The Maverick

by Rhonda Nelson

  “Hungry or not, we’re supposed to get acquainted. We’re going to be working together, after all.”

  There was that, Julia knew. Still, the idea of spending any time alone with him made her nervous. Possibly because she didn’t trust herself not to take advantage of him. The idea drew a smile. Her take advantage of him? No doubt that thought would put a smile on his provokingly handsome face, Julia thought, wondering about his sudden desire to make nice. She mentally harrumphed.

  He certainly hadn’t been interested in being nice to her a few minutes ago. Hell, he hadn’t so much as looked at her until she’d sat down next to him, and even then his first look hadn’t been at her face, which would have been respectful—instead she’d caught him checking out her leg.

  Gratifying, she had to admit.

  She’d felt the weight of that hot stare as though he’d touched her. Felt it sizzle a path up her leg, over her breast and then ultimately settle on her face. At that point she’d been so mesmerized over his she hadn’t had the presence of mind to gauge his reaction to hers, but Julia knew most men found her passably attractive.

  Her nose was too big—had been the bane of her existence for as long as she could remember—but the idea of changing it had always been out of the question. She’d grown too used to seeing it in the middle of her face to muck around with things. Imperfections added character, in her opinion, and so long as her nose functioned properly she’d leave it alone.

  Truthfully, she suspected it bothered her mother more than it did herself. Her mother had petitioned for rhinoplasty many times over the years, always calling it “that unfortunate nose.” She’d even gone so far as to make Julia an appointment with her own personal plastic surgeon, but Julia had refused to go.

  Having become the Plastic Surgery Queen, her mother’s face had been stretched and injected with Botox until she looked more like a wax figure than a person. Her most recent procedure had been a hand lift. Julia’s lips quirked. Why not? she thought. Everything else had been lifted, tucked, plucked and tattooed to perfection.

  As an adult it was easy to see that her mother’s self-worth was hopelessly entangled with her beauty, but as a child, then an insecure teenager, being under constant scrutiny and criticism hadn’t been easy. She’d once overheard her parent’s arguing about it.

  “We’ve got to do something about that nose, Frank,” her mother had said, disgusted. “It’s horrid.”

  “It’s not horrid, Joan,” came her father’s long-suffering reply. “Our daughter is beautiful. Leave her alone. You’re going to give her a complex.”

  Too late, Julia had thought.

  “But don’t you think if—”

  “Enough!” her father had finally snapped. “She’s not you, dammit. She doesn’t have to be perfect. Just leave her alone.”

  She hadn’t, of course, but knowing that her father thought she was beautiful had warmed her heart and instantly perked up her flagging self-esteem. It had been equally validating and liberating and, while her mother’s criticism could usually find a mark, after that moment, it hadn’t hurt as much as before. She’d been inoculated, for lack of a better explanation.

  Julia accepted her key and listened while the clerk told her where to find her lodgings. Rather than staying there, she’d been booked into a nearby duplex. “It has a kitchen and a nice front porch,” the clerk told her. “You’ll like it.”

  Julia smiled her thanks and turned to go.

  “And, of course former Lieutenant Colonel McCann will be your neighbor.”

  She paused, her grin frozen. “How nice,” Julia murmured. Actually, it was the polar opposite of nice. A helpless cloak of doom settled around her shoulders and she briefly entertained asking for a room here instead.

  On the smug scale, Guy’s smile would have registered an easy ten. “Isn’t it, though?”

  Geez Lord, he was infuriating, Julia thought, wondering why she also found that completely irresistible. No doubt the trip to the slammer last night had damaged her psyche. Something had happened to her, otherwise she wouldn’t be torn between the pressing urge to slap him or kiss him. Actually, slapping him, then kissing him, then slapping him again vastly appealed to her. The idea drew a smile.

  “What time would you like to get together for dinner?” Guy asked, accepting his own key.

  Julia rolled her eyes. “Never-thirty.”

  He looked away, seemingly torn between laughing and throttling her. “Six it is, then.”

  “But—”

  He flashed another cocky grin at her, but this one held a bit of an edge which, to her eternal stupidity, she found secretly thrilling. “I’ll knock.”

  Six, Julia thought, releasing a resigned breath. Her date with doom.

  And yet she looked forward to it. How screwed up was that?

  3

  GUY PEERED BEHIND THE curtain of his living-room window and watched as Julia unloaded a couple of grocery bags from the back seat of her car. Using her trusty map of the base, she’d unerringly found her way to their duplex, then wheeled her rolling bag up the sidewalk and into the house.

  Fifteen minutes later—just time enough for her to unpack, he suspected—he’d heard her door close as she’d exited the house once more, and when he’d appeared on his own porch and casually asked where she was off to, she’d shot him a long-suffering look and told him that she wanted a few things from the grocery store.

  In other words, she might have to share a meal with him tonight, but the rest of the week she’d eat in.

  Excellent, Guy thought. She could cook for him.

  The thought made him chuckle. In all seriousness, with the exception of Payne, he didn’t think he’d ever seen a more efficient person. He’d bet his right nut that she was a list maker, too, one of those people who had to write things down to keep track, then felt a satisfying sense of accomplishment the minute she checked another item off her to-do list.

  The laptop case he’d noted suggested she appreciated technology, but the beat-up attaché told him that she had an admirable sentimental streak. Given that, he imagined that a plain old pad of notebook paper held her lists and not a trendy PDA. For whatever reason, the idea brought another unexpected smile to his lips.

  Odd, when less than an hour ago he’d been mad enough to spit nails. At Garrett, he’d realized, not her, which was why he’d felt like a sanctimonious bastard for hurting her feelings. That one unguarded look she’d flashed him when he’d suggested she was a tight ass was enough to make him feel like a first class SOB and, while he hadn’t been backpedaling, per se, or had a change of heart about working with her—he still didn’t like it—he couldn’t very well take out Garrett’s duplicity on her. This was between him and the Colonel and unfortunately she’d been caught in the cross fire.

  Hurting her feelings had been small and mean and, unaccustomed to feeling regret when it came to a female, it had taken Guy a few seconds to realize that was exactly what had made him so damned uncomfortable on the drive over to Olson Hall.

  Furthermore, she intrigued the hell out of him.

  Guy had been around enough women to know the usual score. No brag just fact, but he had good instincts, had always relied on them and he’d always been particularly good at sizing a person up. He could spot a needy chick at twenty paces, a liar in fifty. He could tell who was jonesing for revenge sex, who was simply horny and who was looking for a husband. He’d never met a woman he couldn’t read, couldn’t gauge in an instant…and yet he couldn’t get a firm line on Julia Beckam.

  She was so damned proper looking he wanted to shake her and, though it could only be wishful thinking on his part, he got the distinct impression that she wanted someone to rock her world. That she was waiting for it. Odd, he knew, when she looked wound tighter than an eight-day clock. That bun she’d screwed that beautiful hair into worked his last nerve. Didn’t she know it only made a guy want to take it down and mess it up? His fingers practically itched to do just that.

  Amon
g other things.

  His cell rang from the clip at his waist, snagging his attention, which was just as well because she’d mounted the steps to the porch and would be going in where he couldn’t puzzle over her anymore.

  At least, not until dinner.

  “McCann,” he said, his typical greeting.

  “How’s it going?” Payne asked.

  Guy moved away from the window and dropped heavily into a recliner. “It blows.” And that was putting it mildly.

  Evidently realizing just that, Payne asked the right question. “Any surprises?”

  “Julia Beckam,” Guy drawled.

  Silence, then, “Who is Julia Beckam?”

  “That’s exactly what I asked Garrett. She’s a relationship therapist he’s brought in as my co-instructor.” He could hear the sarcasm in his own voice.

  “He didn’t tell you about her?”

  Guy blew out a breath. “That’s why it was a surprise.”

  “A relationship therapist for a special forces team?” Payne asked skeptically.

  “Garrett wants these boys to feel married in all but the biblical sense,” Guy said. “And this is not just any special forces team. It’s Project Chameleon’s replacement.”

  “You’re shittin’ me.”

  He wished, Guy thought. Logic told him that the army would have immediately wanted to reassemble a replacement unit to supplant theirs, but the idea of another group of men assuming Project Chameleon was somehow disheartening. Ego, most likely. Hell, guys like him didn’t sign up to do the hard work without the necessary ego to back it up. He smiled. It was part of their charm. Or so he’d been told.

  While he admittedly missed parts of the old lifestyle, Guy knew he didn’t have any desire to go back to work for Uncle Sam. Simply being back on base made him feel like he was smothering in regret and failure. Dealing with Danny’s death was painful enough, but for reasons which escaped him, being here—in this place—made it worse. Too many good memories mixed in with the bad, he supposed.

  Furthermore, while he was thankful to the army for everything he’d learned—the discipline, values and education—he’d adjusted to civilian life without incident. He was close enough to Alabama to visit his mother when he wanted, but far enough away that she wouldn’t cling. As for his father—instant hatred welled inside him—Guy didn’t give a damn if he ever saw that sorry sack of shit ever again. He could rot in hell and the sooner the better, as far as Guy was concerned.

  Hard? Maybe so. But not as hard as his father used to hit him.

  Respect was earned—not a parental right—and his old man would never have his.

  “Want me to come over there and help you?” Payne asked. “Jamie’s here for the moment. I could get away for a few days.”

  The offer was nothing less than what he would expect from his friend, but Guy found himself uncharacteristically touched all the same. Payne and Jamie were like the brothers he’d never had, his adopted family. Danny had been, too, which had made Guy’s ultimate betrayal all the more difficult. Being responsible for any death was a blow, but that of a friend, of a person you loved and had loved you…

  Guy cleared his throat. “No, but thanks.”

  “Is there anything I can do here on this end?”

  Actually… “Run a background check on Julia Beckam,” Guy said, thinking about that enigmatic “unavoidably detained” comment she’d made this morning. Forewarned was forearmed and he wanted to know exactly who he was dealing with before they went to dinner. “If you can get back with me before six that would be great.”

  “Will do,” Payne told him. “What about Garrett? Have you discovered his angle yet?”

  Garrett hadn’t cashed in a single favor where it hadn’t directly benefited him, so there was no reason to suspect that he’d change the status quo with Guy. On the surface, asking him to come in and teach a trust-building class for a special forces team seemed harmless, but they’d all learned the hard way that Garrett didn’t do anything without motive. He definitely had something to gain by ensuring Guy’s participation. The million-dollar question of course was: what?

  “Not yet,” Guy finally told him. “I’m gonna do a little digging around here and see what the rumor mill is churning.”

  “Shit, most likely,” Payne said, chuckling.

  Guy laughed, conceding the point. “So long as nothing’s changed.”

  “Listen,” Payne said, hesitating enough to indicate a subject change. “I need to make sure that you’re going to be back here on Saturday.”

  “Sure,” Guy said, puzzled by the remark and slight…nervousness he detected in his friend’s voice. Payne? Nervous? He frowned. “My last class is over at noon on Friday, so I should be home that night. Why?”

  “I’m getting married Saturday.” Matter of fact, in typical Payne form, as though he hadn’t just announced something huge.

  Particularly considering that Payne swore to never marry.

  His parents had set a lousy example for the institution and his father had routinely been swindled out of millions of Payne’s ultimate inheritance by greedy women.

  Guy knew that Payne had proposed to Emma and he also knew that Payne was never a man to go back on his word. When it came to moral fiber, The Specialist had it in spades. He wouldn’t have proposed to Emma had he not wanted to marry her, but Payne was a methodical planner by nature and if he’d had anything in the works, Guy had certainly not heard anything about it.

  “I knew you were getting married, but I didn’t realize you’d set a date yet.”

  “It was a spur of the moment decision.”

  Payne? Spur of the moment? A sneaking suspicion began to form. “Has something happened to hasten your plans?” Guy asked suspiciously.

  “She’s not pregnant,” Payne told him, following Guy’s line of thinking. “Though I’d be thrilled if she was.”

  “Then what’s the hurry? I thought you wanted to wait until summer. You know, while she was on summer vacation.” She’d enrolled in vet school shortly after moving to Atlanta with Payne.

  “That was the original plan and she has no idea that it’s changed, so just show up and keep your mouth shut when you get here.”

  Guy felt his eyes bug. “You mean she doesn’t know you’re getting married on Saturday?” he asked, astounded. “Don’t you think you’d better check with her first?” He leaned forward in his chair. “Isn’t that something the bride should be aware of?”

  “It’s a surprise, smart-ass. I’ve booked The Atrium and I’ve talked to her mother. She came into town a few days ago and she and Emma went shopping for her gown under the pretense of ‘being prepared.’ It’s all arranged.”

  It certainly sounded like it. What other people spent more than a year planning, he’d pulled together in less than a week. Just another example of money talks. God only knows what Payne had forked over to make this wedding happen this quickly. What the hell had happened? Guy wondered. What had prompted him to deviate from “the plan” and tie the knot now?

  “It’s killing you, isn’t it?” Payne asked, laughing softly and seemingly pleased with himself.

  “It’s out of character, that’s for damned sure. And yes, dammit,” he admitted, exasperated. “I’m curious. What happened? Why now?”

  “You won’t understand.”

  “Try me.”

  He hesitated for a moment. “A couple of nights ago, we were sitting on the couch watching TV—something pointless but entertaining—and she was curled up next to me, her hand in mine and…” He laughed softly. “And I looked down and thought, what the hell am I waiting for? I love this woman. I saw our future and that was that. Honestly, Guy, I proposed because I was afraid of losing her. I wanted to marry her, of course—I wouldn’t have asked otherwise—but…” He let go a breath. “I’m not afraid anymore, if that makes sense.”

  Naturally he couldn’t relate, but it did make sense. “Of course,” Guy said. “Congratulations, man. I’m happy for you.” A th
ought struck. “What about a tux?” Payne owned one, but he and Jamie had never had the need.

  “No worries. I took some things from your closet for measurements. It might not be the best fit, but nobody’s gonna be looking at you anyway.”

  Guy laughed. “Bastard.”

  “Maybe. But I’m a happy bastard.”

  “Call me when you get that info on Julia, will you?”

  “I will. Julia,” he repeated consideringly. “It’s an old-fashioned name.”

  Fishing and not too subtly, Guy thought, mildly exasperated. He knew where this was going and he didn’t like it one damned bit. “She’s not old.” He’d find out soon enough, anyway when he ran the background check. There was no point in lying.

  Payne hummed under his breath. “Pretty?”

  “You could say that.” He could, too, but wasn’t going to be baited into it. Besides, pretty didn’t begin to cover it. She was breathtaking.

  “Should we worry?”

  “Worry about your wedding. I’m good here.”

  “I’ll be in touch,” Payne told him.

  He was counting on it, Guy thought. He didn’t know what he expected Payne to find on Julia but the tingling in his gut—one he knew better than to ignore—told him he was onto something. Hell, everyone had secrets. A smile caught the corner of his mouth.

  Some were just more interesting than others.

  JULIA STOOD IN THE LIVING ROOM of her duplex, looked around in a vain attempt to find something else to do, but ultimately conceded defeat. Her cheeks puffed as she exhaled heavily and she settled herself on one end of the couch, tucking her feet up under her. She was at a loss and knew where her mind would take her if she let it run amok. Instead she reviewed her progress.

  She’d unpacked, been to the grocery store and stocked up on a few things, the most important of which was tea. She preferred hot tea in the mornings as opposed to coffee and was secretly pleased that she’d have a kitchen. She’d never bought into the whole what’s-the-point-of-cooking-for-one mentality. She loved good food and she loved to cook. Eating alone was hard enough, without throwing a generic frozen dinner into the mix. A smile quirked her lips. She’d have grilled salmon with mango chutney and a nice white wine, thank you very much. If she was going to eat alone, she might as well enjoy it.