Keegan (Wounded Hero Book 1)

by Marysol James

  And now here Nick was, holding his wife in his strong arms, leading her around the floor in their first dance as a married couple… and not a stumble or wobble in sight.

  Keegan looked at the head table and made eye contact with Adam. The men exchanged grins, much like Keegan imagined that proud parents would.

  The kitchen door swung open suddenly and he looked back to see the cute blonde emerge again. She was carrying a huge silver pot, for coffee he assumed, and she looked tense. He supposed that working a wedding was stressful, with lots of rushing around and juggling demands, and he didn’t envy the hours and hours on her feet. It’d be brutal, even in those flat shoes.

  She looked up now, spotted him and stopped dead in her tracks. Those incredible eyes turned flat and hard gray, then narrowed, like she was taking aim. He was taken aback at the negative intensity of her reaction to him, wondered why she went that way immediately, based on nothing more than him standing against a wall.

  She had no choice of direction back to the reception room and so she came towards him, watching him closely. He gave her a slow, sunny grin, attempting to set her at ease. The hard gray stare turned colder and he watched as those eyes turned a stormy, sleety purple.

  The most amazing eyes ever, man, even when they’re starin’ at me like I’m a tarantula.

  “Hi,” Keegan said, and she wavered at his voice, maybe torn between needing to be polite to a guest and wanting to kick him in the balls. “You havin’ a good night?”

  “I am,” she replied, her tone clipped, reserved, civil. He was surprised at how deep and dark and husky her voice was: it was a strange thing to have come out of such a petite woman. It was a sultry, tough girl voice, a voice of someone from a rough neighborhood who’d been raised and surrounded by questionable people. “Thank you.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  “Good.” She nodded a bit, carried on past him. “Must get to work. Take care.”

  “Yeah, you too.”

  And that was it; that was the end of conversation between them. He just watched her go, watched as she poured coffee and chatted easily and lightly with everyone, that stunning smile back in place now that she was away from him. He hadn’t expected her to fall at his feet or anything, but was a warm word in return really too much to ask?

  Actually… maybe it was, now that he stopped and thought about it. Maybe she was always getting hit on at weddings and parties and let’s face it, with those looks, why wouldn’t she be? Keegan ran his hand through his dark hair, frowned. He didn’t want to come across as a creeper, but really, it was kinda creepy to lurk outside a kitchen and then expect a woman to be nice to him, just because she was contractually-obliged to be in his physical presence and bring him strawberry shortcake on demand.

  He sighed, decided to let it go with her, despite that glorious swinging ponytail and those purple eyes. She deserved to just go about her job without having to worry about fending off flirting. Keegan was a lot of things, but a man who made women uncomfortable wasn’t one of them.

  He watched the blonde talking to one guest, a hulking young guy who looked seriously drunk, and his own eyes narrowed as he watched her tense up again. He didn’t like that, not in the slightest, and he suspected that creeper behavior was going on in full force over there. Furious, but hesitant about intervening until he was sure she was in over her head, Keegan crossed his arms, glowered over at the blonde and the asshole looming over her.

  She was inching away now and the jerk was inching towards her. Yeah, that was no fucking good and Keegan pushed himself off the wall, ready to casually wander over. He grabbed an empty porcelain cup off a nearby table, decided to ask her to fill it up with coffee, decided to engage her in meaningless conversation and maybe serve up a glare at the stupid prick too, when she abruptly turned away and walked over to the next table. The guy watched her go, shrugged, chugged back his beer.

  Keegan slowed his roll, set the cup down again. She was okay, she was fine, she was cool, she was no damsel in distress. She didn’t need a huge ex-military type swooping on in and saving the day after all.

  He didn’t know if he was happy about that or not. Then he mentally gave himself a kick, and went back to Kelly.

  You fuckin’ creeper. Leave the poor girl alone. It ain’t happenin’, so go have some weddin’ cake.

  **

  Trish poured the coffee slowly and carefully, her hands still shaking a bit, the adrenalin starting to slow. Shit, a double-whammy with men and the whammies within about two minutes of each other. Great, just great.

  First, that smoldering-hot guy who was unfortunately the kind of disrespectful moron that eyed other women in the presence of his date, following her to the kitchen. She’d been polite, of course, because she had to be, even to drunk, rude and stalkery guests… but just barely polite. Polite-lite. She’d perfected it over the past few months as she’d deftly side-stepped groping hands whilst setting down loaded plates and steaming cups of tea, as she’d firmly but civilly turned down drunken groomsmen and fathers-of-the-bride propositioning a quickie in the coat-room.

  Then second, that drunk asshole one table over who had squinted at her blearily and asked her if they’d met before, because she was just so damn familiar. She’d calmly and sweetly said no but as he’d continued to stare at her fixedly, she’d gone cold and shaky and closed up deep inside. She’d seen that look before, more than a few times. He knew who she was, she knew he did, even if he hadn’t clocked her quite yet.

  She’d backed up as he’d slurred at her that he was sure they’d met before, and then he’d started to reel off a list of places where they’d maybe run into each other. A whole bunch of different bars and when he’d started to name Denver strip clubs, she’d damn near panicked. He was getting close to sniffing out the truth and though she’d never worked in a club of any kind, the leap from real-life stripper to online porn star wasn’t as far as she’d like.

  She’d extracted herself by pleading having to work, but she still felt his eyes on her and didn’t like that. The fact that he wasn’t letting it go was the fucking infuriating and worrying thing, and she knew that if he mulled it over long enough, he’d get there eventually and in the end. Drunk or not, her blonde hair or not, he’d rumble her alter-ego of Thalia Flame sooner or later.

  And then what?

  Well. If he chose Door Number One and made a huge scene and named-and-shamed, then she’d get fired, she was goddamn sure about that. Working as a waitress-type for a cash-in-hand catering company wasn’t the most upscale gig in town, but it still had some standards. A wedding guest pulling up one of her porn videos on his cell phone and sharing it with the group was undoubtedly a line better not crossed.

  Then again, if he approached her quietly and individually, maybe grabbed her in a corner and told her that he knew who she was, it wasn’t much better, really. In her experience, these secret little conversations always turned into blackmail chats, with the guy threatening to expose her then and there unless she sucked and fucked him in his car. She always refused and then accepted the inevitable loss of a job. It had happened twice since she’d left porn and although she’d hated the financial hit, she’d loved the reclaiming of her power, of her sense of self. She’d made her choice to reinvent herself, to start again the right way this time… and she’d fight to stand by that choice.

  Truth be told, she hated the blackmail scenario more than the dramatic public-humiliation one. She had more than enough goddamn blackmail going on in her life at the moment, thank you very much, and the thought of even slightly more made her sick and furious at the same time.

  “Trish?”

  She turned now and smiled at Doreen, one of her fellow ‘chicken or fish?’ questioners and also her kind-of supervisor. Trish tried to keep a low profile wherever she went, for obvious reasons, and that meant not being super-friendly with her colleagues, but she’d liked Doreen from the beginning. The older woman’s sparkling green eyes were undeniably gorgeous, but her envi
ously unshakeable calm and fixed center were things that Trish wanted badly for herself. She wanted to have a strong moral core, a real sense of her values, and Doreen exhibited these things perfectly. She was so completely aware of who she was and so obviously at peace with that – Trish wondered how that would feel.

  She hoped hard that she’d find out one day.

  “Yes?” Trish said, pushing her bangs off her forehead. “Someone ask for coffee?”

  “No, hon.” Doreen shifted the heavy tray of plates and silverware to her hip with ease. “Just checking in. You look a bit pale. You feeling all right?”

  “Yeah, sure.” Trish smiled, feeling immediately better. Doreen always had that effect on her. “Just ready for my break.”

  “You look it.” Doreen glanced over at Kathleen, saw that her hands were empty. “OK, hon, put that coffee pot down. Kath will take over pouring, you go get some fresh air. Fifteen minutes.”

  “You sure?”

  Doreen made a shooing motion with her free hand. “Go on, now.”

  “Thanks, Doreen.”

  The older woman nodded and Trish headed for the door, noting the time as she went. She never came back from break late, not even one minute. She played by the rules now.

  Mostly.

  Trish stepped outside and took a deep breath. The reception was being held up in Clarity, a tiny town a couple of hours outside of Denver, at Open Skies Ranch. Trish wasn’t much of a nature girl, preferring the hustle and bustle of city living, but she had to admit that Open Skies was one hell of a beautiful place.

  Nestled smack at the foot of the Rocky Mountains, surrounded by miles and miles of open field and expanses of sky, the ranch-slash-hotel was like something out of a magazine. When Trish had pulled into the open field roped off for parking several hours earlier, she’d been happily stunned to see tall, muscular guys striding around taking care of horses looking just like real damn cowboys. She’d taken a good, long look at a particularly sexy man named Jake, who appeared to be kind of a Head Ranch Cowboy type, then turned away with a sigh when she’d spotted his wedding ring.

  The drool- and magazine-worthy reception hall was obviously the ranch restaurant and it was filled with cheerful golden wood, floor-to-ceiling windows offering breathtaking views of the mountains and a massive fireplace. The vibe was cozy and lovely and warm, and Trish imagined that the cabins for rent were equally welcoming. She knew that Nick and Mia were staying at Open Skies for a few nights, and Trish thought that it was a gorgeous place to start their married life together.

  Again a pang of envy, of want. Of wanting that kind of thing for herself, one day. She had things to sort out first and she knew that – so that genuine, open life was going to have to wait. Just a little bit longer.

  Trish leaned back against the wall of the reception building and breathed deeply, loving the crisp night air, staring up at the inky-black carpet of sky rolled out above her. Despite her dislike of rural landscapes and farm animals, she did find herself admiring the diamonds-like stars shining up there. Funny how much bigger and closer they looked way out here in the middle of nowhere, away from the city lights and noise. Maybe there was something to be said for country living, after all. Staring at stars and sipping a glass of white wine at the foot of the mountains wouldn’t be such a terrible way to end a work day, would it?

  “I fucking knew that I recognized you.”

  The voice slurred and hissed out of the darkness and she jumped and spun, already knowing who was standing there. Her heart plummeted into her stomach, then crashed on down to the gravel path under her feet as the drunk guy moved and the light spilling from one of the large windows shone on his face. Their eyes met and his lip curled as he studied her face closely, making totally sure.

  “Yeah, I was right,” he snarled. “You stupid fucking whore.”

  Deny. Deny. Deny. Now.

  “What?” she said, aiming for coldly imperious and managing weakly bitchy. “What did you call me?”

  “You heard me,” he said. “You gonna act like I don’t know who you are?”

  “You don’t know who I am,” Trish snapped. “You haven’t got the first damn clue.”

  “Ohhh. Really, huh?”

  “Really.” She lifted her chin, giving him the hardest stare that she could, refusing to show him her terror. “So whatever it is that you think you know, forget it. You’re wrong.”

  “Problem?”

  The word was drawled behind her in a husky voice and Trish spun yet again, feeling a bit dizzy from both the shock and the twisting and turning. When she saw the smoking-hot guy with the amazing eyes, those eyes now glowing an even more unearthly silver in the moonlight, she almost sagged in defeat. God, really? Of all the guys to show up for this particular conversation, she had to get this one? Clearly, humiliation was on the cards for that night.

  The man took a few steps closer and he was now staring fixedly at the drunk idiot behind her. Trish suddenly didn’t know where to look: neither man felt safe or predictable and she had exactly zero interested in being caught in the crossfire of whatever trouble was about to start here.

  Because there was going to be trouble: huge drunk asshole was looking for it and huge hot jerk-to-his-date looked more than capable of handling anything that got dished out.

  God, she just wanted to work this wedding – just pour coffee and serve dessert and get the hell home. She didn’t deserve any of this crap. She’d paid for the sins of her porn past, paid in spades and in blood, and she was done with being made to keep paying and paying.

  Am I going to be paying this damn tab until I’m dead?

  “Problem?” the gorgeous idiot repeated, with even more quiet threat and malice in his voice. “You botherin’ this lady?"

  “No fucking problem and she’s no lady,” the drunk idiot slurred. “Just talking to this dumb slut. You can go.”

  Those silver eyes flared, bright and dangerous in the night, like a knife flicked and flipped under a moonbeam. He turned to Trish now.

  “You OK?” he rasped. “Did he touch you?”

  “I’m fine and no he didn’t,” she said, trying to sound totally uncaring and un-freaked out, hoping hard that he didn’t notice her knees shaking under her. “This guy thinks that I’m someone that I’m not. Had a few too many and mixed me up with someone else.”

  “Bullshit,” drunk guy spat out, though it sounded more like blooool-shhhlit. “You’re exactly who I think you are, bitch.”

  “OK, that’s enough,” the guy snapped and Trish jumped a bit; this man was not playing. “Come on inside now and leave this pathetic asshole to get some air. With a bit of luck, he’ll wander off and get fuckin’ trampled by a horse.”

  “Hey –” the drunk loser began, but Trish was already moving, moving away from him. Yeah, that meant moving towards the massive guy with the voice like a goddamn sledgehammer – but of the two unknown entities, he did seem the better bet right this second. At least he wasn’t calling her names and working up to outing her personal history to a whole wedding party.

  Yet.

  The guy held the door for her, followed her back inside. Only then did it come to Trish that she now had to have an entire conversation with this guy that she’d blown off pretty brutally outside the kitchen. It was tiresome, but she owed him at least a proper thank you.

  “You really OK?” the guy asked her again. “For real and no stiff upper lip, now that it’s just us. He really didn’t lay a finger on you?”

  A bit taken aback, she looked up at him and wanted to kick herself for noticing yet again just how mouthwateringly damn stunning he was. Then she remembered his date sitting at the table all alone, just sitting there and wondering where he might be, and she stiffened her resolve.

  “I’m really all right,” she said, then glanced at her watch. “But my break is almost over.”

  “Sure,” he said. “No rest for the wicked, huh?”

  Sharply, she looked back at him, wondered if that was some kind
of hint or coded message that he was, in actual fact, fully aware of just who the hell she was. But when she met those astonishing eyes again, she didn’t see anything sly or taunting at all. In fact, she saw gentle teasing and warmth… and that startled her and threw her off more than anything because she realized that she was now officially so paranoid, she was seeing danger when there wasn’t any.

  “Nope,” she managed. “And thank you. Thanks for the help out there.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said. “Sorry you had to put up with that. That kind of thing is totally uncalled for.”

  “Yeah, it is.” Trish gave him a smile – a tiny one, not one that could be interpreted as anything more than polite gratitude – and turned. “So… have a nice evening. Thank you again.”

  “Hey,” the guy said suddenly and her heart sank. She knew exactly what a ‘hey’ with that inflection meant: it meant that her nice guy had just turned into a damn situation that she now had to navigate and extricate herself from. “Listen… maybe we can go for coffee together sometime?”

  “Seeing as I pour the coffee around here, I’d say that we’re having coffee together now,” she said, trying for levity. “But thanks anyway.”

  He stared at her, then grinned. “OK, fair enough. But how about a coffee not here? Maybe someplace where you ain’t wearin’ a uniform?”

  Oh God, here comes the crunch.

  “Actually,” she said, backing up slightly; the guy was an unknown entity, after all, and now he was pushing. “The catering company that I work for has a rule that says no flirting with the guests.”

  “Flirtin’?” he said, clearly amused. “Girl, you ain’t done nothin’ even close to flirtin’. In fact, I’d say that you’re a model of absolute professionalism and caterin' charm.”