eyes zeroed in on the clock. 3:02a.m. Must have the wrong room.

  "Hello?"

  "Ms. Charmagne Kendle?" the man asked, turning to look straight at the door. Staring into his face, she could swear she had seen him before but could not place him.

  "Yes?"

  "I need to talk to you. Please open the door."

  "I don't think so. Who are you?" As if she would just open the door to some strange man. The thought of Brent's reaction to such a thing made her lips twitch. He would probably turn her ass a bright red until she couldn't sit down. A delicious tingling sensation at the thought made her rub her thighs together.

  "It's the middle of the nigh
t, Ms. Kendle. It would be best if you let me inside so I do not bother the other rooms."

  "I'm sure it would. You still have not told me who you are."

  His frown deepened. "My name is really of no consequence, but if you must know, it is Enrique Zolara."

  Her entire body jumped back from the door as her lungs practically leapt into her throat. Enrique Zolara? Now she knew who he was: the Korvens' private investigator. She'd only seen him once, when she was taken to Gavin Korven's office to be questioned, and Enrique had left the office before she entered it.

  "Go away," she said, her voice coming out as a whisper.

  "I cannot do that, Ms. Kendle. Please open the door."

  Turning, she ran over to the phone and hit the button for the front desk.

  "Front desk."

  "Yes, there's a strange man at my door demanding to come in."

  "What room?"

  "Two-twenty-four."

  "I'll send someone up right away, Ms. Kendle."

  "Thank you."

  Char crept back over to the door, which she knew was stupid. With the carpeting it was doubtful he would hear her approach. She looked back through the peephole where he stood waiting, glaring at the door. "Putting this off does not help the situation," he said sharply. "Open the door so we can discuss—"

  "I know who you are," she said, glad her anger and fear gave power to her voice again. "The Korvens' PI. Now get the fuck away. I don't want anything to do with them anymore."

  He raised an eyebrow. "Ms. Kendle, Mr. Nathan just wan—" He stopped speaking as a man in a security uniform walked up.

  "Sir, I will have to ask you to leave."

  Enrique shot her a disgusted look. "I'll be back, Ms. Kendle."

  "Now, sir."

  Turning sharply, he walked away. The security guard stood in front of her door watching him go. Slowly he turned back toward the door. "He's gone into the elevator, Ms. Kendle. They'll watch for him downstairs. Once he has left the premises, they'll let me know and I'll go."

  "Thank you," she said, and he smiled. Turning away, she walked back to the bed, but every molecule in her body had woken up and seemed to be rushing through her, intent on exploding if she did not do something. The only thing that helped when she got this stressed was a piece of cardio equipment. Thankfully, the hotel had a gym on site. Pulling out her exercise clothes, she changed into them and walked back to the door. As she exited her room, she spotted the guard entering the elevator. Well, at least Enrique was gone. Now she could go run off her energy.

  As she stepped onto the first machine her eyes fell upon as she entered the gym, she wondered if a spanking would do as well. Making a mental note to ask Brent when she got home, she turned the treadmill on and within two minutes was running as hard and fast as she could, trying to escape something she still did not quite understand. She never heard the door open nor sensed anyone in the room until a cloth-covered hand covered her mouth, and as she opened her mouth to scream, she inhaled. That was the last thing she remembered.

  A soft pounding in her head made her groan and she immediately reached up to grab it. "Ouch," she hissed, feeling a bump. What happened? Groggy, she opened her eyes, confused to find herself in a nicely appointed hotel room. The bed she was on was covered in a rich, golden coverlet. Definitely not the one she had laid down upon the night before. Looking around for anything that could give this place away, she noted that there was nothing else. No phone, no letterhead… there weren't even any side tables. What kind of hotel was this?

  Wincing as the pain in her head just increased with each and every movement, she slid to the side of the bed and sat up, her toes squishing into the plush carpeting below her feet. This was not a hotel room. No hotel had a carpet this nice. Putting her weight gingerly on her feet, she stood up, happy that, while slightly dizzy from the movement, she could stand straight. Daylight came in through a large picture window to her left and she moved slowly over to it, squinting as the sunlight made her head ache even more. Looking outside, all she saw were green fields as far as the eye could see.

  "What happened?"

  Turning away from the window, she saw two doors. The open one was obviously to the bathroom; she could see the tile. The other must be the way out. Walking slowly, she reached it and turned the knob. It didn't budge. "Damn."

  Walking back to the bed, she sat down. She needed to think. Where was she? Why was she here? And what happened between when she went to bed last night and now?

  Taking a nice deep breath, she focused on last night. She'd folded her clothes into her bag, said good night to Brent, and then gone to bed. Then what?

  Enrique! Startled to her feet, she grimaced at the pain lancing across her skull. Enrique had showed up and then left. Then what? Beginning to pace around the bed, she remembered. Stress always made her antsy so she'd gone to the gym. The hand covered in cloth.

  Oh my god. She was kidnapped.

  But why?

  And why hadn't she told Brent about Enrique showing up? He would be on a flight to St. Louis immediately. She might not have known him for long, but that much she did know. Brent Carmichael was extremely protective of those he cared for. "Brent," she whimpered. The metal jingle of a key inserting into a lock made her turn as the door opened. It seemed to take forever and, unconsciously, she backed up until she ran into the bed.

  The man who walked through the door was not who she expected.

  "Nathan?"

  Nathan Korven stood in front of her with that smirk that used to make her toes curl. With dirty blond hair that always seemed to be an inch or two too long for the current style he had it in, he had the air of being delightfully unkempt while at the same time wearing clothes that cost more than most people made in a year.

  "Hey, Baby."

  "Baby?" she asked in annoyance. "You broke up with me. Remember?"

  He leaned against the edge of the bed, blinking his baby blue eyes at her. "It was… an unfortunate shock, Charmagne. You know I cannot be attached to scandal and your, uh, proclivities made it very possible there would be one. Now," he said, shivering in a very practiced way, "Are you going to be nice and listen? Or am I going to have to call in the good doctor to help you see some sense?"

  She did not want to listen to a word he said. At all. Not only had he hurt her when he broke up with her – though now she wondered how she ever could have loved him – but he had also had her kidnapped. The part that still hurt from rejection wanted to push him out of the door and slam it in his face, while the woman inside who had found an amazing man who brought her more joy than she could imagine wanted to flash her ass at him and then slam the door in his face. But she needed to find out what was going on. Perhaps find a way to contact Brent. Taking a deep breath to try and convince herself this was the right thing, she put on as much of a smile as she could manage. "All right. You have thirty minutes to spill why you are here and then you leave. Got it?"

  "Of course, Baby," he said lazily, walking around her and sitting down at the top of the bed, leaning against the headboard. "Join me?" he said, winking at her and patting the seat next to him.

  It was strange. It had not been that long, and yet she felt nothing for him at all. This was the man she had been planning on marrying? Had she been insane?

  "I don't think so. Why don't you tell me why you're here? Because we both know you don't love me. And," she added with emphasis, "I don't love you either."

  The movement was tiny, but the way his head jerked in surprise let her know her words were not what he expected. Almost instantly that suave, practiced face was back in place. "Baby, the—"

  "Stop calling me Baby."

  "The wedding," he said, acting as if she had not interrupted him, "is still on. Mother will be most put out if it does not take place."

  His mother would what? She blinked and could not stop the laughter that burst out. "Your mother would be put out if the wedding did not take place? Ooh, poor Mommy."

  "Do not speak that way ab
out my mother," he snapped, his eyes narrowing and a small pout turning down the corners of his lips. "She has put a lot into this wedding."

  "Against my wishes, if I remember," Char said, standing up and crossing the room to get away from him. "I wanted something tiny, and she made it into an event."

  A slow smile crossed his face. "An event we would all still like to have take place."

  Walking over to the wall next to the bathroom, she leaned against it and observed Nathan. She truly could not see what it was about him that had attracted her now that she had Brent in her life. Nathan was so… it was like comparing the color blue with a gray. Brent was intense, gorgeous, kind, and was heavily involved in things that mattered. Nathan, on the other hand, was just a face. He spent most of his time goofing off on family money and looking down on anyone who did not run in his social circle. Now that she thought of it… "Why me?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "You cannot stand people who are not the crème de la crème. You spend your life looking down on them. Why me? I'm just a simpleton."

  His face stayed impassive, but he put the palms of his hands together and started twisting and turning his thumbs, a definite tell that he was about to give a big lie. Cocking her head, Char wondered why she had not realized that before.

  "Baby, you're amazing. And it isn't that I dislike people who are not as good as me. It's… I'm just used to the way the women in my social circle behave."

  Groaning, Char shook her head. "Nathan, stop lying."

  Frowning, he raised an eyebrow.

  "Yes, I know you're lying. Now, tell me why you're here and why you want this sham of a wedding to still happen."

  Chapter 8

  You all right, Brent?"

  Looking to his left, Brent gave Jerry a grimace. "Something's wrong. I can feel it in my gut."

  Frowning, Jerry looked at the skyline. "Weather looks bad, but it isn't supposed to start snowing again until tomorrow."

  "It's not the snow." It wasn't the snow at all. Brent pulled out his cell phone and looked at it. He was supposed to go home last night, but Jerry had come down with food poisoning, so they were not able to take off till this morning. Landing on the helipad, he thanked Jerry, jumped out, and headed to his vehicle. Brent had left Char five text messages, and she had not responded once. That was very unlike her. Drumming his fingers on his leg as the four-by-four warmed up, he tried calling her.