LOVING DARK MEN Read online

  Silas Mercer picks up the envelope with my name on it and slides out a stack of papers. It’s a much thicker stack of papers than I figured is warranted. He shuffles them, then slides a good portion of that stack back inside the envelope. My eyes follow this movement. But then he puts the other stack in my line of sight.

  “Ready to go over the paperwork?”

  I look up at him. “Sure, Mr. Mercer.”

  “Oh, it’s just Mercer here. We go by surnames, remember? I mentioned that in your recruitment interview. So you will be Ryan.”

  “Ryan?” I make a face.

  “Come on now. Nova?” He laughs. “It’s so obnoxious and trendy. You might as well be called Starchild. Your name is now Ryan—because good Lord, Ryanzski, no one wants to go around spitting out those syllables all day long. It’s not even a real name.”

  I just… blink at him. “You’re changing my name?”

  He blows out a breath. “Well, if you hate it—”

  “I don’t hate it. I’m just”—once again—“surprised, that’s all.”

  “Shit. I forgot about that.”

  “What?”

  “You hate surprises.”

  “How do you know that?” I did have to fill out a questionnaire the last time we met, but I’m absolutely certain that I didn’t mention my hatred for surprises.

  “The question was, ‘For your birthday would you prefer an impromptu gathering with family and friends or a private night alone with your significant other?’ You said private night alone.”

  “Yeah, but…” I kinda huff out some air. “You can’t draw that conclusion based on that one question. Wouldn’t everyone prefer an intimate night with their significant other?”

  He points a pen at me. “That’s your bias speaking. But you’re right. It wasn’t just one question that gave away your aversion to surprises. It was a combination of about a dozen.”

  “So it was a personality test?”

  He shoots me a look. “You know it was. I told you that before you took it.”

  But that’s not how I remember it. I remember him saying it was an informal get-to-know-you packet that everyone in the department filled out.

  “Hmm,” I say.

  “What’s that for?”

  “I’m catching on, that’s all.”

  “Oh, are you.” He leans back in his chair, making it squeak. “Enlighten me.”

  “It’s all a test, isn’t it?”

  “Life? Yes, it is.”

  “Not life. You. This place. How many people are in your department… Mercer?” It’s weird to call him by his last name.

  He laughs. “You are catching on.”

  “It’s just us, isn’t it?”

  He leans forward in his chair now, places his elbows on the desk and stares directly into my eyes. “It’s me and you, Ryan. One year of just me and you.”

  I kinda stop breathing at this point. Because he’s… captivated me. And he hasn’t even done anything.

  “Anyway.” He breaks the awkward silence. “Sign here.” He points to a line on the one-page contract, then slides it, and the pen he’s still holding, towards me.

  I read the NDA. But it’s all very standard-looking. Two paragraphs, and that includes the first one that has both our names in it. Basically, it just says I will not discuss the project with anyone but Silas Mercer.

  I sign it.

  Mercer takes the paper back, slips it into the envelope with my name on it, and then lets out a breath. “I’m doing human trials.”

  “Human trials for what?”

  “A drug that will change the way we vacation forever.”

  “What?” I laugh a little. This was not what I was expecting.

  “It’s a… brain stimulation drug. It induces memories and emotions. So, for instance, I could give you this drug and with a little manipulation I could make you believe that you were lying on a beach in Bora Bora. You would feel the heat, you would sweat, you would smell the salty air. For all intents and purposes, you would be there.”

  “No kidding?”

  “I’m absolutely fucking serious. It’s…” His whole face lights up. “Amazing.”

  “You’ve tried it?”

  “Oh, fuck yeah. I give it a go at least once a month. You can too if you want. But you don’t have to. Your job here, Ryan, is to map the pathways in the brain. I set the trial up so that I would administer the drug while the subject was inside an MRI machine.”

  “Clever.”

  “I’m glad you think so. You’re here to watch the MRI recordings while they’re on their ‘vacation,’ then map the pathways. I need this for full FDA approval. They want the exact mechanism of action. Do you think you can do that?”

  My mind is spinning. In a good way. A very good way. “Not only can I do this, I will enjoy this immensely.”

  Mercer smiles at me. Then he stands up, takes my hand, and leads me over to the door. He kisses my knuckles without ever losing eye contact, and my entire body gets tingly and hot. “We’ll start tomorrow at nine AM, Ryan. Second floor.” He nods his head up. “Hallway B.”

  “Wait. I get the day off?” I’m kinda disappointed. I’m just getting used to him. I want to stay, learn more, and… he’s still holding my hand.

  He lets it go. “Today is get-to-know-the-island day. Walk around. Get familiar with it. Meet your neighbors. Make a friend. It’s kind of mandatory. We’re like a family here, Ryan. Everyone already knows who you are. Now you need to know who they are. So. Until tomorrow.”

  Then he opens the door and pretty much dismisses me.

  I leave. What else can I do?

  I climb the stairs and end up on the side of the building looking at a little park with old maples. And that’s when I see him.

  The shirtless guy who pointed to the office. He’s leaning against a tree with arms folded. Pretty much straight in front of me. Pretty much looking right at me.

  He unfolds his arms and beckons me with a crooked finger. Then he turns and walks deeper into the trees.

  Wait. Maybe he’s not actually beckoning me. I look over my shoulder to see if there’s anyone behind me, but no. I’m alone. In fact, the bustling Square is nearly empty now. A small group of people linger over by the coffee cart, but other than that—no one.

  I look back at the man’s retreating form and watch him disappear into the woods.

  Did I just… imagine that?

  He wasn’t inviting me into the woods with him.

  Was he?

  But if not me, who?

  I’m the only one here.

  Should I go?

  I was instructed to get to know the island. That would include the woods.

  Nova, my inner voice cautions. A strange man just beckoned you into the woods. Someone you do not know.

  This is true. And if I was in New York, following a stranger into the woods would be a monumentally bad idea.

  But this is a private island. And what did Mercer say again? Everyone already knows who you are. Now you need to know who they are.

  So this guy knows who I am. And I have been practically ordered to know him back.

  I look over my shoulder one more time, then step out of the stairwell and enter the woods.

  When I don’t see the man right away, I pause and call, “Hello?”

  He steps out from behind a tree.

  “Um. You were talking to me, right? I mean, referring to me? When you invited me into the woods?” I walk towards him, my hand out like we’re gonna have a little business handshake to cement our new friendship.

  This handshake thing is an instinct. Something I learned after many, many awkward academic meetings over the course of my education. It’s my go-to icebreaker. But in this instance, I dunno, for some reason it makes me feel stupid. And I’m just about to pull my hand back when he extends his in return.

  But instead of shaking my hand, he squeezes it. Not too hard, but enough for me to know that this is not a business handshake. Then he grins,
and holy hell. He’s even more attractive in the daylight shadows of a summer wood than he was sitting out on that railing.

  He takes a few steps, looking over his shoulder at me. Leading me by the hand, I realize.

  And then I take a few steps, and he takes a few more, and before I know it we’re much deeper in the woods.

  This spurs the inner voice into action once again. Nova… what the hell are you doing? Did anyone see you go in the woods? Did anyone see him? Will you be taking your last breath five minutes from now?

  I really do hate surprises and this is starting to feel like a surprise. So I stop. And my arm jerks a little because he keeps going. He looks over his shoulder again, turning, looking over my shoulder now. Which makes me look over my shoulder too, wondering if someone’s coming up behind me. And in that moment—in that one second that I take my eyes off him—he’s pressed up against me. Pushing me into the trunk of a tree. His hands on my hips, gripping just a little.

  But the funny thing is, I don’t fight him or anything. I don’t object. I don’t say anything. I think I’m too surprised at his boldness.

  Boldness? Is that the word we’re going with?

  But the next moment, he’s leaning in to my ear, whispering. “Hi, Ryan.”

  “Um…” I’m a little bit shocked that he already knows the name Mercer decided to call me. And this leads to a whole chain of inner questions and answers inside my head. Does he know Mercer? Did they talk about me? Is the assigning of new names something discussed before being presented?

  “Am I your first friend?”

  “U-um… yeah.” I let out a long breath and tip my head up to look him in the eyes. He doesn’t seem threatening. He’s smiling, which is good, I guess. And that smile looks amazing on him. Makes a single dimple pop out in the middle of his chin. And his eyes. They are so close and they are gazing at me. They are brown with a splotch of blue on the outside. Both of them have this mark. And for a moment my brain is all science, trying to figure out how the genetics might work on such a color combination.

  “You know what that means?”

  I shake my head, still gazing into his eyes like he’s caught me in a trap.

  “It means we’re gonna be friends forever.”

  “Oh.” I laugh a little. “OK.” And then I go speechless. Because his head is moving down, and his eyes are still on mine, but then they drop to my lips, and my eyes drop to his lips, and the next thing I know we are kissing.

  No. No, no, no. This is not just kissing. We are not merely kissing.

  This is… something else. It’s open-mouth. Tongue. Hands on my face. It is a slow, deliberate, agonizingly erotic kiss. And it goes on, and on, and on. Our mouths moving together so perfectly, like we’ve done this a million times. His thumb caressing little circles on my jaw. His teeth nipping at my lips. His hips pressing forward, grinding into mine.

  And my inner voice is going nuts.

  Nova! What are you doing? Why are you kissing this strange man? Why are you in the woods?

  But I don’t have a good answer. The only one that comes to mind is… because I want to. And I’m pretty sure that’s not good enough.

  But then there’s another voice. A stronger one. Why isn’t it good enough? Why must you overthink things? Why can’t you just enjoy something nice?

  Nice? Oh, this is so much more than nice. His hands are on my breasts now, squeezing them as he grinds. His leg slipping between mine, parting them and lifting my flirty little pink skirt up so I can feel his skin sliding against my inner thigh.

  A chill runs up my spine, giving me a thrill. And meanwhile, he’s still kissing me. And I’m still kissing him back. And I’m starting to think that we’re gonna do it. Right here, against this tree. He’s gonna pull those sweat pants down, slip his dick inside me, and fuck me. Right here. Right now.

  And I’m going to let him.

  In fact, I’m so convinced that this is where we’re headed that when he takes my hand and slides it inside his pants, I go for it. I grab him. Squeeze him. Pump him. Jerk him. Back and forth, slowly at first. Then harder. With enthusiasm.

  His kisses continue, and I swear to God, I am going to remember this kiss for the rest of my life. I’m going to spend the next ten years with a vibrator between my legs, picturing this kiss as I make myself come.

  One of his hands is on my face, pressed flat on my cheek. The other has pulled my shirt and bra down, exposing one breast. One nipple open to the air. It beads up and he plays with it, making it even harder. Like a little pebble.

  He’s biting my lip, and squeezing my breast, and my firm hand is moving up and down his shaft at a pretty good clip now.

  I can tell it’s turning him on. His breath is labored, as is mine. We’re panting like animals. And I swear, if he would just bump my clit with his hand, or his leg, or anything, really—I would explode.

  I have never been this turned on in my entire life.

  I squeeze the tip of his cock and he groans, moaning into my mouth. And then he dips his head down, his teeth on my shoulder. He bites me as his come spurts out and drips down the back of my hand.

  He breathes heavy for a moment, his face buried in my neck, his taller body hovering over mine. And we pause like this.

  I get lost in this. My head is spinning. My pussy is throbbing. I want to grind against him now. I want to take his hand, shove it between my legs, and rub myself with it until I gush.

  Just thinking about this is enough to push me to the edge. Five more seconds, and I will come undone.

  But then I realize he’s pulled his pants back up, and he takes my soiled hand, and he’s leading me out of the woods.

  I’m about to stop him and say, Whoa. Hold on there. What about me?

  But I can’t. I can’t say that. And then we’re there. On the outer edge of the trees. And I can see the shingle with Mercer’s name on it peeking up from the almost-hidden stairwell.

  A few more steps and we’re on the sidewalk.

  A few more seconds and he’s let go of my hand.

  And then he’s jogging away.

  CHAPTER TWO - LOCKE

  The Midnight Ark is a modest farm in southwestern Oregon, but what it lacks in accommodations and facilities it makes up for in beauty. Rows upon rows of purple mounds separated by the greenest green grass you’ve ever seen.

  This green is the color of her eyes in the sunlight.

  And the scent. Don’t even get me started on the scent.

  The moment I get out of my rented Jeep it hits me. Lavender. Before Nova, I don’t think I ever paid a single moment of attention to anything lavender. Not the color, not the flower.

  But now she is lavender.

  Nova Ryan’s house is small and made of wood. There are three bedrooms, but it’s nothing more than a cottage, really. I’ve been inside plenty of times, so I know that it’s also much more than a cottage. It’s the definition of comfy. Of home. Of… satisfaction.

  The barn is also made of wood. No prefabricated buildings here on this farm. It’s cedar, and big, and inside I know there is a distillation room, a little shop, and some stalls for the goats. If you come in the spring, like it is now, you can pet baby goats in there. She uses the milk to make lavender soaps.

  Four and a half years ago, Nova Ryan quit her life at the Institute and moved to Forest Park Village, Oregon, to farm.

  Mercer laughed at her.

  Olsen just looked confused.

  But I knew she was serious.

  I try not to come visit. I try really hard.

  But most of the time I don’t succeed.

  I pop up here every three or four months, uninvited, and I stay until she kicks me out.

  Sometimes that takes five minutes. Sometimes less. Sometimes she meets me in the parking lot and before I get one foot out of my rental she’s waving her arms and yelling for me to go back where I came from.

  When she does that, I leave. But I don’t go home. I’ll book a B&B in town and stick around for a f
ew weeks. Visit all the local wineries and buy lots of handmade things I don’t need. Usually she’ll calm down. It might take several days, but if I am persistent, she typically gives in.

  Today, she is not in the parking lot so I have that going for me.

  My two-thousand-dollar shoes crunch on the gravel as I make my way over to the split-rail fence that separates the parking lot from the closest field. I pause to take it all in every time I come. It’s just so pretty.

  This first field is filled with young plants, so it’s all green and not purple. But further away, there is a sea of purple. All waving in the wind, backlit by the approaching orangey-red sunset surrounded by the ever-present bruised sky.

  I’m glad she’s here. I really, really am. She deserves this place. She really, really does.

  But I miss her. And I will never stop wanting her.

  “It’s a lot prettier than the island, isn’t it?” I turn and look down at the little girl. Her strawberry-blonde hair is just like her mother’s. It’s thin and wispy, the way a four-year-old’s hair usually is. So it blows across her sweet face even in this gentle wind.

  I don’t say anything. Just nod and resume my appreciation of this other world that exists, right alongside my own, on the far side of the country.

  “She won’t want to see you today, Locke.”

  I hate that she calls me Locke. But that’s what Nova calls me. That’s what everyone calls me, so I should just get over it. “Why not?” I keep my tone even. I hide the disappointment.

  “She’s in a mood. One of the barn cats disappeared. Haven’t seen her for almost a week now.”

  “Which one?”

  “Whiskers.”

  “Ahhh.” I frown, then tsk my tongue. I was there the night this one showed up begging for food a couple years back. All ratty and thin. Cold, and wet, and shivering. “I’m sorry.”

  “She’s not dead,” Veda says. “She’s just lost.”