Tymber Dalton - Brimstone Blues

“Oh. That makes sense.”

Albert nodded and glanced at his watch. “I don’t wish to cut this short, but I have a conference call I must attend to.”

Before he could stand, she reached for his hand. “Albert,” she softly asked, “when are we having Rafe’s funeral?”

He froze, not wanting to meet her eyes. He quietly replied, “We are still awaiting the return of his ashes. Then you and Matthias can decide.”

“Did he leave any instructions?”

“Not written. Years ago, he told us he wanted to be cremated, but nothing beyond that. Matthias must go to Rafael’s condo and retrieve his effects and paperwork.”

Back in her office, Taz tried to focus. Why had she asked about the funeral? She’d done so well all morning, throwing herself into her work. At least now she knew what happened to Rafe’s body after the Stooges, what she’d dubbed the three-man security team working for Matthias at Yellowstone, recovered him.

A thought occurred to her. She went online and searched, ordering what she wanted after nearly an hour of looking for just the right one. Yes, she should be working, but this was more important. She wasn’t sure what, if anything, Matthias would say about it.

She didn’t care. It was for her, not him.

“That’s sweet, Taz.”

She shivered and looked around, even though she was alone in her office. That voice would drive her mad if it didn’t stop. That, and the feeling of someone constantly looking over her shoulder.

She stroked Rafe’s ring.

When Taz returned home late that afternoon, Matthias’ car was in the garage, but he wasn’t in his study or their bedroom. She made her way back to the kitchen. Before she could ask, Robertson tipped his head toward the garage door.

“Playroom.”

“Playroom?”

“Well, that’s what Albert dubbed it. It’s the sparring room.”

“I didn’t know we had one of those.” Then again, there was a lot she didn’t know. She hadn’t even explored the entire house yet. It was huge.

Robertson led her to the garage and pointed out another door in the far corner that she’d assumed was backyard access. Taz walked through the five-car garage to the door. She listened for a moment but didn’t hear anything. Cautiously, she opened it.

The large, well-lit room was painted bright white. Mirrors lined one wall, and she noticed a variety of fighting gear, mats, and punching bags. A large cabinet against the far wall stood open, containing more protective gear, training swords, and other items. It looked a lot like the dojo where she’d taken karate classes back in LA.

Matthias stood in the middle of the room, shirtless, his back to her. He held the large sword and worked his way through a fighting form. Every muscle in his back rippled with each slow, deliberate motion. Taz’s heart fluttered, heat building in her lower belly.

She knew he sensed her presence even though he didn’t physically acknowledge her. His mind opened, welcoming her to watch. Taz stepped inside and quietly shut the door behind her, content to observe his fluid movements.

He was all hers. And he wanted to marry her, God help them both. They’d been to hell and back—literally—and he still wanted her.

In the mirror she watched his mouth twitch into that yummalicious half smile that always turned her insides into a gooey mess around him.

While she held a black belt in karate, she’d never used such a heavy, large, bulky sword as that one, not in a form or in sparring. The one time she’d wielded it was in Yellowstone, when she dispatched the daemon pulverem disguised as Rafe.

In Matthias’ hands it appeared to weigh nothing. Inscriptions she couldn’t read were engraved down its long blade. He’d said it was old, but she didn’t know much about it.

As part of the form he turned, continuing his movements, with his eyes now locked on hers. She didn’t want to get away. His deep-blue gaze did what it always did to her, melting her, chaining her heart to him in a way she didn’t understand.

He stopped and lowered the sword, crooking a finger at her. Unable to resist, she went and pressed against him, kissing him deeply, moaning softly into his mouth as his free arm gathered her against his firm body and held her a willing captive.

After several long, heated minutes he broke their kiss and whispered into her ear, “I love you, Taz. Always remember that. No matter what, I love you.”

“Even after I was such a bitch?”

He smiled and stroked her cheek. “I told you, it wasn’t your fault. It was your powers taking you over. I did warn you that would happen.”

She grabbed his face in her hands and kissed him again, their tongues thrusting and exploring. His large cock grew hard against her hip. She ground against him, wanting him. He eventually pulled away and smiled.

“Did you want to try this?” He hefted the sword.

She thought about it and shook her head, remembering the last time she held it. “No. Not right now. It’s too soon.”

“All right, love. Let me put this away and we can take a shower.” He turned to put the sword away, and that’s when she noticed the panel in the back of the cabinet concealing a secret compartment. He carefully wiped the sword down, then placed it inside the compartment and locked it.

“Why don’t you have regular exercise equipment here?”

He shrugged and started to say something, but she caught the tail end of his thought. “You and Rafe used to practice in here?”

“Yes. We always have a gym at the offices, so that’s easy enough to access. Rafe and I frequently blew off stress in here. Sometimes you get to a point where it’s all that will suffice.”

“Want to spar with me?”

“Darling, I don’t want to hurt you—”

He landed on his back on a mat five feet away, Taz standing over him with a smile on her face. “Cut the crap, Matthias. You know full well what I’m capable of.”

He climbed to his feet, a wary eye on her. “You caught me off guard, cara .”

She stepped back a few feet, kicked off her shoes, and motioned him to her. “Come on. Take your best shot, big guy.”

“Taz, I don’t think—”

“Do it, Matthias.” She didn’t think she imagined his blue eyes shifted to an inky, deep-midnight color at her challenge.

Matthias didn’t want to, but knew he had to appease her. Something in her needed this. Even her eyes had changed color from a vibrant green to a deep, dark emerald.

They faced off and he tried to take it easy, but after she threw him for the third time, it was obvious she wasn’t holding back. If he didn’t stand up to her, she might accidentally hurt him. He sensed her pain, her grief, her rage, carefully guarded but bubbling below the surface, and she needed to get it out of her system. She needed to release the pressure somehow.

Praying he didn’t go too far, he attacked, barely managing to throw her to the mat. She jumped to her feet almost faster than he could prepare for the next onslaught. She savaged him for over twenty minutes. He didn’t let her have the advantage—it was all he could do to stay on his feet against her. Then he spotted her tears, hot and heavy, and when he had a chance he threw himself at her and wrapped his arms tightly around her, sweeping her legs out from under her, both falling to the mat. She briefly struggled, sobbing, and then she collapsed against him and cried.

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” He held her, rocking her in his arms as she wept, soothing her.

Eventually she relaxed, clutching at him, sniffling occasionally. “How can you put up with me?”