by Zoe Dawson
“Thanks for the ride.” His voice slid lower and huskier than he could control.
There was no doubt in his mind that she was thinking about sex with him, riding him; it was mirrored in those unique eyes. No doubt at all.
His dick was rock-hard. Dammit, now he was thinking about her riding him, too.
4
He stared at her for a few more seconds, then slipped out of the car. Scarlett opened her door after popping the trunk. His mom, her face beaming with joy, made it to him.
“Arlo, my boy,” she said softly, the hint of the accent she’d always had as familiar as the bayou. Her arms went around him, and she held him against her. A swell of love washing over him, he hugged her harder, raising her small frame off the ground. She patted his back, simply mothering him.
“Hi, Mom,” he murmured, breathing in her familiar scent and squeezing her one more time before he set her down.
They parted, and she looked up into his face. “You look tired. Let’s get you settled, and I’ll get you some lunch, yes?”
He nodded and turned toward the back of the car. Scarlett was holding his laptop case. When he took it from her, their hands brushed and the skin to skin contact tingled through him. He reached in and snagged his suitcase, pulling it out.
She closed the trunk just as his mom said, “Thank you again for offering to pick him up. I just don’t know where my head is these days.”
Scarlett smiled and closed the trunk. “It was my pleasure, Rosemary. You two have a nice reunion.”
She made brief eye contact with him as he said, “I’ll visit soon, neighbor.”
Her mouth tightened, and she headed back to the driver’s seat, his eyes lingering on her tight little ass. Scarecrow picked up his suitcase as his mom wrapped her arm around his waist. Together they headed toward the house. “It’s so good to have you home.” They climbed the steps of the two-story white house that had been in his family since 1903. It made what he had to do even more difficult since there was so much family history.
“Your room is just the same as you left it. Come down after you’ve freshened up, and I’ll get lunch ready.
He headed upstairs and opened the door to his old room. He sighed. It was the same. The same as it had been the few times over the years when he’d come home on leave. The same as it had always been. The baseball and basketball trophies were still there, completely free of dust. His mom had lovingly kept everything just like when he’d been a teenager. She had showed him by her actions more than her words how much she loved him.
He sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, his heart dragging at him. He knew what had to be done yet going into combat would have been preferable to breaking the news to his mom. A flash of pink caught his eye, and he rose and went to the window. There she was, still in her classy outfit and her high heels.
He narrowed his eyes. What exactly had brought her here? What was it she was hoping to find? “Chilis, my ass.”
The sound of a pan on the stove broke his attention. He quickly unpacked his bag and changed into a pair of shorts and a clean T-shirt. In the bathroom, he threw cold water on his face and dried it. He looked at himself in the mirror. Damn, he felt old. Yeah, he was only pushing thirty, but what he had seen in the years he’d been in the SEALs marked him in more ways than one.
As he turned away from the mirror, it hit him. He looked like his dad. Grief hit him hard, and he covered his face with the towel, rubbing at his eyes. It had been building for some time as he dropped the towel and braced his palms against the sink, his chest so damn full, his neck tense, his teeth gritted. In California, he could ignore all the emotion that came with losing a parent, shunt it aside to keep from breaking down, but here, back where his dad had lived and died, the sense of loss overwhelmed him.
And thoughts of how much time he’d spent away from home, time he’d lost with his family while he served his country, slammed into him. It was something they all understood when they joined the teams. All of them made that sacrifice and accepted the cost to personal relationships—girlfriends, wives, and children. It was part and parcel of being who they were, doing the jobs that were required of them. They all knew it and embraced it. They also knew you couldn’t get any of it back.
That was all there was to it.
SEALs sacrificed to keep everyone safe.
The sound of the pans downstairs jarred him out of his grief. He wiped at his eyes, splashed water on his face again, and took deep breaths as he wiped his face on the hand towel. Back downstairs, the smell of bacon filled the air. As he passed his parents’ sitting room, he could still smell his dad’s tobacco. The cherry scent evoked memories from his childhood and made his throat get tight all over again.
Entering the kitchen, his mom at the stove was a welcome sight. She twisted and smiled as she transferred several pieces of bacon to toasted bread that already had lettuce and tomato. She placed the plate in front of him. Grabbing a mug, she poured him a cup of coffee, then poured one for herself, adding cream and sugar.
She pressed her back against the counter and smiled as he dug in. Her expression said: Her boy was home.
“How has it been going here?” he asked, taking a sip of his coffee.
“Pretty much the same. I walk in the mornings just as I used to do when your dad was alive, weed my garden, and bike to the farmer’s market.” She shrugged. “Scarlett is a doll and has been a comfort for me. Your cousin…well…he visits.”
She tried to hide it, but it was clear that Hank wasn’t one of her favorite people. That wasn’t a surprise. He was a self-serving bastard, just like his father. Hank’s dad was his mom’s brother, but they couldn’t have been more different. Uncle Steve didn’t think much of his sister and he made it known. It had been a constant argument between Scarecrow’s dad and his uncle.
His cousin Hank was cut from the same cloth. His shoulders tightened. The memories of how they both treated him when he was younger was strong.
She talked about Sally Jensen, the neighbor who looked in on her, Susan Castile, her friend in a neighboring town whom she played bridge with and the general welfare of the city as he polished off the rest of the food.
She picked up his plate and set it in the sink. “Can I get you anything else? More coffee?”
He rose and took her mug. “I’ll get it. Why don’t you sit down? We need to talk.”
“That sounds ominous,” she said as he pulled out the chair for her and settled her at the table. He poured them each another cup of coffee, then set her mug down together with the cream and sugar. Picking up his mug, the ceramic warm in his hands, he braced himself against the counter.
“What did you want to talk about?”
“You and the farm.”
She poured her cream and hesitated as she reached for the sugar. “Oh, I see.”
“Mom, I know it’s been hard for you since Dad died, and I didn’t help matters by not coming home. I’m sorry about that, but—”
“Duty calls,” she said softly. “I know that.”
“I know you do, but I don’t think I’ve really told you that I’m not coming back to Bellise to live. My home is in California. It’s where the SEALs are and where my priority is.”
“Your priority? Above your family.”
His heart contracted, and he went to the table and sat down next to her. Setting down his mug, he took her hands in his. “No, Mom. They’re also a part of me, a brotherhood. They always have my back. It’s just that I live there now, and if you’re thinking of preserving the land and the house for me, don’t. I won’t be coming back here to live.”
Her face went pensive, and his heart squeezed even harder. God, he didn’t want to do this, but he had no choice. This was like reliving his conversation with his dad, letting him know he was going into the Navy and that he was rejecting his legacy. He’d never seen his father so disappointed. Scarecrow was sure he knew then what he was telling his mom now. He wasn’t coming home. He was home in San Diego. �
�Also, having a neighbor look in on you every other day isn’t going to cut it either. I don’t want you alone here, and I can’t travel back and forth to take care of you. I want you to consider selling all this stuff and moving to San Diego into assisted living.”
She burst into tears, and Scarecrow gritted his teeth. “Ah, Mom…I’m sorry,” he whispered as he tightened his grip. “It’s the best solution. And I would get to see you more than once every year or so.”
“But the history… This house has been in your father’s family for decades and…he’s…buried…here.”
She closed her eyes and sobbed softly. He couldn’t stand it. He reached out and gathered her close as they both stood up. “I know. I know this isn’t easy,” he choked out, “but I worry about you, and it’s hard to do my job when I’m distracted. I need to know you’re cared for and safe. Besides, Dad wouldn’t want you to be here alone.”
She sobbed harder, and helplessly he held her. This was killing him. Finally, her sobs dwindled down to sniffs and an occasional wiping of her eyes. She lifted her head and met his gaze. The grief of his dad’s death was fresh along with a stubborn glint. “I understand. But this is my home, and I’m not leaving your dad.”
She turned and left the room.
His heart sank. He didn’t want to be on the outs with his mom, especially since he hadn’t seen her in so long. But he only had thirty days to get this done. Whether she liked it or not, she was moving to San Diego.
Restless with pent-up energy from traveling, the emotional upheaval of coming home and having to drop that bombshell on his mom, Scarecrow couldn’t just sit there. The silence from his mom’s room was tearing him apart. He took the steps two at a time and hurriedly changed into running shorts, sneakers, and a tank top.
The physical activity should have helped, but his mind was full of so many things. His dad’s death, the secret he had wanted to reveal, the enormous amount he had to get through to get the house ready for sale and last, but not least, what his delectable neighbor across the road was up to.
On his way back, when he came around the bend, she was at her mailbox She had her head down, and it wasn’t until he was almost to her that she heard his footsteps and her head jerked up.
For a moment he felt suspended as she took him in. The sweat from the humid air rolled off him as his flexed muscles bulged from the exercise. Her eyes roamed over him like she wanted to devour him. Then they shuttered as if she’d been caught off-guard, and once again he felt as if this woman didn’t reveal a damn thing she didn’t want anyone to see. The realization and the chastisement were in the deep depths of her eyes.
“Aren’t you the good little SEAL,” she said, “keeping that body honed and in the kind of shape that can move mountains. And here I thought with your call name you stood around all day assessing things, ready to scare away the enemy.”
He stopped running. Pulling off his tank top, he mopped his face. She stared, her eyes going unfocused for a few seconds until she snapped back into reality.
He smirked, knowing exactly where her mind had gone. He didn’t even have to call her on it. “Sometimes being still works better than you think,” he drawled.
“Oh, how many mountains have you moved, Scarecrow?”
“That’s classified, sugar.”
She nodded in a knowing way. “Uh-huh. I’ll withdraw my question.” She smiled. “Wouldn’t want you to get into a lather.”
Something about the low, husky tone of her voice and the too sensual way her gaze held his gave her comment a whole different meaning and inspired tantalizing fantasies of hot, sweaty sex…with her. The sudden awareness flaring between them made him feel restless all over again, and reckless.
“I’m already hot and sweaty,” he pointed out.
She leaned closer to him, licked her bottom lip, and whispered, “That’s what showers are for.”
Scarecrow experienced a swift kick of lust straight to his gut as Scarlett’s less than innocent comeback flooded his mind with provocative, erotic images—of shower sex, a steady stream of water sluicing down her naked body, and an inviting look in her eyes as he lathered all her sleek, sensual curves.
He swallowed back a groan, shoved those dangerously arousing thoughts of Scarlett right out of his head, and hoped his thin running shorts weren’t giving away how much she turned him on. But despite the disappearance of those tantalizing images, he still had to deal with the flesh and blood woman standing in front of him, who seemed so bound and determined to tempt him with what he couldn’t have. Her.
Or was this nothing but a smoke screen to keep him off balance? She was a seductress, a woman comfortable using her femininity to distract a man; his gut wasn’t ever wrong in that instance. What the hell was her game?
Her eyes mocked him. The irresistible dare in her violet eyes projected a myriad of possibilities and lured him into thinking about accepting every single one of them. Then there was that beguiling curve to her lush mouth that captured his full attention, along with the fact that she was standing close enough for him to look down and watch the intriguing rise and fall of her small, firm breasts.
“Arlo,” his mother called. “You have a phone call.”
He turned to see his mom standing on the steps waving to him.
“Oh, your mummy’s calling you. You’d better toddle off.”
She turned and started up her drive, her hips swaying provocatively. “Oh, ask her when you can come out and play, love. Maybe after your nap.”
She used the back of her hand to knock her ponytail end away from her skin and over her shoulder.
Grinning, he turned toward his mom and chuckled. “Damn,” he swore under his breath.
Orion “Wicked” Cross hummed with excitement, his hands full of beautiful, firm, round, ripe…tomatoes that were destined for his sauce.
“Christ, Wicked, you handle them like a woman’s tits.”
He glanced at Hollywood, who was slouching against one of the supports, his hair mussed, wearing tight jeans, a day’s growth of stubble, and a tight black T-shirt accentuating all his heavy muscles. There were women bumping into the produce racks, gawking, whispering to their friends and daughters, and he’d gotten two numbers. They’d only been in the store for ten minutes.
“Shut up, you knucklehead, and enjoy your attention.”
“What?” he asked, blinking, and then yawned. “What are you talking about?”
Wicked shook his head. The guy was so damn clueless. He had no idea about his own sex appeal, which was shocking. It would have matched up nicely with his big fat ego. Wicked shifted, wondering how Scarecrow was faring. He had wanted to call and see, but figured his buddy was getting settled in and dealing with his mom. Wicked’s mouth tightened and he sighed softly. His own mom was someone who needed white kid gloves. Too bad Wicked was often a bull in a china shop when it came to delicate emotions.
“The women, the telephone numbers?”
“Oh that. I’m used to it. The numbers were for you.”
Wicked looked up and laughed. “Right.”
“No, you are an intimidating dude. I, on the other hand, am lovable and approachable. The babes thought you were hot, fondling your…tomatoes.”
“You’re an ass,” Wicked said chuckling in spite of himself.
Hollywood laughed, and several women just stood there. Was that swooning?
Wicked set a cluster of tomatoes into his cart.
Hollywood pushed off the support and sauntered over to him, tucking the two pieces of paper in his shirt pocket, patting it. “There you go. Two lays in the bag.”
“Thanks, you dog.”
“Now you have to make up your mind. Am I a knucklehead, ass, or dog?”
“You’re all three. The trifecta of jerkdom.”
“I like that. Jerkdom. I’m the king of jerkdom.”
“Long may he reign,” Wicked said moving onto the garlic.
“Are we going to spend fifteen minutes on garlic now?” Hollywoo
d asked, his brows raised.
Wicked gave him a salty look. “There’s no whining in cooking.”
Hollywood sighed. “What is this function again and why are you cooking?”
“You wouldn’t know the difference in choosing the right ingredients if they all collected around you with red ribbons on.”
“Vittles are vittles. All I need is some beer.”
Wicked rolled his eyes, thinking that he should’ve known by the closed eyes and only occasional grunts that Hollywood hadn’t been paying attention when he’d given him the menu rundown in the car earlier. “And pizza?”
“Yeah, that sounds good.” He rubbed his stomach. “Damn, now I’m hungry.”
“Yeah, driven by your stomach and dick. What a surprise.”
“Now who’s being an ass?” Hollywood grinned.
“Cooking is an art. That’s why I agreed to bail out my sister who’s helping an art gallery friend with her opening. She got left in the lurch, and I’m providing the fare.”
“Sister? Have I met her?”
“No, and she and her friend are off limits to you. They’re both picket fence types and you’re a horn dog. So, keep your distance.” Wicked wouldn’t let Hollywood near his sweet sister.
“You do have to be careful who you let close to the people you care about,” a no-nonsense female voice said from behind him.
He turned to find Kat looking tired but beautiful. Her comment had a much deeper meaning, and his chest tightened.
“Hey, Kat.” Hollywood gave her one of his smiles. Turning back to Wicked, Hollywood said, “Yeah, man, that hurt me right in the feels.”
“Whoa, this is some fancy eating,” she said eyeing his cart. “Feta cheese, goat cheese, prosciutto…” Her brows rose. “Caviar and truffles. You do have a refined palette.”
