by S. M. Butler
After two hours of loading and unloading boxes—because, no, she wasn’t going to sit in the truck’s cab and watch Luke haul her things around like she was a princess—she was exhausted. Worse, he’d still done the bulk of the heavy lifting, because it wasn’t like she could arm wrestle him into submission. Maybe there were ropes in their future, because tying him up was about the only way she could come up with to regain some semblance of control.
Now, standing in Luke’s living room, the only thing she could think about was finding the nearest soft surface and face-planting. Actually, even the hardwood floor didn’t look so bad. He had some kind of fuzzy, white-fur-looking rug in front of the fireplace, and she could definitely crash there.
“Are you sure it’s okay, my being here?” She was pretty sure the room had just dipped. Or swayed. Whatever it was, the floor wasn’t entirely steady beneath her feet. “Your family isn’t going to mind?”
She was pretty sure she’d run into Luke’s mother once or twice in the grocery store. The older woman hadn’t seemed particularly harpy-like, but Deelie hadn’t been sleeping with her son then either. Long-term sex always complicated things.
Luke watched Deelie sway on her feet. He gave her two minutes max before she passed out standing up. While he enjoyed camping himself, he was willing to bet that sleeping in the back of a modified Caddy wasn’t particularly comfortable. Plus Deelie seemed to be perpetually short of cash, which couldn’t be helping her in the peace-of-mind department. It was nothing short of a miracle that she’d agreed to move in with him temporarily.
“I’m all grown up,” he said agreeably, pointing her gently toward the hallway that led to the bedrooms. Vicious curled up on the rug in front of the fireplace, which should work for tonight. Tomorrow would be soon enough to pick up some more doggie supplies.
“Yeah,” she muttered sleepily, her gaze dropping to his crotch. “I’ve noticed.”
He grinned. His woman had no filter. Sex with him also seemed to be one of her favorite topics, which made him feel like he was a ten-foot-tall sex god. It was also kind of cute when she blurted stuff out and only then realized what she’d just said.
“People will talk about my being here,” she warned even as her eyes drifted shut again.
Ordinarily, he didn’t give a shit what other people thought about him. He did his job, and he lived his life by his own rules. If that wasn’t good enough for someone, that someone could take a long walk off a short pier. For someone who professed to be equally ruleless, Deelie seemed awfully concerned about what other people would think about their new relationship. And, if he was honest, his parents would have questions. He’d never so much as brought Deelie home, and now he’d brought her home. Once they saw that it was serious, however, he figured they’d get on board. At the very least, they’d keep their doubts to themselves.
“Let them,” he said and steered her down the hallway. He’d debated offering her the guest bedroom, but he was a selfish bastard. He wanted her curled up in his bed with him. He wanted a relationship with her, which meant figuring out a way through her all prickly defenses. Still, his mother had taught him some manners.
“You want to crash in the guest bedroom, or do you want to share with me?” Pick me.
“You,” she mumbled, and that ten-foot-tall thing was definitely happening again. As soon as she stepped into his room, she headed straight for the bed, dropping her bag on the floor, and toed off her shoes.
Definitely down for the count. She hit the bed hard enough to bounce, rolling onto her back. He pulled the covers back, scooting her beneath.
She reached for the buttons on her shorts. “Give me just a minute,” she mumbled.
Jesus. Did she think she had to put out because she was in his bed?
“I want you here, not a sex slave.” Games were one thing, but they clearly needed to work on their relationship skills.
“Kinky man,” she muttered, but she was still smiling when he slipped into bed beside her a few minutes later.
Chapter Six
‡
Male voices rumbled from the front porch of Luke’s house. Someone had stopped by. Funny how even after two weeks as his houseguest (roommate, she reminded herself, because she was trying to pull her weight and not play the pampered princess) it was very much his place. She and Vicious had added a new layer of dog hair to Luke’s furniture, but other than that, she hadn’t put her Deelie was here stamp on the place.
She hit the kitchen first because, if the guests turned out to be either of Luke’s brothers, she needed caffeine before being social. Not because they weren’t nice but because they were so painfully polite around her. They looked at her, and she just knew that they wondered why the hell Luke had picked her to play house with.
Frankly, she wondered the same thing at least twice or forty times a day. And then she had to kick herself, because she’d made a vow years ago to stop tearing herself down. Daddy Dearest had done that enough; now she lived for herself and for the fucking moment.
Sometimes literally.
She could feel the big I-just-got-laid-and-it-was-awesome grin stretching her face. She couldn’t even hide it. God, Luke just got better and better in bed, and he’d set the bar impossibly high to begin with. He was creative, adventurous, and not afraid to lock the door and drag her off to bed at a moment’s notice. Saying no to him was the last thing she wanted to do, but she had to start getting more sleep or she was going to pass out on Ma’s bar during her shift. Yeah. She could imagine the gossip storm that would cause.
She swiped the last two inches of coffee from the pot. Debated starting another pot, but they hadn’t worked out the grocery share, and while leftovers were one thing, raiding his stuff was another. It was her mug though, with the Vegas-bound flamingoes cavorting around the edges. The handle was a big pink beak. Luke’s mugs were boring black stoneware. The man seemed to have a pathological aversion to color. He needed pink boxers, yellow socks, rainbow-colored Post-It notes. Something to break up the calm, restful, monochromatic noncolor scheme he had going on in his house.
She listened for a moment. The porch seemed quiet, but what did she know about family relationships? She’d been an only child. Maybe brothers could commune with each other silently, or maybe they’d already killed each other. Things seemed amicable between Luke and his brothers, but you never knew.
She padded out, pushing the door open with her hip. Luke was sprawled in an Adirondack chair, an empty coffee cup by his booted feet. He did have a guest, but it wasn’t either of his brothers. For a moment, all she felt was relieved, then she realized she had two problems, not one.
First of all, she hadn’t bothered with getting dressed before she’d made her grand appearance on the porch. She wore a lacy pink bra, a pair of yellow-and-white striped boy shorts, and one of Luke’s old flannel shirts. Seeing as how the shirt was Luke’s, it was, naturally, black. It ended midthigh, and she’d fastened precisely one button, the one over her boobs, and like bees to honey, both men lasered in on said button. Or on her bra, her boobs, or the general fantasy she was serving up. In terms of coverage, her outfit wasn’t an overachiever. On the other hand, she figured she and her boobs were Exhibit A for why having a live-in girlfriend was a good thing.
“Hey, baby.” Since she was on the porch anyhow, with her legs and her butt hanging out of Luke’s shirt, she might as well go whole hog. She plopped down onto the arm of Luke’s chair and kissed his ear.
He smiled and gestured to his guest. “Pick here and I were talking. He’s the Black Mountain superintendent.” It didn’t sound like a complaint, more like a statement of fact, and she told herself not to be so touchy. “Pick, do you know Deelie?”
She looked away from Luke, pinning a social smile on her face and… oh shoot. She’d slept with Luke’s boss.
Yeah. That wasn’t awkward at all. The moment of frozen silence only made it worse.
“Deelie and I, we know each other,” Pick said gruffly, and then he s
hoved to his feet. “I’ll see you at tomorrow’s training hike unless we get called out first.”
Luke stood up. The guys did a little back slapping and a fist bump, while they both avoided looking at her. Yay her. Pick loped down the steps and over to a big black motorcycle parked in the driveway. If she’d only seen the bike, she might have been smart enough to stay inside, because Pick had given her a ride one night last year. One thing had led to another and… she wouldn’t make excuses for who she was or what she’d done.
Luke prowled back toward the porch, looking grim. It had been nice while it lasted, but clearly she’d been right when she said things between them wouldn’t last.
“So. You and Pick.”
It wasn’t a question. He knew, all right.
“I know him.” She shoved the flamingo mug at him. “You want the last of the coffee?”
He gave her a disbelieving look. “I don’t want coffee, Deelie. I want the truth.”
“I’ve never lied to you.” She might have slept around—a lot—but she’d never told him anything but the truth. The shuttered look on his face, however, said good luck selling that story to Luke.
“You want a list of every guy I’ve slept with? Or just the ones who live in Strong and you might—you know—‘accidentally’ bump into?” She had no idea why she was taunting him.
“Jesus. No.” He scrubbed a hand over his face.
“You want to know why I did it? Because I’ve got a two-word explanation for you: free orgasms.” Shut up, her heart ordered her mouth. Don’t push him. Don’t make him mad.
He opened his mouth. Shut it. “I can’t win this conversation.”
“Is it a contest now?”
She used to think the sex meant something. Had almost believed Luke when he’d said she mattered.
She looked at the black coffee sloshing around the bottom of her mug. It had achieved sludge-like consistency in the five minutes since she’d poured it. Apparently coffee had a shelf life too. She emptied the mug into Luke’s hydrangeas, and nope, she wasn’t going to apologize for the pale brown stain on the big white balls. He was a big boy, and life got messy.
She wanted to throw the mug at his head, but that was stupid. She only had two mugs, and she couldn’t afford to break one. So she set the mug down on the arm of the chair and folded her arms over her chest.
“Look. I’m easy. Either that works for you, or it doesn’t.”
She’d always been the hot girl—and the easy girl. Luke hadn’t complained when they’d been going at it by the waterfall—either time. Nope. He’d enjoyed himself, he’d enjoyed her, and then he’d asked for more. He should be careful what he asked for.
“There’s nothing easy about you. You’re damn difficult.”
She opened her mouth—although she honestly had no idea what to say—when Luke’s pager went off. He looked down and swore.
“We’ve got a fire call. I have to go.”
Uh-huh. She’d heard that one before—when there was snow on the ground and a stiff wind chill factor. He was just like all the other guys, easy come and easy go.
“Pull the other one,” she snapped. “I can be out of here in ten minutes. Twenty tops.”
“I’m coming back,” he growled.
“It’s no big deal. Go.” See? She’d given him permission. He could leave guilt-free. She hated being needy. If she could just be strong for once, maybe then it would be enough.
He ran a hand over his head. Looked down at his page again, clearly torn. Yeah. She got that. “Deelie—”
“Go,” she said. “You don’t want to be late for work. If that’s what it is.”
And of course he went.
Chapter Seven
‡
Ma’s was busy, but that was Friday night for you. All the locals came in because Ma’s was the only place to have a drink, plus everyone you knew was here already anyhow. That sucked the big one for dating which, once again, she knew firsthand. Meeting a guy here was like swimming in one big fishbowl where half the other fish were either hostile or piranhas. She kind of got it. She wasn’t the nicest person, and she definitely wasn’t the kind of woman you wanted your friends, brothers, or even your dentist to date. She was trouble.
Okay.
She was in trouble.
She hadn’t seen Luke all week. Possibly because the Black Mountain hotshot crew really had been called to help fight a fire two hundred miles away, but still. If he’d really wanted her to be part of his life, he’d have found a way to call her. Text. Send a carrier pigeon. Hell, since he was battling a wildfire, he could even use smoke signals. She’d screwed up badly when she’d accused him of lying to her.
She slashed a lime in half.
Mimi reached over and carefully pried the knife out of her fingers. “Honey, you want to take those frustrations out on a punching bag, not my produce. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She flashed the redhead a quick smile. Pissing off her boss would be stupid. At the end of the week, she’d have enough saved up for a down payment on a place. Or barring that, a tent.
“Uh-huh.” Mimi pursed her lips, clearly deciding whether or not to let it go. “Well, in case you’re lying to me, I should probably point out that your Mr. Nothing just strolled in our front door and is headed this way.”
Shoot. Deelie looked up, lasering in on the front door, and sure enough, there was Luke. He looked tired. He wore another one of his ratty military T-shirts and a pair of cargo pants. She couldn’t see his feet, but she’d bet he was wearing steel toes. The man tromped through life ready to kick ass. His gaze met hers, and he laid in a course for the bar.
Uh-oh.
“I think it’s time for my break,” she said hurriedly.
Mimi shook her head. “He’s only going to follow you out back—or back home. You might as well hear what he’s got to say.”
She might have been on board with that plan if she’d felt like acting like a grown-up. Unfortunately, she was fresh out of big girl panties.
“How do you know we’re living together?”
Mimi grinned at her. “Small town, remember? Your business is our business.”
Luke slid onto the barstool across from Deelie, and Mimi nudged her. “Give the man a chance, okay?”
Why did everyone think she’d already made up her mind about him?
Because you have, the little voice in her head announced gleefully. Because you want to dump him before he dumps you. Well, duh. She wasn’t into public humiliation which would be epic since apparently most, if not all, Strong knew about her current living arrangement. He needed to leave. Leave the bar, leave her life. Having practiced so many times in the past, she knew exactly how to handle a leaving man.
It was the stick-around guy she didn’t know how to handle.
“Well?” She slapped a cocktail napkin down on the bar in front of him.
“I’m waiting,” he said. True enough. He sure didn’t look like he was in any rush.
“For what? Nuclear apocalypse?”
“For my chance,” he said mildly. “Mimi just finished saying you have to give me one.”
She stared at him for a moment, not sure where to start. He was gorgeous, and she loved looking at him, which also meant her head shut down and other parts—her girl parts, her heart parts—took over the thinking for her. So she said the first thing that came to mind.
“I only do first dates. I told you that.”
“Uh-huh.” He sat there, so imperturbable that she was tempted to dump her drinks tray on him. See how cool he could act when he was wearing the ice cubes from the smoke jumping team’s Jack and Cokes. “I heard you just fine when you said that the other day.”
“So what are you doing here? I’m done with you.”
“You only like firsts.” He ran an assessing gaze over her. His eyes held something else. Something… warm? Whatever. She couldn’t do this again, couldn’t handle yet another guy walking out the door, taking her heart and her hope with her
.
“Sign me up. The door’s over there.” She stared at him, wishing there was some way to skip forward, to move ahead to that time in the way-distant future when her heart wouldn’t skip a beat when Luke came through the door, when she wouldn’t want to throw herself into his arms and hold on tight. He smelled smoky, his hair wet from a recent shower, and he looked so damned perfect for her that she wanted to cry.
“There was a guy outside passing out these little cards.” He thumbed one over the bar to her. She took it automatically. Today is the first day of the rest of your life. “That’s the truth right there, in black and white.”
She flicked the card back to him. “Unless it’s the day you die. Then you’re just SOL.”
He grinned at her. “We’re going to have to work on your positive attitude.”
Uh-huh. He’d have his work cut out for him, because she was over hopeful feelings.
“What do you want?” Oops. She pointed the knife at him to emphasize her point, and he eyed the blade. “Oh, don’t be such a baby. You’re a big, badass Navy SEAL. You must know at least a dozen ways to disarm me.”
“Yeah.” A big hand closed around hers. The briefest of pressure, and then her knife somehow appeared on his side of the bar. It was probably wrong that his ninja stealth move was the hottest thing she’d seen all week, but it had been a long, lonely week. “About what I want. I’d like today to be the first day of the rest of our lives.”
That was… hopeful. And positive.
“Don’t mess with me, Luke Dawson. Give me back my knife.”
He winked at her. “I’m holding it hostage. And you should know one thing.”
