Wanted Always (Xander Barns) Read online

  Wanted Always (Xander Barns, #2)

  By

  Sarah Tork

  Other Books by Sarah Tork

  Xander Barns Series

  Always Wanted (Xander Barns, #1)

  Young Annabelle Series

  Young Annabelle (Y.A, #1)

  Contact the author

  Twitter @Sarah_TO1

  Wordpress blog http://sarahtork.wordpress.com/

  Copyright ©2013 Sarah Tork

  Wanted Always (Xander Barns, #2)

  By: Sarah Tork

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Cover design by Robin Ludwig Design Inc.,http://www.gobookcoverdesign.com

  Images From: http://www.dreamstime.com/

  Editing by Hot Tree Editing. http://www.hottreeedits.com

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Prologue

  *Demetria*

  Pink clouds, lace, and silk were the key elements of a room this large; a family of four could live comfortably inside. Loud instrumental music plays in the background from a pink iPod dock with a pink iPod attached to it. Sitting on my plush, purple-velvet makeup chair in front of a table filled with every facial product known to man, with a large mirror nestled behind it, I, Demetria Williams, gaze at my reflection with a scowl. I’m mentally preparing the things I could say if I ever saw my beloved with another woman.

  Option one: “Pining, you say?”

  Option two: “Silly girl, you reek! Don’t you know you smell like a thief?”

  Option three: “It’s not right to steal.”

  Option four, and my personal favorite: “Geez, I smell something stale and rancid; do you smell that?”

  Yes, those are the exact words I will use. I’ve decided to be prepared just in case an undesirable dared to pop up and take what’s mine.

  My love…Xander!

  The music ends and a 50s song about love and loss begins playing; the violins fill every inch of the room. My eyelids flutter closed. I allow my brain to wonder further, taking my body, mind, and soul to a place beyond the clouds where it could just be him and me.

  My happy place.

  Yummy, I can still fucking taste it. Glorious feet, washed in a bowl of water with the finest cleansers, nails filed in perfect crescent shapes.

  It smells glorious as my nose touches his feet, as my tongue swims joyously around his big toe. I feel his body quiver in shock from the sensation my mouth is giving him. I stretch out my hand, itching for a touch of his muscular naked leg. I want my hand to tickle playfully across his thigh, teasing him on its way to the sweet spot, the X, my favorite, mine period.

  Then something horrible happens, the memory fades.

  This is ridiculous! My eyes snap open, furious that there are no more memories to relish in and pretend they actually existed right in front of me. In a perfect world, I wouldn’t have had only a few memories to recall. I would have had enough to fill my day and then the next.

  I just want one thing in this life, and I am denied it. A man who made my entire body quiver violently for hours, while he whispered sweet things into my ear. My love for him only grew with the first stroke of his strong, clever hands, but I knew I loved him even before we began our spontaneous encounters of lust.

  It’s been many months since my last encounter with Xander, which is wrong—very, very wrong. I’m so freaking furious, but with no one to blame but myself for letting him get away. The anxiety that fills me day after day finally became too much last night.

  Sighing, I glance around my large bedroom, eyeing the strips of wallpaper on the floor, and the remnants of drywall that dusted every inch of my custom, cherry hardwood floor.

  I can’t be blamed; it was a reaction I am sure any normal person would have expressed, if not worse.

  The rage had been set off when I realized it had been four long months since my last encounter with him. I just couldn’t take it anymore. Anger melted as every kick, punch, and curse violently escaped my body. Today is a new day, and no matter how it was last night, it was over. I am fresh. But I am still a lady. A real lady doesn’t let her anger take over completely; she just has her moment in the privacy of her own bedroom, letting it all out, so that the next day, she can start fresh. I learned that from Mother very well, and as always, she spoke the truth. I did feel better today. Not as great as I could have felt, but definitely better compared to the monstrosity of emotions that circled inside me yesterday.

  I feel fresh, and that should be enough to calm my mood, but it isn’t, not at this moment. My hands twitch with no warning as the desire to taste him resurfaces. They rest on my lap with nowhere to go. The man of my dreams is nowhere close.

  How long is this going to go on until I can’t take it anymore? I have no way of reaching out to him without gathering suspicion from our social circle.

  Thank God, thank God, the last time I saw him, I took something. Something that has turned into the most valuable item I have ever had in my possession.

  A handful of his hair that I clipped while he slept the last time we were together. I’m sure he wouldn’t have minded anyways; everything about him would soon belong to me. What’s the difference if I took an advance on that?

  A disgusting vision paralyzes my mind, as I envision another woman sliding her fingertips all over him.

  “Silence, thief!” I whisper to the whore in my mind, a promiscuous commoner who has no business being anywhere near Xander. As my mind blocks every possible passageway out, her body jerks at my request, then abruptly tucks herself into a little ball once she sees who she’s messing with. It’s funny, they’re only silent when they’ve got nowhere else to go. The whole vision plays out in my head.

  “You’ve been caught!” I kneel down beside her, whispering into her ear. “Do you wanna take a trip out to one of the seven seas? No, then why do I keep finding you in places you shouldn’t be?”

  Silence consumes the room. Xander has disappeared and it was just her and me now. “That’s what I thought.”

  Taking care of business finally, I nail in the last board over the hole to hell, where I’ve dropped her naked and screaming for her life. But I don’t care. She deserves what she got. She was trying to take something that wasn’t hers.

  Damn it, she isn’t real, that didn’t happen. Right now, my revenge is contrived in my mind to ease the pain in my heart. The pain in knowing that women like that exist. They’re using moments I deserve to relish in, to experience real life in. Instead, I am forced into the background as these whores freely do as they wish. All the while, I wait for his voice to call mine, just like he did the last time, four months
ago.

  I know I pleased him tremendously, so where is he?

  I want to win this time. I’m so tired of waiting and not receiving, I’m so tired of wanting and not getting. I’m so tired of being unable to relieve the ache my body feels, void of his touch all these many months.

  I’m sick.

  I know I pleased him; he was clearly satisfied. I know it. I saw it. I smelled it. I tasted it.

  I’d inhaled everything about him. Everything about him consumes me, and until I reunite with him, there will be no rest. The time to wait is over. The time to start doing things is about to begin. I’m about to get what I’ve always wanted. One way or another, my baby will be mine.

  My mattress squeaks as I plop down with my legs hanging off to the side.

  Adjusting my pale pink satin, spaghetti-stringed nightgown, I bend over and slide my custom leather, designer handbag from underneath my bed frame. I place it in front of me, on top of the light pink and lime green lace duvet cover, and unzip it. I pull out a snack-sized Ziploc bag from a hidden compartment I specially designed with Rudolpho M. Terrerier last December. I came home with the treasures, not knowing where to hide them from Mother’s prying eyes and nosy fingers. I unseal the bag slowly, careful that the treasures inside don’t escape.

  The sight and close proximity of Xander’s beautiful chestnut-brown hair consumes my body, immediately in ecstasy, as if I have just done drugs. Only Xander is a drug that needs no rehabilitation. It is a privilege, a gift from the gods to bask in during tough times, used only in dire situations, when no other option is foreseeable.

  I unseal this bag at least once a week. I’ve already opened it once this week, but after last night, I need to go in again; that’s how much pain I’m dealing with right now.

  I dip my finger inside the bag, and my eyes roll back at the first graze.

  There, that’s better.

  I’m on the way to feeling like myself again, when three rough knocks disrupt me. My eyes snap open, appalled. A beautiful moment shamefully destroyed. The lack of respect for the bag is cringe-worthy, but can I expect anything less from my mother?

  “Demetria, darling!” An annoying screech dares to call from the other side of my door.

  I scowl at my locked door, quickly resealing the precious contents of my bag. Taking a moment to collect myself so I don’t call Mother out for disturbing me during my ‘me’ time, I breathe deeply once, in and out.

  “Yes, Mother?” I yell across the room, enunciating each word slowly so she will get that I’m annoyed.

  Clearly!

  The doorknob rattles. Mother obviously thinks that addressing her is code for ‘please come in; the door is open’.

  She thinks wrong. My door is locked and will remain locked until I am good and ready to throw myself back into the world. Not to mention, the annoyances of her daily antics that drive me up the wall.

  “Darling, may I please come in?” Mother asks through the door.

  Finally, some politeness!

  With a roll of my eyes, and taking my sweet time, I tuck the carefully sealed, snack-sized Ziploc bag back into the hidden compartment of my designer handbag. Scowling, I zip my purse shut, and slide it underneath my bed.

  Can a day pass where I’m not harassed by that woman?

  “You may enter when I’m good and ready! Take your hand off the doorknob first!” I order sternly from my position on my four–poster, princess-canopy bed.

  After a brief moment of silence, Mother speaks. “Darling, my hand is no longer on the doorknob.”

  Satisfied that for once in her life, Mother actually followed simple instructions, I tiptoe to the bedroom door. After slowly unlocking it, and before answering her, I rush back to my place on my bed.

  “You may enter,” I voice stoically, folding my arms across my chest, displaying my annoyance as obviously as I can.

  The doorknob turns, opening the door slowly, creak-free thanks to my demands that the maid spray WD-40 on the door joints weekly. Mother hunches timidly inside the doorframe, gazing at me for a second to make sure it’s okay for her to traipse into my room.

  What does she want now?

  “What do you want, Mother?” I narrow my eyes at her. Mother sighs loudly as she straightens her shoulders, walking into the room; her heels clack against the cluttered hardwood. Surprise quickly takes her as she eyes the state of the room, but knowing her, she quickly disregards the result of last night’s stress-relief tactic, and heads towards my bed, oblivious. Although, all is not lost on her, and knowing the clean freak that she is, a small flap in my duvet brightens her eyes. It gives her something to address me with, without the worry of offending me.

  “Oh no, darling, this will not do!” She grabs both ends of the duvet and pulls at it, straightening it, despite the fact that I’m still sitting on it. “You see how much better it looks? Remember, cleanliness and order makes all the difference.”

  My eyes roll as she tugs the duvet one last, annoying time. The entire room is in disarray, and here she is, muttering gibberish about my duvet. It angers me; why is she so stupid, couldn’t she just keep her mouth shut?

  This better be a short visit!

  “What do you want?” I ask slowly, sternly. Mother grabs one of the bedposts.

  “I wanted to see how you were doing, especially with what happened last night. Darling, it’s been so long since you’ve had an episode like that, is everything okay?”

  I feel my blood pressure rise at an unprecedented speed. So much for staying calm!

  How dare she bring up matters of the past; that event happened yesterday. Today is another day, and nothing of that sort is going to happen today. I made sure of that with my happy bag.

  “How dare you bring that up! You know what talking about it makes me feel like!” I hiss, flabbergasted at her careless candor, as if she doesn’t know me.

  I’m a grown woman who has her moments, but doesn’t everyone sometimes?

  Mother grips the bedpost tightly. I’m deeply upset by her careless candor; she’s completely oblivious towards my fragile feelings.

  I’m appalled, deeply and utterly appalled. Breathing through my nose, my lips purse out as the rest of my face settles in a scowl. A common expression I use when things have gone too far. Mother knows the look I’m giving her; it means one thing.

  Protest.

  These lips, these luscious lips (that belong to Xander, only Xander) refuse to open. She does not deserve to hear my voice, and she deserves silence. A cruel person’s punishment, and Mother had been very, very cruel.

  Mother’s eyes widened when she realizes she has crossed over into punishment territory, and I’m not someone who waivers when it comes to a punishment that is so well deserved.

  “No darling, no…remember, Demetria, darling–a young lady does not resort to such behaviors!” Mother squirms, shaking her head in a panic, waving her arms out in front of her in a calming gesture.

  Like I said, well-deserved and quite effective. I snap my head to the right. I can’t bear to look at her anymore.

  “Demetria!” Mother screeches wildly.

  I know the buttons that need to be pressed in such dire situations.

  “Demetria!” Mother pleads again loudly, practically on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

  I plug both my ears with my index fingers to drown out her pathetic, traitorous, careless voice. It is, after all, all in the favor of my mind, which needed time, time to recoup, regenerate, after her below-the-belt swipes that have literally caused me damage. I need resilience so that my body can repair itself. I need to be fixed.

  “Demetria, darling…please, I’m sorry!” Mother’s desperate yells spill through.

  Why can’t she just shut up?

  I begin humming out my favorite song in the entire world. It is the only song that can help me get back to a place where I can be somewhat civil; because, after all, I’m not a little girl anymore.

  And she needs to realize this once and for al
l. I’m a woman!

  “I’m not a girl,” I begin to sing the lyrics to the best song in the entire world.

  “No, Demetria! Not again, I’m sorry, darling. I didn’t mean it!” Mother screeches out in despair.

  “Not yet a woman,” I continue singing.

  “I’m leaving. We will continue this conversation later!” Mother exclaims, exasperated, and then leaves the room in haste. I rush over, slamming the door hard, locking it quickly.

  Finally, peace at last! I plop back onto my bed, picking up where the song left off.

  “All I need is Xander in my life…baby!” The change in the lyrics brings a new life to the song, and for the first time since breathing in Xander’s hair, I feel hope that everything will be okay.

  Yeah, best song ever.

  ****

  A few hours later, my Hello Kitty, bright-pink alarm clock blinks 11 am. I sang my song over a hundred times, leaving a few minutes in between each time to see if its soothing effects were actually working. Sadly, no, they had not begun working until a few seconds ago. I finally feel calm.

  No thanks to Mother. Here’s hoping she doesn’t knock on my door, spouting her version of motherly care that almost always tips me over that edge.

  Why does she push me? It’s like, all she has to do is speak and I’m a mess. Just to be on the safe side, in addition to my new found peace, I bend over my bed and slide out my handbag.

  I need some precious moments with my Xander locks of hair. I remember a few things as I bring the bag up and place it on my lap. The Ziploc was stolen from the kitchen before leaving to meet Xander at his hotel room all those months ago. No matter how much I sing, how much I remind myself that fate will bring us back together, until the moment when I am safely tucked back in his arms, my soul will remain wounded. The clips of hair can only substitute for his absence for so long.

  The final memory of our time together arises; he was fast asleep after a marathon of passionate lovemaking. Pulling out my eyebrow scissors, I carefully clipped a few strands from the back of his head, where he’d least likely notice the absence of hair. Even though Xander was perfect, no matter what, he was in desperate need of a haircut anyway.