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  Anchor: The Wake Series, Book Three

  Copyright © 2015 M. Mabie

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of the material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author/publisher. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, alive or dead, is coincidental and not indented by the author.

  LICENSE NOTICE. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book man not be resold or given away to other people. If you wish to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  DISCLAIMER. This is a work of adult fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  The author does not endorse or condone any behavior enclosed within. The subject matter is not appropriate for minors. Please note this novel contains profanity and explicit sexual situations.

  Cover Design Copyright © 2015 by Hang Le at By Hang Le

  Book formatting by Stacey Blake, Champagne Formats

  Editing by Marion Making Manuscripts, Marion Archer

  Table of Contents

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT

  OTHER BOOKS

  DEDICATION

  PROLOGUE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Also by M. Mabie

  Fade In

  The Wake Series

  Bait

  Sail

  Anchor

  The Very Second Time coming Late 2015

  CASEY WAS WAITING FOR me. He was meeting my mom and dad.

  “No, I think you’re going to stay and tell me what I did that was so bad you had to fuck another guy the whole time we were married.”

  I didn’t say anything else. I simply turned on my heels for the door.

  “You can’t leave without your precious papers, Blake. Your divorce papers.”

  “Please, just let me go,” I begged.

  “I’m not sure if I’m ready to let you leave just yet. Let’s go get those papers.”

  He began to pull me up the stairs.

  Casey, I need you.

  “You want to go? This isn’t like me? I gave you everything. You didn’t have to work and travel like you were. You could’ve had a good life here with me. We could’ve had a family.”

  Pain. My arm. My heart.

  Grant never knew me, proven by the harsh fact, he was a complete stranger. How had I been so naive? Reality’s punch to my gut was brutal, rivaling the pain I was feeling.

  “But, no. I wasn’t good enough, so you fucked someone else. So this is the new me, Blake. Maybe you’ll like me better this way.”

  Step after step, he went backward, jerking me as he went, his force only waning when I struggled against his hold. I fought and pulled back, almost bringing us both down. He stopped, grabbed a fistful of my hair, and heaved me up toward him.

  “Does he pull your hair? Is that it?”

  Casey is waiting for me. What if he thinks I’ve changed my mind?

  What if he leaves?

  A fleeting surge of adrenaline spiked through my system. I had one more shot. I didn’t overthink it; there wasn’t time. I lunged forward, taking him off guard since he was pulling me. Head first into his thigh—which was the closest part of him I could reach—and I bit him. My teeth dug through the denim of his jeans until I felt his skin break in my mouth. Until I tasted blood. Metallic and salty.

  “You fucking bitch!” he screamed.

  I was free.

  I heard Casey’s voice, he was with me. So close. I felt his warmth surround me.

  “I want you tonight. You’ve got something I need. I don’t know what it is. I’m probably crazy. Humor me though. Be with me.”

  I leaned back. I was falling. I was going to him.

  “You might marry him today. But the brave fighter in here—she’s mine. She always will be. Love doesn’t give a fuck about a piece of paper. When are you going to realize that this isn’t just love? There isn’t even a word for this.”

  Words from our past were new in my ears as I weightlessly fell into nothingness.

  I’m dreaming of you, Lou.

  Someone was talking. Their voice was muffled … like through a pillow.

  Casey. I was trying to get to you. I’m trying to get to you.

  Darkness.

  Sunday, June 13, 2010

  “WHEN YOU WAKE UP, you should probably go ahead and ask me to marry you,” I whispered in the dark to a man who—quite literally—owned my heart. Fair and square. There was a nightlight on in my bathroom down the hall, but other than that it was completely dark and quiet. When I’d woken up, from thoughts I still wouldn’t allow myself to think about—when I had the choice—I was sweaty, in a warm bed with Casey. Except, not in the way I would prefer to be.

  Over the past week I’d been in a haze from the strong painkillers, and I was still sleeping at the weirdest times even though they’d all but worn off by then. However groggy, and regardless of the hour, every time I woke up, he was there ready to talk. Ready to make me laugh. Bring me something to drink. Feed me to the point of nausea.

  He seemed calm, which I was thankful for in that moment. Relaxed and peaceful. He needed rest, and I felt obligated to leave him alone, so he could catch up on the sleep I knew I’d deprived him of. He had to be exhausted. He was always awake when I was.

  So I lay there absorbing him and reflected. My heart rate slowed from the dream as I let my mind wander around our new reality.

  I’d been home for a few days. It was Sunday—I think.

  Days blended together. I measured time by what television shows were on and what he was trying to feed me. Breakfast. The Today Show. Lunch. He was watching a cooking show. Dinner. The news. If it weren’t for those minor clues, and the light from the sun and moon filtering in from outside, I’d have no clue what time it was at all.

  It was dark out when he carried me to bed. My bed? Our bed? There was so much that wasn’t clear. So much that needed discussing. Defined. Lines needed to be drawn. Sad as it was, I was still nervous that it could get worse before better. Would Grant cause more trouble? Would I have to go through a trial? I wanted to sever myself from the past, not continue living in it. My mind traveled into dark corners, so I focused my thoughts on him.

  The beautiful man beside me. His physical appearance and the word ‘beautiful’ were exclusive. It was everything about him. His kindness. Passion. He loved me unconditionally. Goodness oozed from him and coated everything it touched. Including me.

  I needed him forever.

  I’d consistently asked him, twice a day it seemed, if he’d marry me. Persistent and stubborn, he’d say, “I’m asking you, honeybee. But thank you. And I will
marry you.”

  That was the same thing as a yes. Right?

  My heart, and everything else, belonged to him. I had already been his for such a long time. I refused to wait any longer.

  He loved me. I loved him.

  I was single—for all intents and purposes—and he was free.

  I wasn’t going to waste another minute not letting him know I was there for the taking. If he wanted me. Every part of me belonged to every part of him. My lips were the mate to his. My arms fit around him like wrapping paper on Christmas presents. My thoughts were stained with him, the same as my heart. My eyes never failed to look for his. The view was always such a nice bonus.

  “You know you want to. Just ask me,” I quietly pleaded. “I’ll say yes, and we’ll run away.” That was something of a fantasy. But who doesn’t dream about being swept away by the man they’re in love with?

  With all of the stealth and speed of a geriatric sloth, I moved away from him to take a little walk around the house. Maybe there was something on television that would hold my attention. I gently slid my feet off the side of the bed, then felt his hand find mine.

  “Where ya goin’?” he asked. His voice was gravelly and thick with sleep. I glanced over my shoulder. I smiled because his eyes weren’t even open. It was possible he wasn’t even awake. Bringing my leg back up on the bed, I ran my hand over his chest and felt him breathing just as softly and evenly as before.

  “Casey?”

  I waited, but there was nothing.

  I was sucked back into him. I didn’t need a walk. I needed his touch.

  My fingers journeyed to their favorite playground—his hair. I combed through it softly and as curly hairs pulled away from each other, they fluffed up. The contrast of his dark hair against the creamy white pillowcase allowed me to see the effect I was having on it. Puffy hair and all, he still looked handsome.

  Through everything, he’d been exactly what I’d needed.

  He didn’t speak carefully to me like I was glass. But his touch, although still holding the heat that had always been there, felt cooler. Somewhat reserved. My body was still healing, so I could understand his hesitancy to go crazy. Still, I missed the feel of him. The way my blood and muscles felt new after the rush of pleasure he gave me.

  He could heal me, distract me. Replace hurt with desire. Fear with ecstasy. Hate with love. Greedily, I just couldn’t resist him. I supposed it was typical. When it came right down to it, I’d always been selfish, but this time I wanted to please and give more than I took.

  I changed course. I crawled back onto the bed closer to him and, carefully, wrapped my leg over his side-laying body. I cinched closer. He reflexively drew me near and a moan rumbled in his throat.

  “You’re starting trouble, honeybee,” he said as he rolled onto his back taking me with him. I lay on his chest, legs straddling him. Even though his head was foggy, his body was awake. Evident by the hardness I felt when I stretched to kiss his mouth. Not just for his lips, but for the friction created by sliding against him.

  “You don’t have to wake up. I can do this on my own,” I assured him sarcastically. “You just fall back asleep. Nothing to see here.”

  “I was dreaming about this.” He shifted under me and the darker thoughts I’d had earlier started to fade. The knot in my belly changed to need.

  “Really, which part?”

  “You. But you were kissing my neck.” He moved his head to the side and I laughed to myself. He invited me to press my lips against the skin under his ear. He tasted sweet and satisfying and better than any meal I’d had in a long time.

  “Mmm. Like this?”

  His hips rocked and he ran his hands up and down my sides under my tank top. It made me arch into him, and I took liberties, grinding against the glorious piece of man beneath me.

  “Yeah. Kinda,” he mumbled. “And my mouth.” His lips puckered and he gave me a little squeeze. My ribs screamed and my breath caught, the pain surprising me. Out of all of my injuries, my ribs were the worst. He sensed my brief discomfort. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

  He relaxed his hold. The room was barely bright enough for me to see his worry. I didn’t like it. I missed the reckless passion his eyes held only a few weeks ago.

  “I’m okay. Please. I’m ready.” I snuck a hand between us and stroked him over his briefs. No matter what he said, part of him was ready too.

  “Blake, you’ve only been home a few days. I’m not going anywhere.” What he was saying and the way his hips rocked into my hand contradicted each other. He continued, “Don’t rush yourself.”

  “I’m not. I want to.” Wanted to? Hell, I needed to. I needed to feel good. To be consumed by him. I wanted my lungs heavy with his breath and my ears full of words from his worshiping lips. I wanted there to be, at least, a few peaceful seconds, where I wasn’t pretending I couldn’t remember what happened at Grant’s.

  I wanted the calm that came right after we were intimate.

  Mostly, I wanted to tell him all of that, but I wasn’t sure how to say it. I knew he’d understand. Or try. What were the words for fix me? Let’s fix this together?

  Words failed me, but my hand did not.

  I continued to glide over his length, our skin only separated by thin fabric.

  “I want that too, but it doesn’t have to be tonight. I’m not going anywhere.” Casey’s words reassured me, but it was short-lived. Anxiety or panic, although quiet, whispered in the background of my mind. He’ll have to go back to San Francisco at some point. Will he stay long? How long will we be apart?

  “But what about when you do go? You’ll have to go, won’t you? Eventually?” The words spilled out before I could make them yield to my better judgment.

  What if Grant came here when Casey was gone?

  He sat up in bed and leaned back against the headboard, taking me with him. He embraced me as I naturally lay my head on his bare chest. All heat gone from the moment. My fleeting chance at a diversion from my thoughts, vanished.

  “It’ll be fine. We’re going to be fine.”

  “I want all of this to be cleaned up. All of the mess I’ve made to disappear. I want you,” I confessed as I searched for clues on his face in the dark. Something reassuring. Something convincing. “How do you know it’s all going to be fine?”

  “Because you and I, we’re workers.” His hands ran circles over my back in a slow, soothing pattern.

  “Workers? I haven’t worked in a week and neither have you.” I wasn’t following. How was that supposed to make me feel any better?

  He laughed at me a little and continued.

  “We don’t mind work is what I should have said, I suppose. We fell in love. It wasn’t the right time. It was inconvenient as fuck and, at times, it hurt so bad. It would have been much easier to quit.” His fingers tenderly brushed across my cheek. “You and I are tough, Blake. Even though it probably doesn’t feel or look like it, we were fighting to be together that whole time. And we’re so close. We’re so close I can feel it. Look at us. I’m here in your home. In your bed. No one to hide from. No one to tell us it’s wrong or tell us we should be anywhere else. I’ve dreamed of us being like this. Together. I think you have too.” His thumb ironed out my brow, releasing the tension I held there.

  “I have, but I want to give you more.”

  “We’re both getting more. We’re going to have everything.”

  “Then why can’t we just get married and let everything begin now? Today.” We’d had this conversation over and over, but Casey was insistent. Like me, I supposed. He wanted it his way.

  “Because you deserve more than that. So do I. It would feel cheap to me.”

  My arm around his neck, I spun his hair around my finger.

  “Cheap?”

  “Yeah. We’ve been through so much, and now to run off and get married at the courthouse, like we’re ashamed—well, it feels wrong. I want to give you things. Things you’ve never had. And I want to share
every precious moment with you that I’ve never had.”

  “I’m a divorcee,” I painfully reminded him.

  “I’m sick of hearing that excuse.” His hand stilled.

  “It’s not an excuse. It’s the truth. I can’t give you my firsts. I gave them to …” I didn’t have to finish. I didn’t want to finish. The facts made me ill.

  “Did you mean it? Did you mean any of it with him?” His voice was still butter-smooth, but he was being firm with me. I liked the feel of the familiar push and pull we were so good at, even if I wasn’t sure if I understood his logic.

  Memories of my first wedding trickled into my head. Ironically, they all had to do with Casey. Him coming to me that morning. Our fight. Thinking that I’d imagined him at the ceremony.

  “I hope you have to pretend it’s me to walk down the aisle.”

  Which I did.

  “No,” I confessed in the dark. I could give him that. It was true; he was the only man I’d ever wanted to marry. I kissed his chest.

  “Then it doesn’t fucking count, honeybee. Do you love me?”

  I brought my mouth to his and answered, “I do. I love you so much, but I want to show you I’m yours. I want to be yours in every way.”

  “I want that too. But not out of some sense of obligation. Not because you think you owe me. And don’t try to say that’s not some of your rush. It is. I know you, Blake. I know how you think. It’s a hobby of mine.” He kissed my forehead and then my nose. “I’m an expert-level Blake enthusiast.”

  “Then tell me what you want.” I climbed closer, desperate to give him something. “Anything. All you have to do is name it.”

  “Okay.” His voice lifted, levity finding him, like he was getting ready to read me his Christmas list. “Okay. I’m going to tell you this stuff, and number one, you can’t laugh at me. And number two, you can’t freak out and force all of it to happen.”

  “Okay, tell me.”

  He cupped my face with his warm palms and pushed his forehead against mine. “Promise. Promise me telling you all of this won’t make you crazy.”

  “I promise. Now get on with it.”

  “I want to propose to you when it’s special. I don’t know how. God, I’ve pictured doing it so many ways.” He laughed. “The number of fantasy proposals I’ve had are starting to rival the other fantasies I have with you.”