Daddy Shifter

by Juniper Hart

  Chapter Two

  “The balloon fell, Zoe! Pick it up!” her mother screeched, and Zoe rolled her blue eyes skyward.

  “Mama, this is unnecessary,” she moaned, but she leaned forward to reclaim the fallen red orb, taping it to the streamer against the Roman column.

  The front of the colonial-style house looked as if America had thrown up on it, red, white, and blue assaulting Zoe’s eyes from every angle.

  “Shush,” Cindy Carrington retorted. “Your brother hasn’t been home in three years! The least we can do is show that he was missed.”

  Zoe did not respond, although several thoughts crossed her mind.

  Branson doesn’t want a production, she thought, stifling a grunt. He just wants to come home and relax. And he certainly doesn’t want a faux-patriotic display to remind him that he’s on leave right now. This is a terrible idea. I can’t wait to see his face and then tell him I was against the decorations the whole time!

  It didn’t matter how long Branson had been gone; Zoe still felt she knew her brother better than anyone else in the world.

  And she knew he would hate the gesture.

  As if on cue, a black sedan pulled up along the long, pine-edged drive, and Cindy squealed in delight.

  “Don! Don, Branson is home! Branson is home!” Zoe’s mother shrieked into the house, clapping her hands together like a small child.

  Again, Zoe swallowed a groan and watched the vehicle approach, flopping indifferently onto the front steps to put her chin in her hand, a short blonde strand of hair resting at her wrist. She had no interest in bombarding her brother with the theatrics her parents had prepared, but she did want a front row seat to his disdainful expression when he arrived.

  Unexpectedly, she realized that there was someone else in the car with her brother. Zoe lifted her head with interest, her cornflower blue eyes widening as she took in the second body exiting from behind the passenger seat.

  Her breath caught slightly in her throat as she recognized Rocco Burnaby.

  He just gets hotter and hotter, she thought, rising to her feet without noticing she was doing it.

  The marines had matured him, the slight boyishness of his face gone entirely. In its place was a firm, structured jawline, intense green eyes, and thick, dark eyebrows.

  It seemed to her that he was almost bursting out of his uniform, even though he was not—it was only her perception of his impossibly large shoulders and lumbering frame.

  Did he grow? Zoe wondered, her eyes admiring him as she fixated her gaze on her brother’s best friend. He certainly seemed larger than the last time she had seen him.

  Inadvertently, her eyes traveled down toward his crotch. Zoe gnawed on her lower lip, leaning against the column, her arms folded over her chest as she watched the scene with renewed interest.

  Rocco had basically grown up in the Carrington household, trying to run away from the drunken escapades of his mother, Yvonne. If Zoe claimed she had not been in love with Rocco throughout her childhood, she would have been lying.

  After all, his dark, brooding nature and smoldering good looks made him a natural attraction for any woman with hormones. And Zoe’s hormones had been raging for as long as she had known him.

  Unfortunately for her, she’d not only the disadvantage of being Rocco’s best friend’s sister, but she had also been unbearably unattractive.

  I’ve since rectified the latter part, she thought.

  “Branson!” Cindy yelled, throwing herself into her son’s outstretched arms. “Oh, how we’ve missed you, baby!”

  Branson embraced his mother and grinned in embarrassment, setting her back slightly.

  “Hey, Mama,” he said, his southern drawl almost shy as he looked around at the decorations. “You didn’t need to go through all this trouble.”

  “Nonsense, son!” Don announced, making his way out of the house toward his oldest child. “This isn’t nearly enough for an American hero!”

  Zoe almost laughed aloud at the crimson in her brother’s face.

  “I tried to warn them,” she called out, and Branson turned to look at her, his cerulean eyes wide with amazement.

  “Zoe!” he cried, rushing toward her. “You look amazing!”

  She laughed and hugged him, but her gaze was still locked on Rocco.

  “Oh, Rocco!” Cindy exclaimed. “Are you staying with us, too?”

  “Yes, Mama,” Branson replied for his friend, who seemed uncomfortable as he remained by their bags. “I invited him to relax in la casa de Carrington while we’re on leave.”

  “If it’s an inconvenience, Mrs. Carrington—” Rocco started to say, but he was instantly cut off.

  “Nonsense!” Don interrupted. “Our home is always open to heroes!”

  “And you know full well that you’re always welcome in this house, Rocco. You’re like a second son to us, and always have been,” Cindy added, her light eyes filled with warmth.

  Zoe knew she was speaking the truth. Her parents had always loved Rocco like another child.

  “Come inside, boys. You must be famished. I’ve got the barbecue all fired up. People will be here soon.”

  “People?” Branson echoed. “What people?”

  “Your family, Branson. They’ve missed you. You’ve been away for three years, in case you’ve forgotten.”

  Branson stifled a groan, and Zoe could see he was not looking forward to a family reunion on his first day home, but he was far too good a son to diminish their parents’ good humor.

  Rocco glanced back at Branson, as if masking his friend’s silent anguish, his stare falling on Zoe for the first time.

  His mouth parted slightly as Mr. and Mrs. Carrington made their way into the house, the pained look disappearing from his face almost instantly. In its place was an expression of keen interest as his head moved up and down to take Zoe in from head to toe.

  “Come on, sis,” Bran encouraged, grasping Zoe’s arm. “Save me from the confetti.”

  “Sorry about this,” she laughed, nodding at Rocco approvingly. “They never listen to me.”

  The siblings joined him, the three mounting the steps to enter the home.

  “Hi, Zoe,” Rocco breathed. “You got your braces off.”

  She stifled a smile, glancing at him gravely. “And I got contacts. No more coke-bottle glasses for this mouse,” she answered coyly.

  “You were never a mouse,” Rocco muttered, but Zoe knew he was lying.

  She had always been slightly awkward growing up, and she’d always been painfully aware that the boys she liked never looked at her twice. Yet it seemed like almost overnight, she had blossomed from a gawky high school sophomore to a gorgeous college freshman, her grades seeming to reflect how good she felt about herself.

  Branson chuckled. “I almost didn’t recognize you,” her brother commented. “My baby sister is all grown up and ready to conquer anything!”

  “Yes,” Zoe breathed, locking gazes with Rocco. “Yes, I am.”

  There was an unmistakable electricity passing through them as the words were spoken, but Branson didn’t seem to notice as he clapped his friend heartily on the back.

  “Sorry about the family affair,” Branson chirped. “I had no idea. You can hide out in the guest room if you want.”

  “I like your family affairs,” Rocco replied, his sincerity undeniable.

  Zoe blushed slightly and turned her head. He is gorgeous, she thought wistfully. Too bad he’s leaving in a few weeks. Who know when I’ll see him again?

  Within two hours, the barbecue was in full swing, with family members and friends coming from miles around. Branson and Zoe claimed the comfortable Adirondack chairs on the deck that allowed them to look over all the activity in the back yard.

  As the siblings sat chatting pleasantly, Zoe wondered why it mattered that Rocco was leaving. Three weeks is plenty of time to get to know him, she thought. We can have our fun and he can be on his way, and I will go back to school.

  Instant
ly, she was ashamed of her thoughts, lowering her eyes as if she was afraid that everyone in the vicinity could read her mind.

  Anyway, she knew she would never be able to let Rocco Burnaby go once she’d had a taste. In her youth she had spent many hours fantasizing about the way Rocco would feel and taste as she writhed beneath him.

  Most importantly, Rocco Burnaby would never entertain the thought of being with a former mouse like her, even if he wasn’t her brother’s best friend… would he?

  “Why are you so quiet?” Branson asked her as she rested her head against the chair, watching as more family members filled into the yard. “Are you hating this as much as me?”

  “Maybe,” she replied, grinning. “But probably not as much as Rocco.”

  She gestured with her head toward where Aunt Belinda had cornered him, undoubtedly explaining her incontinence issues, judging by the expression on Rocco’s face.

  Branson laughed. “I’ll go rescue him,” he said, but Zoe raised a hand to his arm.

  “Allow me,” she replied, slipping away before Branson could question her motives.

  She pretended not to notice her brother’s blue eyes boring into her as she sat herself at the table next to Rocco.

  “Oh, Zoe, honey!” Aunt Belinda cried, her voice too loud. “I was just telling Rocky about the mass on my—”

  “His name is Rocco, Auntie Belinda,” Zoe interjected, not wanting to learn about where her mother’s aunt had an excess growth. “And I doubt he wants to hear about it.”

  “Huh?” Aunt Belinda called, cupping her good ear to hear Zoe’s words better. “Rocky needs a beer?”

  “Yes,” Zoe yelled. “Rocky needs a beer. Come on, Rocky!”

  She clasped his large hand, a small shiver of excitement coursing through her as she made contact and winked at him. He looked at her gratefully, rising from his spot, and they both waved pleasantly at Aunt Belinda as they raced back into the house, giggling.

  “Don’t mind Auntie Belinda,” Zoe told him apologetically as they entered the empty kitchen. “She doesn’t mean to be…” Zoe trailed off, searching for the word.

  “Such a fountain of information?” Rocco replied, grinning, and Zoe laughed.

  “Exactly,” she said, opening the fridge and withdrawing two beers. “She’s old.”

  The rest of her family was outside, but Zoe was grateful for the privacy indoors, and she intended to take advantage of it. She leaned against the fridge, her eyes following Rocco’s every movement.

  “You didn’t want to go home?” she asked, and Rocco’s smile instantly dropped. Zoe immediately regretted the question. “Sorry,” she said quickly. “I shouldn’t have asked that.”

  Rocco shook his head as if trying to roll the query off his shoulders. “No, it’s fine,” he replied gruffly. “I didn’t want to see my mother.”

  Zoe pursed her lips together, her light eyes studying his face closely. “She doesn’t know you’re back in Scarlet Oak?” she asked, somewhat surprised. She had always known that the relationship between Rocco and his mother was strained, but she had no idea it was so bad that he would not mention he was home for the first time in three years.

  “She wouldn’t know the difference,” Rocco snapped, but Zoe could tell he wasn’t angry with her.

  He's probably not even angry with Yvonne, she thought to herself. The entire situation likely has him in turmoil.

  “I’m sorry,” she repeated, placing a pale hand on his bicep. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

  He stared down at her hand and then back at her face, like there was something he wanted to tell her, except that he didn’t know how.

  Zoe wasn’t sure who made the first move, but suddenly they were in each other’s arms, their lips pressed together.

  She gasped lightly as his tongue darted out, touching hers and filling her with excitement. Tighter he grasped her, and Zoe felt the growing hardness beneath his military-issued pants, the realization he was in uniform only adding to her arousal.

  Abruptly, Rocco pulled back, his pupils dilated. “Oh, God,” he muttered, turning away from her.

  The screen door slid open and Branson sauntered into the kitchen. Zoe gnawed on her lower lip, certain her guilt was evident on her face.

  “There you are!” Branson boomed, but there was a note of suspicion in his voice. “I was wondering where you two had wandered off to.”

  “We’re just getting a beer,” Zoe murmured, grabbing for her still unopened bottle.

  “There’s a cooler outside,” Branson said pointedly, and Zoe nodded.

  “I wasn’t sure they were cold enough yet,” she lied.

  “Well, no point in hanging out in here when the party is outside,” he told them jovially, but Zoe knew her brother well enough to detect the skepticism in his eyes.

  Without responding, Rocco and Zoe allowed themselves to be ushered back into the yard, but as Branson slid the door open again, Zoe could not resist reaching out to touch Rocco’s rear.

  A small grin appeared on his face, and Zoe knew that they were about to embark on three weeks of absolute pleasure.

  Chapter Three

  Rocco could not get the idea of Zoe Carrington out of his mind, and as the afternoon melted away into evening, he found he was unable to stop himself from watching the svelte blonde meander around the party, smiling and laughing.

  How could she have blossomed in such a short time? he wondered.

  Rocco had always maintained an affection for Branson’s sibling. He had watched her grow up, after all, and he had come to see her as a little sister.

  Not that day, however. Nothing was platonic about the thoughts that raced through his mind.

  Rocco turned his head and noticed Branson standing next to him, eyeing him disdainfully.

  “That’s my sister,” he snarled, and Rocco glanced at him lazily.

  “Yes,” he replied nonchalantly. “I’m aware of that. I’ve picked her up from school as many times as you have.”

  “Then stop looking at her like she’s a steak and you’re a pit bull,” Branson ordered. “I didn’t invite you here to hit on Zoe.”

  Rocco felt a spark of anger course through him. “Why the hell did you invite me here, then?” he growled. “So that you could mother me?”

  Branson’s mouth became a fine, tense line. “I’m not mothering you,” he retorted. “I’m telling you to stop gawking at my sister.”

  Rocco stared intently at his friend. “First of all, your sister is a grown woman,” he began, slightly relishing the increased annoyance in Branson’s face. “And secondly, I have no interest in her. She’s like my own sister.”

  He almost choked on his own lie, but Branson was his best friend. He didn’t want to put a strain on their relationship. Zoe was off limits. Although it was difficult to hold back his primal instincts, he would leave her alone, out of respect for Branson.

  He watched as Branson’s expression changed into one of slight relief, but Rocco could see he wasn’t convinced just yet.

  “Sorry, man,” Branson mumbled. “It’s just that she’s always going to be twelve years old to me, coming home in tears because the boys didn’t like her. I can’t reconcile she’s the same girl.”

  “Woman,” Rocco said automatically, and Bran’s brow knit instantly.

  “Whatever. Just stop staring at her, Rocco. You’re making me uncomfortable.”

  Rocco snorted and grabbed for his beer. He’d had more than he should have, but he wasn’t worried; he wasn’t going anywhere, after all.

  His dark green eyes instinctively moved back toward Zoe. She seemed to sense him watching her and she looked up from where she sat, winking overtly at him.

  “Did my sister just wink at you?”

  Rocco jerked his head back and laughed shortly. “Are you drunk?” he asked, more to shift the focus off the conversation.

  Instantly Branson grew defensive. “No!” he snapped, and Rocco could see he had struck a nerve.

  He
knew Branson was sensitive about his drinking, and Rocco felt a smidgen of guilt by playing on his friend’s weakness, but desperate times called for desperate measures. However, he couldn’t act like that—Branson was like his brother.

  “Dude, sorry,” he said. “I’ll leave her alone. Okay?”

  “Thanks,” Branson said as he wandered off.

  I can look, even if I can’t touch, thought Rocco as his single-minded focus continued to watch Zoe’s every move and admire every curve of her body.

  Kissing her had been unplanned, but she had wanted it as much as he had. Logically, he knew that he couldn’t touch Branson’s sister again, but it wouldn’t be easy.

  He downed the rest of his drink and sighed. I better slow down, he warned himself. Before I have no inhibitions left whatsoever.

  Chapter Four

  The house was finally still at 3 a.m., the last of the party guests long gone and the family having retired to bed hours earlier.

  Zoe had spent the wee hours of the morning creeping about upstairs, listening for signs of life. It had seemed like Bran would never go to sleep, but blissfully, as the witching hour struck, all was quiet.

  She wasted almost no time slipping from her spacious bedroom and stealthily making her way to the guest room at the end of the hallway. As she pried open the door, Zoe was slightly disappointed to find that Rocco was asleep, his broad chest rising and falling in even rhythm.

  Gently closing the door in her wake, she watched him for a long moment, debating on how to wake him. Making her way across the hardwood floor, she winced as the floorboards creaked slightly under her slender form, but in seconds, she had climbed atop the mattress.

  Her heart hammered loudly in her chest. Zoe ignored it, peeling back the white sheet draped across Rocco’s muscular body. Shocked that he was sleeping in the nude, a smile spread across Zoe’s face as the moonlight peaking in from the window illuminated every defined muscle on his body.

  He murmured something incoherent in his sleep, but didn’t stir beyond that.

  Zoe placed a light kiss on his lips, working her way down his body, her silken hair teasing as she continued with the butterfly caresses across his body.