Return to Me (The Aphrodite Chronicles Book 1) Read online

  EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ®

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2018 LM Spangler

  ISBN: 978-1-77339-679-8

  Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

  Editor: Audrey Bobak

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  I would like to thank four wonderful women who have helped me greatly on my journey as an author. I couldn’t have done it without Sharil Miller, Kathy Ferri, and authors Zee Monodee and Iris Blobel. Their opinions and guidance have been instrumental in my growth and success as an author.

  I’d also like to thank Evernight Publishing, both the staff and authors, for just being awesome.

  RETURN TO ME

  The Aphrodite Chronicles, 1

  LM Spangler

  Copyright © 2018

  Prologue

  The last vestiges of summer

  Cicada Lake, Pennsylvania

  Water cascaded off her nude body. Small rivulets ran over her breasts and down her slightly rounded stomach, disappearing into the surface of the lake.

  She was one with the water.

  She could, literally, become one with it.

  Moonlight reflected off the mirror-smooth surface, adding a soft glow to the night. Crickets serenaded her with their chirping song. The cicadas added their buzzing to the symphony. There were a lot of cicadas, hence the name of the lake. A wolf howled in the distance. Nature cocooned her.

  She grinned and dove under. Liquid embraced her, still heated by the sun’s rays from earlier in the day. Her body became insubstantial, fragmenting into molecules of H2O. Disorientation left her bewildered, but the feeling came and went. Weightless warmth enveloped her, and the ebb and flow of the tide lulled her into blissful relaxation.

  The moon slid across the sky. Hours had passed. Her body became corporeal with a single thought. After regaining her human form, she cut through the water with powerful strokes and rose to the surface in a rush of bubbles.

  The night air chilled her damp skin, raising goose pimples along her flesh. She pushed the long fall of hair from her face and glanced into the deep, lush woods that ringed the lake. Soon the leaves would change to shades of gold, orange, red, and brown. In would come the autumnal chill. Her time in the waters would decrease, and then winter would set in and freeze her out.

  When that happened, she’d resort to the swimming pool located on the basement level of her large home. Even with the greenery she had sprinkled about, it never fully replaced the exhilaration of the lake, the feel of fresh air against her skin, and the scent of the wilderness.

  She repeated the cycle, year after year. The monotony had long since worn short on her nerves.

  She had someone in her life, someone to break the monotony.

  More accurately, she would only have him until the end of the day.

  Tonight would be the last night they would be together. She’d tell him that they were over and done with. The sad part of the whole shitty deal was she couldn’t really give him a reason why.

  How could he understand? Hell, she’d have trouble believing the truth, if it wasn’t her life.

  The root of their problems were otherworldly, as her father was human and her mother was a water nymph.

  The nymph side of her heritage presented two problems. First, she needed daily contact with water. The more the better. Like her pool in the basement. Second, she also needed sex … a lot. Preferably once or twice a day. After all, the term “nymphomaniac” had been born of a nymph’s sex drive.

  They had a lot of sex, but there were times when their hectic lives interfered with his libido. He was human and his sex drive was human.

  She couldn’t guess how he’d react if she said, “I’m a nympho which means we have to have sex all the time. Day and night. Over and over and over.”

  He wouldn’t understand it and she’d allowed it to build a wall between them.

  No, he had never known the truth of her desires.

  She had pushed him away, afraid of exposing her real self.

  And that fear, that uncertainty, would leave her alone … and needy.

  Chapter One

  The present

  At times, heaven did exist on earth. At least Naida Bouche believed so. Steam rose around her, enveloping her in its warmth and humidity. Though winter was in full effect in Cicada Lake, Pennsylvania, her hot tub was a cozy one hundred five degrees despite the snow on the deck around her.

  She gathered her hair into a messy bun on top of her head, both to cool her neck and keep her hair relatively dry. The chilled winter air teased her exposed skin, bringing her temperature back to a comfortable level.

  Time ticked by, but it was the weekend. She usually had those two days off. Why rush anything? Today demanded a lazy pace. She’d nothing to do so she planned a spa day for herself, starting with relaxing in her slice of heaven.

  The few winter birds that hung around flitted about above her in one of the tall trees that surrounded her log home. Squirrels ran gracefully on the deck railing to a planter box she’d converted to hold corn cobs. They knew Naida was no threat so they paid her no mind, gathering corn and then running back to the trees to disappear until they got hungry again.

  From her vantage point, Naida saw deer tracks going to and from the feed trough full of corn. She loved the woodland animals and made sure they were well fed through the winter.

  As she reached for her cup of coffee, her cell phone buzzed. “Who in the hell would call me this early on a Saturday?” she grumbled as she glanced at the caller ID. The first three digits were assigned to the Cicada Lake courthouse. “Oh for the love of Pete, whoever he is.” Taking a deep, calming breath, she hit the call answer button. “This is Attorney Bouche.”

  “I know who you are,” a female voice accused.

  “How can I help you today?” Naida asked, counting to ten in her mind, trying to calm her racing pulse. Of all the people to call Naida, it had to be her. The one woman she couldn’t stand.

  Judge Hawker had only been in Cicada Lake for six months, but she made sure those six months were horrible. The woman had no qualms assigning Naida unusual cases and making her work strange, lonely hours when no one was around except the security guard.

  The silver lining had been the fact that she hadn’t run into her ex at the courthouse. Judge Hawker’s gritty voice brought her back to the here and now.

  “I need you here ASAP,” she grated.

  “On a Saturday?” Naida implored.

  Big mistake.

  “I believe you work for me, don’t you?” The edge in her voice was razor sharp.

  Naida rolled her eyes. “Yes, Judge.”

  “Don’t you roll your eyes at me.”

  “Sor— Wait. How’d you know what I did?” Was the judge suddenly psychic? Naida snorted to herself. More like psychotic.

  “Because I’d’ve probably done the same. See you soon.” The judge cackled before disconnecting the call.

  “Well shit.” Naida hoisted herself upright and braced for the wind. It whipped around her, raising goose bumps on her whole body, from head to toe. She grabbed her over-sized towel, wrapped it around herself, and slipped her flip flops on her feet.

 
She stepped into the blessed warmth of her house, grateful she’d had the common sense to put the spa so close to the French doors that led into her home. Stepping out of her flip flops, she padded barefoot to her bedroom and its walk-in closet and pulled the bi-fold doors open.

  Her selection would be easy. A sweater and, since it was Saturday, jeans. She scanned the section where the knit garments hung. Some were bright, others more subdued. Deciding on a safe cream color, she pulled the sweater from its hanger. She grabbed a well-worn pair of jeans and her undergarments.

  After slipping on her underwear, she sat on the edge of her king-sized bed. As she put her bra on, she glanced around her master bedroom. Originally, she and her ex-husband had decided on a rustic design with a pine headboard, side tables, and dressers. She hadn’t the heart to change it, nor her bedding. Moose and deer graced her comforter, while red and green plaid graced the rest. She loved her bedding.

  But, she loved the fact that she and her ex had picked it out … together.

  “Won’t do a damn bit of good,” she chastised herself. “That part of your life is finished and you only have yourself to blame.” Tears stung her eyes and she blinked to clear them. She couldn’t change what fate had wrought. And, she knew the Fates personally. You didn’t mess with them.

  Shaking her head, she pulled her sweater on and rose to put her jeans on. She slid one leg in and then the other, having to grab the dresser to keep from falling on her ass. Laughing, she knew her place was in the water. It was amazing how one’s clumsiness could lighten one’s mood.

  After dressing, she strode to her kitchen and grabbed a to-go mug and brewed a cup of coffee for the road. The forecast had called for snow showers. If she became trapped on the road somewhere, she’d have hot coffee to drink. She’d had the foresight to fill her Jaguar’s tank, for the extra weight and the possibility of getting caught in the snow.

  She grabbed her coffee and walked through the kitchen to the mud room. Naida put her heavy-soled hiking boots on, pulled her trench coat on, and grabbed her satchel before entering the garage. Unlocking her car, she threw her satchel into the passenger side seat and got in.

  The worst part of the drive into town was her driveway. She and her ex insisted on privacy and had foolishly made the driveway insanely long. She was thankful her car drove like an SUV in bad weather, but she had to be careful and not drive like a maniac. Slow and steady won the race up her drive.

  As she got closer to the courthouse, the snow began to fall. Only a light dusting, but enough to warrant careful driving. She reached her destination safely, pulled into the parking garage across from the courthouse, and found a spot close to the road.

  She exited her car and sprinted across the street and into the courthouse. As per protocol, she put her purse and satchel onto the security belt. “Hey, Smythe. How goes it?” she asked the security guard.

  The man was a giant, but his smile always warm and welcoming. “I’m doing good, pretty lady. How are you?”

  “Wishing I wasn’t talking to you on a Saturday. No offense,” she added quickly in case he found her remark in poor taste.

  “None taken,” he replied as he scanned her belongings and motioned for her to step through the metal detector. When nothing beeped, he had her grab her stuff. “I’m covering for a friend, otherwise, I wouldn’t be here either. Which brings me to a question, what are you doing here?”

  “I apparently caught a case, according to the judge.”

  “Only Judge Bitch would have you come in on a Saturday.”

  Naida laughed. “One and the same,” she said as she moved to the elevator. “See you in a bit.”

  She carried that light and airy feeling until she knocked on the Judge’s door.

  Chapter Two

  The cell phone landed with a solid thud on Cooper “Coop” Martin’s steamer trunk coffee table. Another ding would only add to the character of the scarred, re-purposed piece of furniture. He glared at the phone, daring it to ring again. One second passed. Then, two.

  He huffed out an exasperated breath. Only Judge Hawker would call him into her chambers on a Saturday. A fuckin’ Saturday! Rubbing the stubble on his chin did little to give him insight into exactly why her high and mightiness would do this. Was this the first time she’d done it? No. Would she do it again? More than likely.

  “Damn it,” he muttered. His hand tangled in his hair and pulled in hopes of refocusing the pain pulsing at his temple. “Damn it,” he repeated. Now, his temple and scalp throbbed. For good measure, he added another “damn it.”

  Figuring she assumed she had ruined his Saturday, he decided to mosey to the shower. Why rush? He’d make her wait. The thought of Judge Hawker scowling as she glanced at the large, ornate clock on her chamber wall brought a small smile to his face.

  Fifteen minutes later, he ambled back out and slung a towel around his hips. He wiped away the moisture that had settled on the cool surface of the mirror. A sigh escaped his lips as he turned his head one way then the other. Gray streaked the black hair at his temple. Some might say the look was astute. “Nope,” he grumbled. “Just getting old.”

  Time has been kind to me, all in all. Lines feathered the outer corners of his steel-gray-blue eyes. Other than that, he didn’t look his age of forty. His high cheek bones—a testament to his Native American ancestry—slashed across his face, casting shadows on the hollows below.

  Coop scrubbed his hands over his cheeks, contemplating his next move. To shave or not to shave? He picked up his razor, eyed it for a moment, and then tossed it onto the vanity top. Not to shave was the answer.

  He grabbed pomade, softened some of the waxy styling product on his palm and fingers, and then rubbed them over his hair. A swipe here and there left him with a disheveled look. Satisfied with his appearance, he walked from his bathroom into the bedroom and to the closet.

  Januarys in Cicada Lake, Pennsylvania, tended toward frigid. Today would be no exception. His expensive three-piece suits hung in a neat row in one section of the walk-in. They wouldn’t be necessary for visiting the bane of his existence. He ran a finger over the simple, cotton fabric of the biggest staple of his wardrobe—white dress shirts.

  Coop removed one from its hanger and took his time getting dressed, still in no rush. He moved to his dresser, removed a faded pair of jeans, and stepped into the legs. The relaxed fit suited a visit to the courthouse. At least in his opinion. A grin tugged his lips upward when he realized it would likely irritate the judge.

  Thick-soled, Dr. Marten boots, a leather bomber jacket, and his well-used briefcase completed the ensemble. A quick glance in the full-length mirror confirmed he passed muster, so he finally left.

  The cold air burned his lungs as he jogged from his townhouse to his BMW X5. Snow had begun to fall and the layer already on the ground crunched under his heavy boots.

  Renewed annoyance bristled through him. Road conditions would be an issue.

  Coop took his time as he drove down one of the two main roads in the town.

  The drive allowed his mind to drift to the past. Three years ago, he’d be leaving his house in the woods. A house he’d built with his ex-wife. The wife who’d left him high and dry. The sad part was, he should have seen it coming. She had become distant. They’d stopped having sex. Up to that point, he thought they had a phenomenal love life. He’d been wrong about that and about them.

  Did he hate her? For ditching him with no explanation, then yes, he hated her. Did he still love her? Yes, he did. He hadn’t had a serious relationship since their divorce. But he hadn’t wanted one. He’d only wanted her, and truth be told, he still did. Never a day went by that he hadn’t thought of her.

  He had no idea what he’d do if they ran into each other. Somehow, they’d managed to avoid each other, which was weird because they were both attorneys and there was only one courthouse in town.

  A half-hour later, his X5 made it onto the first level of the parking garage adjacent to his destination. Coop r
ecognized the other cars. Most belonged to the cleaning crew and Smythe, the security guard. But nestled between two vans was a vehicle that caused him to pause.

  “Shit.”

  His eyes narrowed as he approached the luxury car. It can’t be, can it? “Shit. Fuck. Damn!”

  Coop spared a glance in both directions as he ran across the street separating the parking garage and the courthouse. His labored breaths huffed puffs of vapor from his lungs. The searing pain didn’t register.

  The revolving door did little to deter his progress. He burst into the lobby, anger eradicating common sense, and through the metal detector. Shrill beeps echoed around the cavernous, and badly outdated, antechamber. The sound reverberated off the coffered ceilings.

  “Coop,” Smythe called. “Coop! You have to come back. You set off the alarm.”

  A strong grip brought Coop to a complete stop. His feet all but went out from underneath him. “What the hell?” He spun toward the owner of the hand.

  “You set off the alarm, bro. You need to come back and let me check you with the wand. I’m sure it was your keys, but protocol is protocol.”

  Smythe’s words finally hit home. Coop rubbed his hands across his winter-cooled face. “Shit. Sorry.”

  Smythe released Coop and he ran his fingers over his auburn, crew-cut hair. “No problem. We’ll get you straightened out.”

  Coop huffed out a breath. “Thanks.” He moved to the security station and emptied his pockets of his wallet and keys, placing them into a bin.

  Smythe made quick work of scanning Coop with the wand. Then, he grinned. “You’re cleared. Grab your stuff and go see Judge Bitch.”

  Coop snorted. Smythe didn’t hesitate to say what everyone else seemed to think.