Stirring Attraction

by Sara Jane Stone

  “Does he laugh at your jokes?” he demanded.

  “He doesn’t find me funny,” she said. “But—­”

  “And he sure as shit doesn’t make you feel safe,” he said. “Or he’d be by your side night and day, making sure no one hurts you.”

  “He trusts the police and thinks I’m overreacting. What happened was awful, but it’s over. Done. I should move on. And I am . . .”

  It’s not that easy. You’ll never be the same. Even if you prove that you’re right and the police are wrong.

  But now probably wasn’t the time to tell her that. She’d figure it out on her own.

  “Ted is a good man,” she said. “He’s great with kids.”

  But is he good with you? Does he know how to make you come, make you scream with pleasure while he buries his face between your legs?

  Dominic wasn’t that guy. Not anymore, but he knew what she deserved.

  “Maybe you should ask him to wear a sign when he comes to pick you up that reads ‘Ted, the Good Guy,’ ” he said.

  She smiled, but her blue eyes shone with challenge. It was as if he’d told her he couldn’t keep seeing her all over again. Until that last time, when he’d been free and clear of his duty to serve, she’d never demanded that he change his mind.

  “He’ll probably show up with flowers,” she said, thrusting his mug back into his hand. Then she reached for the door.

  “Is that why you and your partner in crime hurled pie and wine at me last night?” he asked mildly. “Because I forgot the flowers?”

  “Once upon a time, you showed up with Chinese takeout when you know I hate everything about it,” she said.

  You have one helluva memory. But then he recalled the color of her nail polish and the way the light played off her pink toes.

  “I’ve never expected flowers from you,” she continued, thrusting the door open. “I never expected you to come back here.”

  He held up his damaged right hand. “I’m broken—­”

  “So you’ve what, been throwing yourself an extended pity party?”

  “Yeah. But I didn’t want guests,” he said, his gaze fixed on the ugly scar in the center of his palm. “I needed time to put my life back together before I showed up here. I had to come to terms with the fact that I threw away a helluva lot to end up on the sidelines with a fucking hand that won’t work. A bullet nicked my pulmonary artery and it’s the one that passed through my hand that left me unable to serve, to hold a gun, to shave my face like I could before.”

  He looked over at her and his gaze honed in on the visible reminders of her attack slashed across her skin. He’d spent the night watching over the kindergarten teacher who’d proven far more resilient. He’d spent months hiding from the uncertainty of his future. But she’d gone out, weeks after her attack, and started working again. She’d pushed out of her comfort zone, determined to get to back to her classroom.

  “And now you can’t go back to who you were before,” she said.

  “I can still keep you safe,” he promised.

  “Because you don’t believe there is a threat out there. You think it’s all in my head.”

  “I didn’t say that,” he ground out. “I—­”

  “You didn’t need to.” She shifted her legs and climbed out of the car. Then she turned back and said, “You’re promising to keep me safe, but you just admitted you can’t even fire a gun.”

  He watched her walk away and wondered if he’d made a mistake coming back. He should have told Ryan to fly back and talk to her new boyfriend. He should be the one picking up the slack here. But if Ted with the flowers was such a great guy, why wasn’t he out here making damn sure she felt safe while she slept?

  Because Ted didn’t believe her.

  “I believe you, Lily,” he said, his words filling the now empty sedan. “If you say the bastard was after you, then he was. And I don’t need a gun to keep you safe. I can take care of you. Just don’t expect me to bring you a bunch of fucking flowers.”

  Chapter Five

  “WHERE’S MY BROTHER?” Josie demanded as she shifted her weight from side to side to calm the nine-­month-­old baby strapped to her chest. The little girl’s big green eyes peered over the edge of the carrier. She opened her mouth and bit down on the fabric edge, then smiled.

  “I sent Dominic home to shower,” Lily said. Her gaze shifted away from the bundle of cuteness to Noah, who was pretending to count beer cases. Unless sleep deprivation prevented him from reaching the magical number four, Big Buck’s owner and manager knew exactly how many cases of light beer were stacked beside the long wooden bar.

  “I thought you called me in on my day off so that Noah could teach me how to mix up a martini,” she said. “Are customers complaining? Missing their fancy drinks? Or are we expecting James Bond?”

  “We stopped by Noah’s dad’s house this morning and Caroline filled us in on Dominic’s arrival,” Josie said. “From what she said, I thought my brother was taking his role to watch over you seriously.”

  “He is. But after sleeping in his car covered in pie, I’m guessing he needed a shower. Plus, I thought your dad would like to see him. But don’t worry, Dominic promised to be back on the job for my date with Ted tonight.”

  Five feet away, Noah dropped the clipboard onto the polished floorboards.

  “I didn’t realize you and Ted were still together,” Josie said. She stopped her rocking motions and leaned back against one of the high-­top tables near the bar.

  “Or you wouldn’t have sent Ryan to bring your brother home?” she asked.

  Noah abandoned his failed attempt to complete the inventory. “Lily—­”

  “When you offered me a temporary job, I didn’t realize it came with a bodyguard,” she said, unleashing her frustration. They had no right to step in and throw another curve ball into her life, not when it felt like she was holding it together with Scotch tape and paperclips. “Or is that part of the Big Buck’s benefits package? Did you arrange for Josh and his pies too? Is that how you make Caroline feel safe? Is Josh Summers her Big Buck’s–ordered bodyguard?”

  “No.” The firm, familiar voice cut through the bar. “No. That’s not why Josh brings pies.”

  Lily turned to the swinging door that led to the Employees Only space. They hadn’t flipped the sign out front to “Open until the cows come home,” but Big Buck’s dishwasher had her own key to the place and permission to enter through the back room.

  “I’d stop Josh if I could,” Noah muttered. “But he’s more stubborn than the trees he fells.”

  “We’re friends,” Caroline said. But Lily could see the hint of doubt in the other woman’s eyes.

  “Josh’s brothers are tired of eating his pies so he brings them here,” Caroline continued. “Baking helps with his memory. He was in a logging accident a while back. He was hit in the head and lost his short-­term memory.”

  “If he just needs to keep his mind sharp, he could pick up Sudoku,” Noah muttered.

  “There are some fears not even you can protect me from, Noah,” Caroline said simply.

  Noah sighed. “Yeah, I’ve received that message loud and clear.”

  Lily studied the woman she’d asked to act as her bodyguard last night. Caroline seemed so bold, ready to jump into action, throwing pies or shooting guns. What was she afraid of?

  “Did it help? Having Dominic parked outside?” Josie asked, steering the conversation away from her mysterious coworker.

  “Yes.” Lily headed for the front door leading to the parking area. “But I’m not sure it’s good for him. If he wanted to be here, he would have come home a while ago.”

  “Sometimes it’s hard to think of home as the best place to lick your wounds,” Josie said softly.

  And Lily knew she spoke from experience. Once upon a time, Josie Fairmore had been F
orever’s bad girl. She’d left. And she’d stayed away even when she needed help. Lily didn’t know the full story. But she’d heard enough.

  “Josie, I know you think that maybe he will stay for me. But I don’t want him to,” Lily said flatly. “I’m not interested in being his consolation prize. I don’t want him camped outside my front door, thinking ‘I could be out there freeing the world from terrorists, but instead I’m helping my ex-­girlfriend face her supposedly imaginary fears.’ I don’t need him making the dark a little less scary.”

  Liar.

  Because I know the threat is still out there.

  “Now if you don’t mind saving your drink lessons for another day,” Lily said, opening the door, “I need to paint my nails and get ready for my date.”

  LILY CLOSED HER front door behind the man she would never marry and turned the lock. She stared at her burgundy-­red nails.

  I should have learned how to make a martini instead. Shaken, not stirred.

  Or maybe she’d prefer the hard liquor swirled together? She didn’t know and she wasn’t about to find out. Because tonight she planned to drown her sorrows in wine the color of her fingernails.

  She headed for the bottle-­lined rack that she’d added to her parents’ living room after her mother passed away and her father moved out. The top shelf held a selection of Oregon pinot noirs from a “girlfriends” winery tour she’d taken with some of her fellow teachers.

  Those same friends had slipped away, retreating into their own busy lives after she’d been attacked. Oh, they’d helped at first, dropping off food and staying to talk for a while. But they’d stopped calling as the summer went on and she stayed at home, more and more convinced someone would hurt her.

  Except Noah and Josie. They’d practically broken down the door to talk to her. But they hadn’t wanted to make small talk. Noah and Josie had offered her a job. They’d begged for her help. Pour beer. Open wine bottles. Offer shots. Maybe mix a simple drink or two while Noah’s regular part-­time bartender took a two-­week trip to Hawaii. Not one mention of tossing Dominic into the mix.

  She withdrew a bottle and headed for the archway leading to the kitchen.

  Knock. Knock.

  She froze, her grip tightening around the bottle’s neck. She could use it to hit the person on the other side of the door over the head . . .

  “I know you’re in there,” Dominic’s deep voice called. “I saw your date arrive and then leave again without you.”

  She sighed and crossed the short entryway. Then she removed the chain, flipped the deadbolt, and opened the door a foot.

  “Is he coming back?” Dominic asked, eyeing the bottle in her hand.

  “No.”

  “Family emergency?”

  She shook her head from side to side.

  He folded his arms in front of his broad chest. The stance put his biceps on display, which was nice . . . but she really needed the wine first. Maybe after a glass or two, she would ask him to take off his shirt so that she could admire his muscles. She wouldn’t touch. That would remind her of the man attached to those biceps. The man she refused to forgive for staying away so long. Still, it would be nice to have a drink and look—­

  “Let me guess, Good Guy Ted took one look at your curled hair, freshly painted nails, and sinful dress, and he decided to make a run for it so that he didn’t embarrass himself? Looking at you, there’s no way he wanted to walk away.”

  “Sinful dress?” she muttered. “It covers my arms and practically reaches my knee.”

  “But you’re wearing it,” he said, making a show of looking her up and down.

  She shifted her weight from one bare foot to the other. The dress didn’t exactly hide the extra five pounds she hadn’t bothered to work off since her last jogging disaster. Her hips felt full beneath the fabric. Her breasts pressed up against her bra as if they might try to escape.

  The dress will hide your injuries.

  That had been her sole criteria when she’d plucked it from her closet, intending to wear it for Ted. But now that Dominic was scrutinizing her, she started thinking about how her body felt beneath the dress.

  Full. Hot. Needy.

  “And for the record,” he added, “it’s not the dress that I like, it’s what’s beneath.”

  “Fine, you can come in,” she said as if every compliment had been a fishing line cast out hoping to reel in an invitation. The alternative—­that he meant every word, that he still thought she was beautiful . . . No, she’d rather pretend he’d been trying to secure an invite to sleep on her couch instead of in his car.

  “I was just about to pour a glass of wine and run the wildflowers that Ted bought at the grocery store down the garbage disposal,” she added as he stepped into the entryway.

  “And you wonder why I never brought you flowers,” he said, taking over the task of locking the door and replacing the chain.

  She held up the bottle. “Would you like a glass? I don’t have beer. And I have no idea how to mix a martini.”

  “How about coffee?” He walked forward, glancing through the archway off the living room that led to the kitchen.

  “It’s late.” She followed him into the bright yellow kitchen that made her think of sunshine and summer. Before summer had become connected to violence. “It might keep you up.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  He headed straight for the coffeemaker as if he knew his way around. But that was impossible. She’d replaced the cabinets and countertops. Every appliance had been ripped out and redone. The construction ate up most of her savings, but it had been worth it to make the place her own, not a part leftover from her parents’ lives.

  “I’m not much use to you if I’m asleep,” he added. “Instead of keeping a lookout.”

  She exhaled as if she’d been holding that particular breath for a week, maybe more. He’d be out there tonight, watching over her. She would be safe for one more night.

  “What happened with your boyfriend?” he asked once the machine sputtered to life and started gurgling.

  She turned away, focusing on the drawer that held the wine opener. “He’s no longer mine.” She fished the corkscrew out and set about trying to open the bottle. “He ended it.”

  “Jesus, Lily.” He spoke from behind her. And then his hand covered hers on the bottle. He gently pulled it away from her and finished the job with his left hand. Then he held it out to her. “You’re really racking up a list of men I need to hunt down and hurt.”

  She took the wine and turned away. She needed a glass before she took a long, deep swig straight from the source. And if she did that, he’d never believe . . .

  “I’m not upset,” she muttered, opening the cabinet and removing a glass tumbler. She didn’t need stemware tonight. “The mugs are over the coffeemaker.”

  Carrying her filled glass, she headed for the living room. The small, tidy space held her father’s old baby-­blue recliner, a three-­person sofa covered in worn brown leather, and a wooden coffee table that her mother had purchased at a yard sale. Matching side tables stood at either end of the couch and the entire set looked as if it had been handmade by one of the local loggers. But the hunting lodge motif looked out of place in the small two-­bedroom one-­story house.

  A mechanical sound emanated from the kitchen, drawing her attention away from the furnishing she should probably update at some point. It continued for a moment, the grinding noise chased by the rush of running water. And then it stopped.

  “Trouble finding a mug?” she called. Any other night, the noise would have launched her into a panic. But Dominic was here now. She could save her hide-­under-­the-­covers instinct for another night.

  “Nah.” He walked into the room holding an “I Love My Teacher” mug. “I was disposing of your flowers for you.”

  “Thank you,” she murmure
d, tracking his movements as he bypassed the recliner and claimed the other end of the sofa.

  “Do you always keep the curtains open?” He nodded to the drapes pulled back to reveal a sliding glass door leading to the outside.

  “Not at first,” she said. “But my imagination ran wild, wondering who might be on the other side.”

  He nodded as if her fears made perfect sense. “Would more light out there help? Maybe a camera or two?”

  “It might.” She stared out into the darkness. “There’s one light set up on a motion sensor. I thought floodlights would annoy the neighbors.”

  “They’ll adjust.” He set his mug on the nearest side table. “Why did Ted break up with you?”

  “Because I leave the curtains open,” she said and he raised an eyebrow. But she knew he understood her words. This had nothing to do with concerns about Peeping Toms spying on them in the bedroom.

  Not that she’d slept with Ted. Well, maybe Dominic didn’t need to know that piece.

  “And because I can’t stop wondering where he is,” she added. “Not Ted, but—­”

  “The man who attacked you,” he said.

  “Yes. I want to know why he did it and when he’ll come back.” She gulped her wine to keep her voice from wavering over the last word.

  “And Tom wanted what? Rainbows and sunshine?”

  “Ted,” she corrected. “And he wanted kids. He’s ready to settle down, not coach me through ‘the aftermath.’ Plus, I think the cuts scared him.”

  “He didn’t like your injuries? It looks to me like they’ll heal without much scarring. I can’t even see the one on your face.” Dominic’s voice was a low rumble. His gaze drifted lower, probably imagining the horrors hiding beneath her dress and wondering if their mutual friends had lied about the extent of her injures.

  “Makeup,” she said. “And they’re not that bad. The one on my side is the deepest. But Ted never saw that one.”

  His relief was palpable as he leaned forward and rested his arms on his thighs.