by Rachel Grant
Ava. Damn.
“Sorry. I have to take it.”
She nodded. “I understand.” She pulled back, retreating as far as she could into her corner of the love seat—which wasn’t very far at all.
He smiled at her, liking how she looked all disheveled. Her chest rose with a hint of heavy breathing and her hair was mussed, with headband skewed, thanks to his fingers. He wanted to take a picture to add to her photo album. This was how she looked after a sudden and intense make-out session. Imagine how she’d look after he gave her an orgasm.
He intended to find out.
He shook his head and ran a hand over his face. Time to be Ava’s guardian, not some rando who wanted to bang a woman he’d met less than two hours ago.
“What’s up, Ava?”
“I have a pain in my side, and I looked up the symptoms, and I think it’s appendicitis.”
He blew out a breath. This was a new tactic. “Describe the pain.”
“It started suddenly around my navel. It gets worse when I cough. Oh. And it…shifted to my lower abdomen.” Her words were stilted, like she’d read them online.
He closed his eyes. “Left side or right side?”
“Left. I mean right! Definitely right.”
“I’ll be home in an hour.”
“But—I have a fever. A hundred and four!”
“You should have led with that. A hundred and four is serious. Tell me, where did you find the thermometer?”
“It was in the drawer in your bathroom, with all the old man stuff like the Bengay, hair dye, and hemorrhoid cream.”
He laughed. She knew she was busted and was smart enough to deflect with humor. God, he loved her. His brother might be a dipshit asshole, but his daughter was amazing.
“I’ll be home in an hour.” He hit the End button and met Madeline’s gaze. “We should do a walk-through of your house, make sure you’re secure.”
She nodded. “She okay?”
“She’s fine, but I should head home. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. She comes first. I get that. And we can…pick up where we left off later.”
He smiled. “I’d like that. A lot.”
He regrouped and returned to full business mode as he checked out her home. It took twenty minutes, and he made several recommendations for both her home security system and general personal protection.
By the time they reached her front entryway, it was as if they’d never had a make-out session on the couch. “I’m more concerned about the back door than the front. I know light pollution sucks, but you need a bright light in the back—all night long—for the duration of this project.”
“Will do. Thank you.”
“I’m glad you called Trina, and not because you have amazing taste in wine. Listen to your instincts on this. Troy Kocher is bad news.”
“It means a lot to hear you say that. I spent the day wondering if I was nuts.”
He tucked her hair behind her ear. She’d taken off the headband after getting a glimpse of her hair in the bathroom mirror during the house tour. Free of restraint, her short hair had more curl than he’d realized. She was ten different kinds of gorgeous—sultry, girl next door, brainiac, to name a few. He liked every facet.
He gave in to impulse and cupped the back of her head, then stooped to kiss her even as he nudged her back to the wall. The heat level of the kiss went from spark to conflagration in seconds.
Without realizing how it happened, he found her legs wrapped around his hips and his arms beneath her ass, supporting her weight as he ground his erection into her center. She fit into his arms so perfectly, her short frame molded to his.
She moaned. He groaned. If he had a condom handy, he had no doubt he’d be shoving aside her panties as she opened his fly.
But he didn’t want a quickie by the front door. He wanted her spread out on his bed. He wanted his mouth on her. Her mouth on him. He wanted slow and hot and to act out every fantasy he’d harbored for the last five years.
He jerked back, the last thought a kick in the gut.
What am I doing?
He blew out a deep breath as he set her on her feet. “Lock up behind me. Call if you hear anything odd. I don’t care if it’s nothing. Better safe than the alternative.”
She looked up at him with those big, beautiful blue eyes framed in sexy glasses. She nodded and said, “Promise.”
“Good. Call me tomorrow night. I want a full report, and we can decide next steps for handling Kocher from there.”
“’Kay.”
He brushed his lips over hers in a soft goodbye, then opened the door and stepped outside into the warm summer night air. “Night, Madeline.”
Her eyes held a happy, sexy heat as her mouth curved in a warm smile. “Night, Josh.”
Inside the car, he pressed his forehead to the steering wheel. He liked her, a lot, but what if…what if she was just a mental replacement? Was he the kind of asshole who would use her that way?
The drive home took twenty minutes, and he didn’t have any answers as he pulled into the garage of the house he’d purchased with the help of his best friend and boss.
“Did you have sex with her?” Ava asked the moment he stepped into the kitchen.
He frowned at her and mentally counted to three. He would never yell at her, but he’d grown up in a house with parents who yelled—a lot—so the instinct was there. It was a default setting he had to remember to reset. “That is none of your business.”
“You did! You had sex with her! Otherwise, you’d deny it.”
“No. I refuse to answer inappropriate questions, and my sex life is not open for discussion with you.”
“You like her. That’s why you were gone so long.”
He fixed her with a look. “How’s the appendix?”
She crossed her arms. “I guess it was just something I ate.”
“Suuure.”
He sighed and took a step forward, then enfolded her in his arms. She went willingly and, a moment later, let out a sob. “You’re going to fall in love with her, and she’s going to hate me and be like every wicked stepmother ever and try to send me away, and you’ll let her because I’m not your daughter and love makes people assholes.”
“Ava, no such thing will ever happen. I would never let anyone send you into foster care again. You know that.”
“You say that, but you’ll feel differently once she gets her claws into you.”
He couldn’t help it, he laughed. “Why are you so certain she has claws?”
“It’s not funny!”
“It is. And if you’d met Madeline, you’d think it was ridiculous. She’s a nice woman who needed help. She’s working in the creepiest crypt and studying human remains that were looted over eighty years ago by a Nazi named Otto. And his great-grandson is big, mean, and intimidating. He wears a gun on his belt and spent all day, before I got there, standing way too close to Madeline. Imagine how that must have scared her.”
But Ava wasn’t ready to hear it. “Nuh-uh. You’re making that up. There weren’t Nazis in the US.”
“There were plenty of Nazis in the US in the thirties, just like there are Nazis here now. They call themselves names like Proud Boys, Alt-Right, or White Patriots, but they’re white supremacist, neo-Nazi hate-mongers just the same. And odds are Otto’s great-grandson, who was with Madeline in the crypt hovering too close and scaring her, is one of them.”
She pulled away from his hug. “You were stuck in a crypt with a Nazi with a gun? Does he know you’re Jewish?”
“Well, I didn’t point it out, but my nose probably gave me away.”
“You can’t go back there.”
“I can take care of myself, Ava. I was a SEAL, and I work in private security. I can handle one pathetic troll.”
“But it’s the trolls who are the worst. They’re the ones who’re most likely to shoot up a school.”
Josh knew the active shooter drills and false alarm lockdowns at her school had
ratcheted up her anxiety even further.
He’d been in his early twenties and in the Navy when he first started training for that sort of thing, because it was his actual job. Ava had been eleven. Her job had been sixth grade.
“One of the trolls at school threatened Marcus last year,” she said softly. “The guy was suspended for the rest of the semester, but with the new school year, he’ll probably be back. If that happens, Marcus will probably homeschool, and I’ll be all alone.” Tears rolled down her cheeks again, and she swiped at them. “I mean, I know it’s selfish to think of me when Marcus could be in danger. He needs to be safe. But I—I can’t face a year of having lunch alone.”
Marcus was Ava’s best friend since second grade. Last year, he’d come out as a trans male and begun transitioning. Josh didn’t even know what Marcus’s cisgender name had been and didn’t need to know. He was Marcus, one of the few rocks in Ava’s life.
Not surprisingly, Ari—Ava’s dad—had been awful. Ari had forbidden Ava from hanging out with Marcus and had accused his daughter of turning him in out of revenge for that. Another reminder of why this girl needed Josh’s undivided attention.
There was so much damage to undo. Meds and therapy were helping, but they could only do so much. She needed Josh’s unwavering support more than anything.
The time he’d spent with Madeline—the minutes that hadn’t been about the job—had been among the most enjoyable he’d had in a long time. But that’s all it was. Sexual attraction. Fun. An escape. Things that couldn’t—shouldn’t—be a priority right now.
And the connection he’d felt, it could have had more to do with similarities rather than genuine attraction.
No matter how he looked at it, it was a mistake. He couldn’t pursue anything with Madeline Foster right now. Not until Ava could trust he wouldn’t let her down.
Ava needed to come first. Period.
Two hours later, Josh was in the master bathroom, stepping into his shower. What an insane day.
He’d finally gotten a prospective client interview with the big-man-billionaire CEO. Within thirty seconds, it had been clear that the man had hoped hiring Raptor would give him access to Senator Ravissant. When Josh made it clear that there would be no quid pro quo access, the CEO had cut the meeting short.
It was par for the course when the owner of Raptor was an extremely rich politician who refused donations of more than fifty dollars. Rav couldn’t be bought, so the rich and powerful searched for a back door and thought Raptor would be the key. But Rav was a firm believer in the Emoluments Clause and made sure there was no pollination between his role as a senator and the clients of the company he owned.
Josh had been irritated at the wasted time. The billionaire should focus on buying a senator closer to home. But then, this was a Senate election year for Oregon, so maybe Cliff Nielsen was hedging his bets.
Prior to that failure of a meeting, Josh had gone to his daily workout at the nearby gym—usually the highlight of his day—but that last hour with Madeline won today’s popularity contest, hands down.
Jesus. She’d been so hot and sexy, and the sounds she’d made as he kissed her… He could have come right then and there. The hot water from the shower sluiced down his back, and his erection thickened as he relived each touch and taste. He stroked his cock. He closed his eyes and saw Madeline’s face. His hand moved slow at first, but with her soft pants and her firm, sexy touch in his mind, he quickly passed the controlled, measured stage.
He imagined her in the shower with him. First, he’d drop to his knees and lick her. He’d stroke his cock as he was doing now, as he made her come on his tongue. Then, if he was very lucky, she’d be on her knees before him, taking his cock into her mouth.
He braced a hand on the shower wall as he thrust his hips as if he was fucking her mouth, jerking his penis with slick, firm strokes. His orgasm came hard and fast. Powerful.
He sagged against the shower wall. The hot spray washed away his semen, and he caught his breath. For the first time in years, the face he’d envisioned as he stroked himself to orgasm was not Trina Sorensen’s. Not his best friend’s wife. And that was a relief and release all its own.
4
Josh’s muscles burned as he breathed out and pushed the dumbbells upward. One more rep of dumbbell shoulder presses and he’d switch to weighted sit-ups for the abs phase of today’s workout, then a quick jog on the treadmill, and he’d be done with Friday—AKA shoulder day—in his weekly rotation.
Owen Bishop sat on the next bench over, doing his own reps and keeping up just fine. He’d arrived yesterday without a hitch, and they were already back in their familiar routine of working out together. From the way Owen handled the reps, he’d gotten stronger in the months since Josh left Virginia.
Josh had gotten spoiled by living in Raptor’s Virginia compound for the last two years. He’d had a cafeteria and on-site gym with on-call personal trainers. Free room and board, no cooking, no cleanup, zero commute, and daily workouts to keep him in top form.
His first order of business after the move, besides finding a house within her school district that could accommodate him, Ava, and a business office, had been to find a gym that could handle regular daily sessions for him and any personnel he hired. With Raptor, daily workouts were part of the job.
He’d found the perfect gym—Bond Ironworks—just ten minutes from his house. Arthur Bond, the owner, was a tall Black man with massive muscles. Josh was no slouch in the muscle department, but Arthur was next level. They’d hit it off immediately, and Arthur had agreed to set up special Raptor sessions once Josh had enough clients to support five employees—which was the goal he and Keith had set for the first year.
Arthur had wasted no time recruiting Josh to volunteer once a week to spot and mentor young men who’d recently gotten caught in the legal system and were trying to get back on their feet. Arthur opened up Bond Ironworks to these guys from two to three o’clock each weekday.
Josh suspected some of the men were homeless; the gym was a safe space, complete with showers. Plus, there was always food. A local grocery store donated produce and day-old bread, and there were stockpiles of peanut butter and protein bars donated by gym members. It wasn’t a balanced diet, but it was a meal they could count on.
After today’s workout, Josh would put in his hour for the week with Owen’s help. Owen had gone through his own legal issues thanks to self-medicating after suffering a traumatic brain injury years ago. The track marks on his arms were readily visible, and seeing the health, muscles, and vibrancy Owen now sported would be a good example to the young men as far as what could be overcome.
Today would be Josh’s fourth session as mentor, and it was one of his favorite hours of the week. By the time they were on the treadmills finishing their cardio, the guys started to arrive. Josh recognized a few of the men he’d trained before. Some were hardened, angry, and trying to dig their way out. Others were scared and likely saw the daily workouts as a way to reclaim power. A few remained jovial, high-fiving Arthur and offering bets on who would finish the workout first.
This kind of work spoke to Josh. He’d been an at-risk youth once. He could have turned into an asshole like his brother if not for the mentors and friends he’d picked up on the way.
It was the same reason he looked forward to taking Owen to R&R and meeting the soldier who’d founded the retreat for wounded warriors, which was situated on a lake near the Oregon coast. It was icing on the cake that Owen was on that path now—after years of needing help, he could pay it forward and be there for other soldiers dealing with the physical and mental damage of combat.
Cardio complete, they grabbed their water bottles and met with Arthur to go over the roster of students today. Because it was Owen’s first time, they would work together and oversee the workout of six men who were midlevel skilled with the weights and machines.
Arthur and another volunteer would each have four men in their groups.
J
osh and Owen led their group in a free-weight workout designed to build upper body strength. As the guys lifted, they talked and joked, keeping the conversation light, for the most part. All except Desmond, a nineteen-year-old Black man with a young face but jaded eyes. He was having none of the smile-and-pretend-everything-is-fine shit.
“You know what pisses me off,” Desmond said as he raised the barbells. “There’s another damn White Patriot rally in the city this weekend. Can’t we have one weekend without racist white boys being assholes?”
“No way, man,” Javonte responded. “White boys gotta white.” He flashed a grin at Owen and Josh. “Present company excluded, of course.”
Josh laughed. “The only time you’ll catch me near something like that is providing security for the counterprotest. Owen and I worked several of those in DC and Virginia.”
“I was thinking of going to the counterprotest,” Desmond said. “But the cops always target us. Like we’re the problem.”
“We could go over techniques for safe civil disobedience,” Owen suggested. “How to protect without presenting as threatening.”
“You can do that?” Javonte asked. He looked at his arm as if noting the skin color, then rolled his eyes. “That sounds like a white privilege thing.”
“It is, for the most part,” Josh said, “but if you’re with an organized group, it works. Safety in numbers and presenting a united front.”
“Like a Guardian Angels sort of thing?”
“Yes. Anti-fascist, Guardian Angels, whatever you want to call it. Basically, standing against crime and racist demonstrations.”
“But we’ve already got records. What if the cops come after us?” Javonte asked.
“It’s a risk,” Josh couldn’t sugarcoat this. “A really big one. I don’t know. This is probably a terrible idea.”
“But what if I want to take the risk?” Desmond asked. “I’m so damn tired of White Patriots getting a free pass and making us feel unsafe in our city.”
