by Anne Marsh
She was still talking. “I love my job. I really do. I know that’s hard for someone like you to understand.”
He had no idea what that meant, but maybe she really believed he was a hardened criminal. He made a noise, but she kept right on talking, on a roll.
“I grew up in a poor Hispanic neighborhood,” she said. “Orange County.”
“I’ve been through there a time or two.” He knew the kind of neighborhood she meant. Clean and pretty, with working-class trucks parked end to end and yards full of potted plants, the houses busting at the seams with extended family, and all the drama that came with close quarters and high occupancy.
She smiled but not at him. Nope. She was taking an extended walk down memory lane, and he was fairly certain he wasn’t invited. “My neighborhood could put on one hell of a party. Many of the girls never went past high school, and having the first baby was their major milestone.”
“But you didn’t do that.” Surely if she had a kid, he’d have known?
She shook her head, and he exhaled in relief. Not that he minded kids, but dating a woman with kids was a whole new level of serious.
“I did one year at UCLA then dropped out because the money ran out and I couldn’t study and work at the same time.”
“So how did that lead to law enforcement?”
“We saw the police plenty on our block. I lost two cousins to drive-by shootings. We were never sure if it was a case of wrong time, wrong place or if they had been involved with the local gangs. It didn’t really matter, because they were dead,” she said quietly. “Although my auntie found thinking about them as innocent victims easier than the alternative. I wanted to do something to stop it. I couldn’t undo what had happened to my cousins, but maybe I could prevent the shooters from getting their hands on the guns, from doing it again. Going into law enforcement gave me that first chance, and I loved the Los Angeles Police Department.”
“So why did you come out here?”
“I’d been seeing someone since high school,” she admitted. “And there was no question but that he eventually joined a local gang. He got into trouble, got arrested and convicted. We corresponded for a few months while he got started on his sentence, and I even went to see him twice. I didn’t realize that I was risking my job. He’d been my high school sweetheart. We’d talked about getting married. We’d grown apart, and that wasn’t going to happen anymore, but we were still friends and I...”
Mentally, he filled in the dots. She’d still cared. She’d been there for the guy because that was the kind of person she was. She was loyal, and she’d had his back, even when he’d fucked up and gotten his ass thrown in jail.
“I got fired,” she said quietly. “I was still on probation when my new police department finished doing my background check and came asking questions. They should have asked sooner, but they were behind in their paperwork, and so they took a chance on me and everyone lost. I got fired and I learned a valuable lesson.”
“Did you see him again?” It was none of his business, but he needed to know.
She shook her head. “We’d grown apart, and then I came out here because I had a second chance at a job. So I can’t blow this chance. You understand that, right? It’s a small town, and the department has already lost one officer, so everyone else has to be even more careful. There can’t be any appearance of impropriety.”
He wasn’t a criminal. He also wasn’t a Boy Scout, and he knew all about small towns. Strong was already gossiping about their supposed dating life, and it was a short hop from there to either talking about their sex life or filling in the blanks if he and Mercy didn’t make a public spectacle of themselves. People were supportive in small places like this, and you could trust your neighbors with your stuff. It was only your secrets that were at risk, because those same neighbors talked. And talked. So she was right that the two of them had no more business being together than she and the Los Angeles gangbanger, but he hadn’t even had a chance at her, unlike the other guy. And he wanted that chance. Badly.
***
“I know how to behave.”
She had no idea how Joey managed to sound both virtuous and naughty at the same time. The man was an evil genius.
“Uh-huh.” And that was her, Ms. Suave and Witty. She sighed. Later tonight, when she was alone in her rental house, she’d think of half a dozen brilliant responses and regret the missed opportunity. She racked her brain, trying to remember the small talk tips she’d read in last month’s Cosmo. Unfortunately, nothing came to mind. Right now, she was tongue-tied. And likely making a bad impression.
Not that she wanted to make a good one.
Just a sexy one. Or an attractive one. She was off-duty, and he was... here.
“I’m a fine and upstanding citizen,” he protested.
“Prove it.”
“Okay. Will and Abbie were planning on building their dream house,” he said, picking up their conversational slack. He looked serious, which was even cuter than his grins.
“I don’t think Abbie’s going to be building anything on her own. And that’s not a character testimonial for you.”
“I’m going to help,” he continued. “A bunch of the local firefighters are getting together, and we’re going to put the house in.”
“Wow.” Which, as witty remarks went, did not top her previous contribution to the conversation. “You’re going to build her a house?”
He shrugged. “They’d picked out one of those kit houses from Sunset Magazine. It shows up in a bunch of boxes on a flatbed truck, and then you put it together.”
He made the whole project sound easy, like constructing a spaceship from Legos or slapping together a tree house with a few odds and ends. If it was that easy, though, everyone would have a house and no one would be renting.
“Have you ever built a house before?”
“You don’t think I can do it?”
She thought he could do whatever he put his mind to.
“Because Uncle Sam had me on more than one construction project.” He winked at her. “The US Navy has a whole mobile construction battalion.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “Were you actually in it, though? Because you seem more like the type to blow stuff up to me.”
“I can blow things up and build houses. I’m multitalented.”
Fine. Joey was moral, upstanding, and a host of other adjectives. Unfortunately, her head—and other, more southern parts of her anatomy—was stuck on one word. Hot. Joey was hot.
“Our first meeting is on Saturday,” he said. “Come with me. You can help out.”
“I don’t know how to build a house.” She’d hung a picture last weekend and duct-taped a leak in her sink. Neither of which qualified her to mess around with walls and windows and doors, even if they did come in some sort of paint-by-numbers house kit.
“I’ll teach you. You’ll learn.” She liked that he didn’t pretend that she knew how to do something when she didn’t. It wasn’t a big deal in his world. If you wanted to learn, you learned.
So why not? She liked Abbie Donegan, even if she didn’t know the other woman well. She couldn’t begin to imagine what it was like, being newly widowed and with a baby on the way. Mentally, she ran through her calendar. She didn’t have to work, and she didn’t have any other plans. She was still suspicious that Joey wanted to label some mutual house building as more than it was, but helping Abbie out was the right thing to do. She could handle Joey.
“What time does the team start on Saturday?”
“As soon as it’s light.” Joey leaned forward. She recognized the naughty twinkle in his eyes. Whatever words were coming next were intended to rile her up. “It might be simpler if you spent the night at my place the night before.”
“In your dreams.” And hers, if she was being honest. “I’m helping out, not putting out.”
“Got it.” He nodded. “We have a date for Saturday.”
And this was why avoiding Joey altogether was a m
uch, much safer plan. “Saturday is not a date. Swinging a hammer doesn’t count, and dates involve food and fun stuff.”
“Kissing. I take your clothes off, while you peel mine off. Bedroom stuff.” He rocked back on his heels and grinned. “I can do all that too, although it would definitely be safer to finish the hammering portion of the day’s events first, unless...”
“Don’t say it.” Being around Joey sent her mind straight to the gutter, because she could think of a dozen different and thoroughly enjoyable ways he could hammer her. “Saturday. Eight o’clock. I’ll come ready to work.”
“Uh-huh. You say ‘tomato’ and I say ‘tomahto.’” Date, he mouthed and then he tapped her steering wheel. “Turn the key.”
Of course her engine sprang obediently to life. Joey was good with his hands. And... she definitely had her fantasy fodder for the night. She gave him a small smile and muttered thanks. He leaned in her window, completely missing his cue to step back and go.
“I drive off now, you’re losing a toe or two,” she pointed out.
She had no idea how he could look so completely unconcerned. “Uh-huh. I have something to do first.”
Somehow, he managed to lean in her window, laughing as she slapped her hands against his shoulders. Oh, my God. He wanted to kiss her now? His hands slid over her shoulder, up her neck. His mouth moved toward hers, giving her time to duck away if she’d wanted. Which she didn’t. She’d been anticipating Joey’s kiss for days and days, and now that he was finally making a move, time seemed to slow down and every inch of her focused on his mouth. On him. It should have been awkward, but instead... it was hot.
He brushed his mouth over hers. Touchdown. What next? Should she open her mouth, tease his lips with her tongue? Mentally she did a quick run through of the Cosmo article on kissing that she’d read last month. His mouth retreated, came back, and exerted a sexy, rough pressure on hers. He was good. Had she brushed her teeth recently? He tugged her ponytail free with one hand, and she worried about that too. What if she just looked messy instead of sexy? Or got her hair in their mouths?
He lifted his mouth off hers. “Stop thinking. I can hear you thinking.”
That was easy for him to say. He was a natural at kissing. She, on the other hand, didn’t have as much practice as she would have liked.
He sighed. “Just once, you need to listen to me.”
***
He cupped her face with his hands, and she froze. Not with nerves but with sweet anticipation. Yeah. He was feeling him some of that too. They might not be on the same page about their dating life, but kissing they agreed on completely. He covered her mouth with his. It wasn’t a smooth, thought-out kiss. It was a raw, exquisite invasion, his tongue caressing hers as he explored her mouth. She softened beneath him, letting him all the way in.
“See, if you’re talking or thinking, I need to be listening when we could both be feeling instead,” he whispered roughly, lifting his mouth off hers for the briefest of moments before he went right back to kissing her. Harder, deeper, not worrying about the mechanics because he needed to be closer, and she sure as hell seemed to feel the same way because she kissed him back, all greedy need and no finesse.
She moaned something that might have been an answer, but who needed words? She tangled her tongue with his, taking his mouth as deeply as she could. Raising herself up on the seat, she plastered her body against his, hooking an arm around his neck to steady herself. He worked them backward until, sweet baby Jesus, he had her pressed all the way into the seat and he was about to topple through the damned open window. He should have stopped, should have yanked open the door and climbed inside with her, but that would have given her more time to think and she thought too much already. Instead, they were still kissing, and she moaned again. He heard that husky sound and he wanted to pull her down, get her clothes off, and put himself inside her. The way her hands hung onto him, he thought she’d let him, and it was the best damned idea he’d ever had.
But his heart was banging hard against his ribs, his fingers itching to tangle deeper in her hair. He wanted to ignore common sense, wanted to kiss her again and again and never mind the outside world.
He stepped back. “I’ll see you next weekend for our date.”
“It’s not a date,” she said, but she was talking to herself because he was headed back to his truck.
He was also pretty sure he could feel her eyes on his butt, so that was a good sign. He contemplated the taste of her and the small sigh of surprise she’d made when he stroked inside her mouth. She was goddamned sexy, particularly when she lost her train of thought. She could call Saturday whatever she wanted, but as far as he was concerned, it was a date—and, being it was a date, he had every intention of kissing her again.
4
The contractor had poured the slab for Will Donegan’s new house earlier in the week, and the virgin concrete had been a neat gray rectangle when Joey had shown up this morning at dark o’clock. Late migrating geese honked by overhead, unseen on their way to some place warmer and more tropical. The birds had the right idea. It was black as hell out here on the edge of the woods, but the sky was clear, and plenty of stars winked overhead. The light and lack of cloud cover was a good sign. Swinging a hammer in the rain sucked.
He’d dozed in his truck until a flatbed arrived with the walls and the roof. Two tours of duty as a US SEAL and he could sleep everywhere but in a bed. Go figure. He’d lost count at thirty enormous boxes, and that was just what the kit thing included. There was apparently a boatload of trim Abbie would need to pick out at the hardware store, but the girls were supposed to be working on that. The house would have two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a kitchen/living room area that fronted the mountains. There was also a porch for sitting on, kicking back, and relaxing with a beer. It all sounded great on paper, but he hoped like hell the house had come with directions because he hadn’t built so much as a bookshelf in years.
By the time the sun came up, he had twelve guys ready to help him put the frame up. By midmorning, ladders, tool belts, and electrical cords ran everywhere, and a cheerful mix of curses and hammers rang off the trees.
Kade limped up, holding a piece of something brown and shiny. “Did you know houses came in shit-colored?”
“I guess I do now. What the hell is that?” He rested his arms on the top of his ladder and eyed the metal in Kade’s hands.
Kade shrugged. “According to the box—and we have lots of boxes, FYI—it’s siding. Does it look like siding to you?”
Absolutely not, although all he knew about siding was that it went on the outside and not the inside. And guys painted it on the weekends. And then repainted when their wives hated the color or the paint peeled or they wanted to one-up the neighbors or spread some joy in the local hardware economy. The thing in Kade’s hand was shiny and bronze, and any paint would slide right off.
“Maybe it’s trendy.” Or ugly. It was certainly reflective. Will and Abbie’s new house would blind any low-flying geese at sunset.
Kade turned the rectangle in his hand, but it looked the same. At least they didn’t have to worry about figuring out up and down. “Maybe the box is mislabeled.”
“I doubt it. Will said Abbie picked out something copper. This must be it.” He couldn’t imagine where else it would go. It was too slippery to be flooring, unless the house kit people were homicidal maniacs. Now that he thought about it, he knew Abbie had picked out the exterior, because Will had complained loudly about the metal siding. He’d never heard of a house with an outside like that, which apparently made three of them. Still, it was what Abbie wanted, so Will had made it happen.
Now Joey needed to make it happen. No pressure.
The jobsite smelled like concrete, fresh lumber and coffee. Home Depot should bottle the stuff and put it one of those aerosol cans that made bathrooms smell better. He tipped his head back, and the mountains surged into view. It was kind of cool. The house was going to be set in a meadow ringed wi
th ponderosa pine and some purple flowers. The front porch faced the river, and even with all the racket from the hammers, he could hear water rushing over the rocks. Since he’d already surrendered his man card weeks ago in Mercy’s car—don’t think about it—he could admit to himself that Abbie’s new yard was pretty.
“You know what those are?” He pointed a hammer toward the flowers.
Kade shrugged. “Do I look like a botanist to you?”
He made a show of looking Kade up and down. Kade ignored him since the man was in the process of levering himself up a ladder and his knee wasn’t on board with the plan. Whatever. If Kade fell off, Joey would pick him up and give him shit. Until and unless that happened, it was better to leave Kade and his bum knee alone.
“Asshole comes to mind. You could just say no.”
Kade reached the top of the ladder and flashed him the bird. “But that wouldn’t be any fun. And my statement was more accurate.”
They fell into a peaceful rhythm swinging their hammers. Up, down, let loose every frustration on the nail. Who’d have thought a bunch of broken down SEALs would end up building a house rather than taking shit apart?
“Lupine,” Kade said abruptly long minutes later. “Or maybe lavender. Are you planning on picking flowers?”
Joey eyed the flowers. Fuck. Was he? He thought about that for a moment. Unfortunately, it actually seemed like a possibility. He’d bet Mercy liked flowers, and he was the idiot who’d thought a house-raising made a decent date. Of course, he’d also been desperate because the only word coming out of her mouth had been no.
“You are.” Kade laughed, the sound rusty. The guy needed more practice, but maybe laughing got easier like walking on a bum knee did.
The truck crunching down the gravel road at Mach speed saved him from having to answer. He and Kade—along with every other guy crawling over the partially assembled house—watched the oversized silver truck barrel toward them. He was fairly certain that was Will and Abbie’s truck. A hundred yards from impact, he could make out Abbie in the passenger seat with Laura Jo driving.
