“Nothing,” she said, and crossed her arms over her belly. “I’m fine.”
“What about me?” the scrawny pest asked.
Mad threw him a look over his shoulder. “What about you…what?”
“Do I need to hit you again?”
Of all the emotions churning in his gut, he didn’t need to add a desire to laugh to the mix. “Listen up,” he growled. “Another word and I’ll deck you.”
“Word.”
“Really?” Mad sighed, then cast his gaze to the sky.
Completely missing the scrawny dude’s next swing.
“Fuck.” He shoved the wannabe opponent to the ground, his cheekbone smarting again. “Stay there.”
“Good advice,” a new voice said.
Mad looked up to see a handful of his friends striding up. “What’s going on, Boone?”
“We came looking for our resident cop because Geoff’s car got messed with,” the big man said, gesturing to one of the other men. “And now your face, I guess.”
Fuck. Mad put tentative fingertips to his cheek. Swelling. Poker night was going to be a bitch the next couple weeks. Months.
“You let this little snotnose get the drop on you?” Shane asked.
Not just poker night, apparently.
He shook his head, then addressed Geoff, who’d left the group to poke around the campsite. Mad walked his way. “Your car?”
The man pointed. “That’s my skim board, my new volleyball, and my favorite sweatshirt.” He yanked it off the sand. “They were in my car. Arrest these punks.”
Mad turned to the teenagers, only to catch sight of a female backside as the person belonging to it began to limp away. “Harp,” he called. He’d come after her to figure out what was going on in her head. They’d been kissing, touching, both enjoying themselves, then she’d wigged out on him. Her choice to stop at any time, of course, but she’d looked…afraid? Angry? That’s what he had to find out.
She’d taken off like a bear was on her heels and he’d been unable to leave things so…uncommunicated again.
“Harp!” he called once more. Starting her way, he was stopped by a hand on his arm.
“Look, dude.” Temper spiking, he swung around—and instead of one of the teenagers, faced Geoff, wearing a fierce expression.
“You gotta arrest them, Mad,” the other man declared, half a six-pack dangling from his fingers. “This is my damned beer too, and no way they’re twenty-one.”
“Look, Geoff—”
“They think they’re going to get away with it.” He glared at the pair. “But this is my stuff. They broke one of the locks on my car and took my stuff. You can’t ignore that.”
Shit.
“Aren’t you Mr. Law and Order around here?” Geoff continued, clearly on a roll. “Detective Do-Right? My taxes pay for you to seek truth and justice. I demand my money’s worth.”
Christ, this was why Geoff was not part of their regular poker crew.
“Look, I have something else…” Glancing back, he saw that Harper had taken the opportunity to get farther away from him. She was already splashing through the tide pools on her way back to their party cove.
“Mad—”
“Oh, all right,” he said with ill grace, then pointed at the miscreants. “You two are coming with me.”
The pair and the posse made it back to the beach where his other friends were gathered around the fire pits as it turned full dark. He called a patrol officer to meet him in the parking area, all the while running his gaze over the crowd, trying to pick out Harper.
To put her on notice they were due for a talk.
No luck.
Setting his jaw, he ordered Geoff to play deputy and herded the annoying kids along the outbound trail until it opened onto the tarmac, dimly lit by tall lights. Sure enough, there was his friend’s car, one door half-open. The other vehicles looked unharmed.
And then there was Harper, with a long-tailed shirt open over her swimsuit, leaning against her grandfather’s old truck, one foot cradled in her hand. Not unharmed.
His stomach lurched. With a short command to Geoff, he ran toward her, and crouched down to get a better look at the injury. A cut, one-and-a-half inches long. Still oozing blood. “What do you need?”
“Uh—”
“Is your tetanus inoculation up to date?”
“Inoculation?”
“It’s not an option,” he said, shooting her a look. “Your old doctor, Doctor Shaeffer retired, but Dr. Ames bought her practice. We could—”
“I’m not going to the doctor!”
“The emergency room then.” He took her foot in his own hand and bent over the wound. He had first aid training and he didn’t like the way the blood was so…so…red. “We’ll load you up right now and—”
“Mad, I’ve been to twenty countries alone. I’ve got the stomach flu in at least three of them, strep throat in two, sprained my wrist in Spain, got pneumonia…well, that’s a whole other story.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Sure you are,” she said, glancing over as a Sawyer Beach patrol car pulled into the lot. “Go play cops and robbers.”
Frowning, he stood up. “But you need medical assistance.”
“That I’m perfectly capable of getting myself if deemed necessary.”
From across the lot, Geoff yelled his name and gestured him over. Torn, Mad held up a finger, then looked back at Harper. “Stay here for just a minute. Then we’ll go together.”
“I’m fine.”
“Harp—”
“I’m fine.”
Geoff called his name again as the officer climbed from his car. “Crap. Just wait thirty seconds.”
“Don’t need to,” she answered, turning to open the truck’s door.
“Harp,” he ground out. “Why do you have to be so damn independent?”
From her one good foot, she hopped onto the seat. “Because I’ve only had myself to rely on.”
“But—”
Geoff hailed him again and he shot the man a dark look. Harper started the engine. Accepting defeat, Mad stalked over to the waiting men.
Geoff’s angry expression had eased as he finally seemed interested in something besides crime and punishment. He peered around Mad. “Was that Harper Hill?”
“Yes.”
“Seeing you two together seems just like old times.”
Over his shoulder, Mad glimpsed the truck’s taillights receding in the distance. “Yeah,” he muttered, “just like old times.” His mood lowered more.
It hadn’t improved by the time he turned down his street later that evening. Pulling into the drive, he caught sight of a figure perched on his porch steps, illuminated by the light beside the front door.
He approached slowly. “Here to announce a case of lockjaw? Rusty cornea? Crooked pinna?”
She wore jeans and a sweatshirt with a pair of flip-flops. A large elastic bandage could be seen on the sole of her foot. “Antibiotic ointment prevented all that.”
He glanced down again. “And a bandage covered with butterflies apparently.”
Her foot wiggled. “They chase the blues away.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, he noted plastic grocery bags on either side of her. “More medicine?” he asked, nodding at them.
“You were so concerned about my foot earlier.” She smiled up at him, apparently her frame of mind sunnier than his. “I have to say I found it…”
“What? You found it charming?” He narrowed his eyes. “Please don’t say it was cute.”
She glanced down. “That kind of talk seems to get me in trouble.”
Okay, here was his way into that conversation he wanted. He took a breath. “Harp, about that trouble…” He’d be damned if he apologized for kissing her again. No one had been witness this time, and they’d both been into it—equally.
She wouldn’t be able to deny that. But he didn’t like that she’d run off and that he hadn’t been able to
decipher the expression on her face when she did so…
Making him feel, once again, that he’d never been able to give her what she needed.
Right? Why else would she have left him behind and never returned?
But this time she had returned.
He started again. “Harp, about that trouble—”
“I come bearing gifts.” Lifting the bags, she stood and held them out to him.
“What’s this?” he asked, taking them in hand.
“Steak for your eye.”
“Oh.” He’d forgotten the kid had sucker-punched him. If he wasn’t so pissed about it, humiliation might have set in.
“Or we could grill the meat,” she said. “I also have some potatoes in there to bake. And a bag of salad. Not fresh stuff from the farm, but I stopped in at Duffy’s.”
“Well, I didn’t have dinner.”
“I learned that from Sophie. She texted you followed the officer to the station and didn’t return to the beach party.”
“So you brought me food.”
“Unless you want to treat that wannabe shiner.”
“It makes me look manly.”
She tilted her head, appeared to study him. “You think?”
He couldn’t help but smile. She was here. About to enter his home. “Let’s make dinner.”
Chapter Eight
Harper loved the coziness of the house, a bungalow style that he’d opened up on the inside so that the living room and the kitchen were all one. But the tile was original and he’d replaced the farmhouse sink that sat below a stained glass window.
She’d wondered if it might be weird to be inside his home, when she’d sat down to wait on his porch. But she couldn’t bear to let her last impression be the impression of her backside in a skimpy suit, on a childish run from awkwardness. When she’d been shopping for ointment and elastic bandages, she’d decided to make new memories as a way of overcoming her obsession with the old ones.
And to smooth over the abrupt end to those kisses on the sand.
Her plan appeared to be working.
The baked potatoes went in, he fired up the grill, and she found the tossers that matched the salad bowl.
Maddox Kelly had a salad bowl with matching salad tossers.
See, they had grown up and this evening would prove it.
They’d grown up and were able to move on.
Conversation bounced between traveling and food and family while sitting across from each other at a small table that he’d even placed a candle on.
She had lit the candle.
At a break in the conversation, the flame mesmerized her. Life could have been like this, she found herself thinking.
Their lives.
The idea made her hop up. “Dishes are on me.”
“There’s no dishwasher,” he warned, but let her fill the sink with bubbles while he topped off her glass with a local cabernet sauvignon.
Suddenly music came from somewhere, some jazzy composition that made her snort with laughter. “What are you playing?”
“This?” he said, dumping utensils into the sink. “It’s Spotify. The playlist said dinner music.”
“You always were a straight arrow, but Kenny G? When did you turn sixty-three?”
“Sixty-four. And you promised to need me and feed me at that age, if I recall correctly.”
He said it with a big fat smile, easy as pie, and not like he hadn’t just wounded her in the heart, but the stab there had gone deep anyway, because she had, indeed, said that once. Sung it to him, dancing around his apartment using a cedar shoe tree like a microphone.
Mad Kelly, at twenty-four had owned cedar shoe trees.
She decided to think about shoe trees and not about the dancing girl. No, she’d think about neither. She glanced around the room as she rinsed one of the plates. “What’s that trophy?” she asked.
He followed her gaze. “Charity golf tournament. I came in first place.”
Wide-eyed, she turned fully around, her soapy hands dripping onto the kitchen floor mat. “Golf?”
“A sport. With clubs. A little white ball.”
Shaking her head, she returned to the dishes. “I don’t know why I didn’t expect it. Do you wear knickers and one of those silky shirts?”
“You’re thinking of a horse jockey.”
“Maybe.” She popped a plate in the drainer. “But you still play a sport that takes hours and requires whispering.”
“Only from the announcers.”
“What is that about anyway? And the leg warmers for the clubs? The only thing good about that pastime is the cute little carts.”
The long ensuing silence made her glance back at him. “What?” Her insides lurched at the warm light in his gaze. “What?”
“You have whimsy. I’m realizing I’ve missed whimsy in my life.”
“Whimsy’s hard to come by when you’re pretending to be a hit man.” The knowledge struck her again, that Mad put himself in harm’s way. That harm’s way was his profession.
Bad things could happen to him.
Hot tears stung the corners of her eyes and she returned her focus to the dishes, plunging her hands into the sink to gather up the forks and knives.
“Harp.” Strong arms came around her from behind. “What’s the matter?”
“It was a long day. I found a need for antibiotic ointment.”
His arms tightened on her and his voice hardened. “Those assholes.”
Not those assholes. “I said I had that situation under control—though I will admit to being happy to see you.”
“Then what’s the matter, really?”
She shrugged. “You play golf. It’s unsettling.”
“I play golf.” The smile in his voice was palpable.
She turned in his hold and tried pushing him away with wet hands. “Don’t laugh at me.”
His hands gripped her hips and his smile widened to a grin. “Now you’re cute.”
Resisting stomping her foot was harder than she expected. “Golfing means you’ve…matured.”
Years had passed that she’d never get back.
“You’ve matured too.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “I’m a fan.”
Aaand that was it. This laidback, flirty, smiling Maddox Kelly was impossible to resist.
Harper sucked in a breath. “Well, when you look back on this moment, please recall that you asked for it.”
“Asked for what?” he said, laughing.
On tiptoe, her kiss was her answer.
His arms left her, lifting as if in surprise, then she touched her tongue to his bottom lip and he wrapped them around her again, immediately lifting her against his large, hard, hot body. She twined her damp fingers in his hair and tilted her head, reveling in the kiss as the notes of the next song floated around them.
The voice caught her attention. She lifted her head. “Who is this singing?”
His expression turned bemused and he appeared to listen, his head tilted. “Mel Tormé,” he said after a moment.
She goggled. “Chestnuts? Roasting on the open fire at Christmas? That’s not this song.”
His lips twitched. “Don’t try to change the subject.”
“And the subject is…”
“This,” he muttered, then drew her closer and his mouth slammed on hers. Her thoughts scattered, her blood burned in her veins, her hands clutched at him.
They were alone, adult, free to indulge.
She molded her body to his, and let the kiss blossom, flower, their mouths opening into a fulsome, deep kiss. They exchanged breath, heat, passion.
He slid his lips over her cheek and down her neck. A shiver rolled along her spine and she shut her eyes as the mingled sensations of familiarity and newness rocked her world. This is good, she thought, and let that be the only one allowed in her mind.
Her hands slid beneath his T-shirt and his skin was steaming. Breaking free, he tore off his shirt and she pulled in a rough breath, her belly clenchin
g in anticipation. All that hard muscle. Covered in all that skin.
For a moment she just stared, overwhelmed by a swift kick of lust, and then her hands jumped to the hem of her sweatshirt, yanking it up. She could drive this train as well as he.
New memories.
“Harp,” he breathed, as she tossed away the fabric then unclipped her bra, letting that drop to their feet. “Jesus, Harp.”
His reverence made her heart jump. She moved in, her fingers going to the button of his shorts but he pushed her hands away and then cupped his palms at her bottom, cinching her tight and hard against his erection. Their naked torsos met. Inside her, in the lowest place, another pulse, an insistent ache, a clamoring to be touched, filled.
To have Mad inside her again.
She drew his head down, taking a greedy kiss, pouring herself into the moment. No thought of what was. Only of what was right now.
His head dipped and he found her breast, his tongue toying with her nipple. She moaned, her hands cradling him against her, her back bowing to encourage the sweetness of his closeness. He tugged on the budded tip and her eyes rolled back in her head as she burned for him. Then his hands unsnapped her jeans and he pushed them down to her knees, taking her panties with them.
His rough palm stroked her flank and then his fingers slid to her front, cupping her, applying a firm pressure that upped the pulse there. She gasped as he sucked harder on her nipple.
More insistent throbbing. Harper had to do something about this.
“Bed,” she said, suppressing the moan that wanted to accompany it. “Bed. Now.”
His head lifted. He was breathing hard, his face flushed, his eyes dark.
Ready to swallow her up.
She moved back, nearly tripping due to the constriction of denim and underwear. With a frustrated sound, she shuffled out of her flip-flops then kicked off everything else.
He sucked in a sharp breath, his gaze running over her nudity.
“Whimsy?” she said. “Let’s go get whimsical.” Twirling on her uninjured foot she ran toward what she hoped was the bedroom.
Then long arms scooped her up. “Wrong way.”
SLOW PLAY (7-Stud Club Book 4) Page 10
