Dangerous To Love
Page 163
Mason shakes his head. “Still Swiss cheese. Honestly, we don’t know how much of my past I’ll get back.”
“I’m so sorry,” Damien says. “That must be horribly frustrating.”
“It is,” Mason agrees. “But it has a few unexpected upsides.” He takes my hand, and smiles at me with so much love it almost melts me. “The best is that I get to fall in love with my wife all over again. And how many men get to say that?”
Epilogue
Five months later
“Oh God, oh God, oh God!”
Mason grimaced as Denny squeezed his hand so hard it was a wonder every one of his bones hadn’t shattered. As far as he could tell, giving birth was an endless cycle of pain coming in regularly timed intervals, the purpose of which seemed to be to torment his wife without ever actually producing a baby.
He hated seeing her like this. Hated knowing that he couldn’t do anything except be there for her to squeeze and rail against.
“You did this,” she said as the contraction passed. “I totally blame you.”
“I willingly shoulder the burden,” he said, wiping down her forehead as the nurse checked her vitals and cervix. He didn’t mention that she could have opted for the drugs, which would have at least lessened the pain he was now shouldering the blame for. Really not the time. Besides, he understood her reasoning. After being injected with both a deadly toxin and its untested antidote, she hadn’t wanted any more pharmaceutical products near their unborn child.
He understood. He did.
But he still hated seeing her in pain.
“Oh, Christ, it’s starting again.”
“The doctor will be here any second,” the nurse said. “It’s time.”
Mason’s heart pounded, the sound of his pulse filling his head. It was time.
The next half hour was a blur of holding Denny’s hand, reminding her to breathe, and swallowing his own awe as he saw his child’s head crowning.
“You have a little boy,” the nurse said moments later, and Mason felt tears prick his eyes as he looked from the tiny, shiny baby to Denny’s beautiful, exhausted, elated face.
“Would you like to cut the cord?”
He almost said no, afraid his hands would shake too much, but he did, amazed that he was there in that room with this new life that he helped create.
“You’re incredible,” he said to Denny, stroking her damp hair.
“Men always think that. And women have been doing this forever.”
“Incredible,” he repeated, then teared up all over again when the nurse brought his now-clean and swaddled son to his side.
“Would you like to hold him?”
He nodded, feeling like a bumbling caveman. But then the little boy was in his arms, his tiny little face scrunched up and his little fingers grasping. Denny was beside him and his son was in his arms, and Mason knew that his lost memories didn’t matter any more. Get them back or not, he didn’t care.
He had this memory now.
And it was a perfect one.
Charismatic. Dangerous. Sexy as hell.
Meet the elite team of Stark Security.
Want to find out what happens to Liam? Be sure to grab your copy of Ruined With You!
J. Kenner (aka Julie Kenner) is the New York Times, USA Today, Publishers Weekly, Wall Street Journal and #1 International bestselling author of over one hundred novels, novellas and short stories in a variety of genres.
JK has been praised by Publishers Weekly as an author with a “flair for dialogue and eccentric characterizations” and by RT Bookclub for having “cornered the market on sinfully attractive, dominant antiheroes and the women who swoon for them.” A five-time finalist for Romance Writers of America’s prestigious RITA award, JK took home the first RITA trophy awarded in the category of erotic romance in 2014 for her novel, Claim Me (book 2 of her Stark Trilogy) and the RITA trophy for Wicked Dirty in the same category in 2017.
In her previous career as an attorney, JK worked as a lawyer in Southern California and Texas. She currently lives in Central Texas, with her husband, two daughters, and two rather spastic cats.
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Coming Home
by Meli Raine
Coming Home
When a mysterious job offer brings Carrie Myerson back to the town where her father was set up for a federal crime, she returns—to face a past more dangerous than she ever imagined.
Drug crimes, kidnappings, set-ups and betrayal all unfold as Carrie and her ex-boyfriend, local police officer Mark Paulson, untangle the complicated web of deceit at the heart of her past.
Nothing is what it seems.
Including Mark.
This USA Today bestselling novel was originally published as three books in the Coming Home series:
Return
Revenge
Reunion
You get to read them all, right now, in full.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Description
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Chapter Seventy-One
Chapter Seventy-Two
Chapter Seventy-Three
Chapter Seventy-Four
Chapter Seventy-Five
Chapter Seventy-Six
Chapter Seventy-Seven
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Chapter Seventy-Nine
Chapter Eighty
Chapter Eighty-One
Want More?
Chapter One
New job. New apartment. Old town. Old regrets. Same Carrie.
Or am I?
The drive into town as I pass the old sign declaring that I’m entering the town of Yates makes me shiver. My thin cotton v-neck is suddenly not enough to keep me from feeling cold dread. You’d think three years would be long enough to come back without feeling like I have my tail between my legs, but apparently not.
The sick feeling in the pit of my stomach makes me wonder if I’m doing the right thing. A little late for that. After all, I’ve quit my old job at the bank, pulled out of my room with my roommates in the ratty old house we shared outside of Oklahoma City, and come back to my hometown, ready to finish what I’d started years ago.
If this isn’t the right thing to do, I have undone my entire life for nothing.
It’s one of those nights where the sky is so clear and the clouds arrange themselves so perfectly around the moon that you’d think they were trying to get its autograph. Like something out of a movie poster, a little too perfect. The kind of night that deceives you into thinking maybe—just maybe—you can get a fresh start in life.
The lightest sprinkle of rain begins to dot my windshield. It’s more than a mist but not quite a storm. I’m humming along to a fabulous song and it’s all good.
Life is getting better.
And then my bald tire blows out. Rear passenger tire. Yanking the jerking car to the right, my hands know what to do because this is the third tire to go on me in seven months. Fixing an already-patched tire is my only option. The twenty-five dollar repair was cheaper than the eighty dollar used tire. A new tire might as well have been lined with gold bricks from the quote the mechanic gave me.
My long hair comes loose from the scrunchie as the car jolts to the shoulder of the road, riding the rim. A strand of hair catches as my hand struggles to grip the steering wheel. If I damage the tire rim I’ll be in for a repair job that costs more than my piece-of-junk car is worth.
A loud crack, like the sky snapping in two, makes me jump. My forehead bangs the visor. A huge flash of light blinds me. And then that lovely, dewey drizzle turns into a raging thunderstorm in seconds.
Great. Just great.
Fumbling in my purse, I find my phone.
No bars. No service.
“Oh, geez,” I mutter, tossing the phone on the cracked vinyl seat and running my hands along my bare arms. The night chill starts to creep in and I wonder how far from town I am. Cheap flip phones with ten cent per minute pre-paid fees don’t exactly get the best coverage. At least it can turn into a flashlight when I go into desperation mode.
When? I am in it already.
Blowing a puff of air in a sigh that echoes for miles, I hunch over the steering wheel and think out my options. I can’t call the only friend I have in town. Amy would come and help me, but no signal means no help.
The rain sounds like bullets falling on the hood of my dented Civic. The old car is kept together by my own determination and rust spots that make it look like something growing in a petri dish from a high school biology class. I close my eyes and will myself to think.
Spare tire? Yep. Bald, like the one that just shredded, but it is good enough to get me to my new place. If I can get there, I can set up my clothes, my coffee maker and my ancient laptop, all of which are currently crammed in my car.
On top of my spare tire.
Mumbling a curse my late mother would have disapproved of, I open the car door. It responds with a loud, rusty groan. I make a similar sound out of frustration.
I get to work.
In seconds I’m soaked through.
I am my own wet t-shirt contest.
Just as I open the trunk and start figuring out where to put my things on the wet ground, blue and red lights flash behind me.
No. Just no. My heart speeds up and starts slamming against my ribs. My fingers go numb from cold and fear. You would think I would be relieved to get help so quickly, but you would be wrong.
What are the chances, though? There are only ten cops on the force. There’s no way that on this one, wet night, in the middle of this long, wooded road the one cop who happens to be patrolling this stretch is—
“Carrie?”
Oh, God.
It’s him. Mark. My ex-boyfriend.
I can’t look. I just…can’t. Too many memories are in that face. That rugged, handsome face. My heart jumps up like an excited puppy, wagging in my chest, eager to be acknowledged and touched. The rest of me shoves it down.
Officer Mark Paulson stands in front of me in uniform, soaking wet, his hat making the rain fall in streaks in front of him. The curtain of water catches my eye. It’s easier to watch it than to stare at him. If I did stare, though, I know what I would see.
Broad shoulders under that crisp black uniform shirt. A thin scar running under his jaw, where he was knifed in a fight when he did a tour in Afghanistan. Wet, blonde hair I used to love to stroke. Gentle hands that once cupped my face. Eyes that could draw me in with a hot breath. The tender taste of lips meant only for me.
He speaks, pulling me out of the memory. Stop it, Carrie, I think. Stop with the dreams you destroyed.
“You okay?” he asks, looking around swiftly. He’s worried. That’s really touching. It’s nice to know he cares. Three years is long enough for him to stop hating me, right?
And I know he hates me.
He has to. I disappeared one day and never said goodbye to him. When you do that to someone, they tend to really resent it. Especially if they love you.
“I’m, uh…” My voice fails me as I watch the water fall in sheets down his cap. “My tire blew.”
He thumps his hand on the car door. “She’s still around, huh?” I know he means the car, but it feels like a dig. Like he’s cutting into me for leaving.
Like he’s still hurt.
If he’s still hurt, that means the feelings haven’t faded, and if his feelings are still that strong, then mine make more sense. I thought when I left town I would shed so much damage and hurt. Because leaving town meant I could leave behind so much pain.
But leaving Mark? That meant the pain came with me.
I start to shiver. It’s not from the cold and the rain. Those arms. The rain drops gather and ripple down his taut muscles, dotted with a sprinkling of dark hair. I remember when I was in those arms.
I remember every single time he touched me.
“Uh, yeah. Gum and duct tape,” I joke. It’s easier to be coy. I can’t get hurt that way. And I can’t hurt him. My heart beats so hard it’s like a bass drum. Can he hear it? I’m sure he can. It’s beating in my ears. My throat. Behind my eyeballs.
Everywhere. Hard.
He chuckles, then his face gets serious. Tipping his head up to the sky, he shakes his head at the storm. The tiny bit of moon between the clouds shines on his face and makes him look wolflike. Predatory. Attractive.
Dangerous.
I can’t let him in again. My hands itch to touch him. My heart feels covered in barbed wire.
“Get in the squad car and I’ll change the tire for you.” His hand reaches out for my arm. I pull back before we can make contact.
Mark flinches, then nods. He doesn’t say another word, just sweeps his long, muscled arm toward his police car and starts popping the trunk of my car. I remain in place.
My legs can’t remember how to move. A deep breath helps. He mistakes my exhale for impatience.
“Give me a minute. Cool your jets. I’ll have this changed in no time.” He’s standing in front of the open hatchback. I’m to his left, next to the road. The sound of the rain is so hard. I wish it could drown out the screaming inside me, the voice that says—
Kiss him.
Headlights come and go around a corner. The dull flicker of the red and blue lights on the squad car blends into the background and time disappears. Mark shuffles all my crap in the car around, then turns to me. It’s the first time I’ve looked him in the eye.
They’re so deep, like whiskey glistening in sunlight. But even more, they’re eyes that see the real m
e.
The only pair in the world.
“I’ll have to get some of your things wet,” he says, regret in his voice, as he sticks plastic storage tubs on the ground. “There’s no good way to get your spare tire.”
A distant, tinny sound of voices from his radio catches my ear. The scanner. The unreality is hitting me now as my teeth chatter. I’m coming home to a mess. My car is a mess. I am a mess.
And Mark is here helping me fix the mess.
And then, suddenly, his arms are around me and he’s yanking me to the ground.
Chapter Two
A flash of light from the corner of my eye catches my attention. I hear the screech of tires on gravel. I feel the shock of pain. My mind can’t grasp what’s happening. Mark’s arms wrap around me and pull me down, gravel digging into my bare elbow.
I feel wetness and pressure, then the shock of having the air whoosh out of my lungs. My back is flat against wet grass. His chest presses against mine. Mark’s hot breath is against my neck and ear as the rain hits us. The screech of tires fills my ears.
The sickening slide of a car’s headlights toward us catches my eye.
It all registers as Mark rolls our bodies three times down the edge of the ditch. His arms are wrapped around me tightly. A heartbeat jams against mine, my breasts tingling from surprise and fear.
And then the scrape of tires as the headlights shift away makes the danger go away.
Mark is panting, hard, on top of me. My own breath is held back by his wall of muscle. Every part of him pushes against every part of me. When I shift my hips I feel his arousal.
It makes me hot suddenly. My mouth is against his neck and I want to lick him. The rain pounds us both, making him slick. Making me feel more alive and raw than I have felt in three years.
Mark does that to me. Only Mark.
He pulls back, hat long gone, and the rain runs in rivulets down his bangs. It drips on my face and I smile, lost in his eyes.