One and Only Boxed Set

by Melanie Harlow

  Ryan burst out laughing. “You scarred that guy for life. But he deserved it.”

  “He did.” I set my fork down and picked up my water. “Now your turn. Any embarrassing sexual experiences?”

  “Yeah. Last night with you, I was too fast.”

  “Stop. You were not.”

  “I was.” He finished off the last of his wine. “But maybe you’ll let me make it up to you tonight.”

  My core muscles clenched. “Maybe.”

  We decided against having dessert.

  After Ryan paid the bill—we discovered our bottle of wine had been comped—and left a generous tip, we were on our way out when April came hurrying up, a worried look on her face. “Hey, I hate to do this to you, but there’s a couple with a flat tire in the driveway. They might have driven over a nail or something. The guy was trying to change it, but he’s drunk and kinda clueless. It’s the Foxes, do you know them? They’re regulars.”

  Ryan rolled his eyes. “Say no more. I’ll take care of it.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, giving my arm a squeeze. “I know you’re on a date. I hope I’m not ruining it.”

  “It’s not a date,” I assured her, giving Ryan a private smile. “You’re fine.”

  He returned the smile, and I thought to myself, Nothing can ruin tonight.

  Cue drunk asshole.

  April brought us over to the car, a black Lexus sedan, which was parked along the circular drive in front of the inn. “Mr. and Mrs. Fox, this is Ryan Woods. He’s part of our crew here, and even though he’s not on duty at the moment, he’s going to help you out.”

  The couple looked to be about my parents’ age, early sixties maybe. They were well-dressed, and the woman wore quite a bit of jewelry. “How nice,” she said with a chuckle. “I’m afraid Chad isn’t much good at these things.”

  “Got people to do those things for me,” boomed Mr. Fox, whose sweaty face shone in the inn’s porch lights. He was clearly unsteady on his feet.

  “Can you open the trunk please?” Ryan was all business.

  Mr. Fox managed to pop the trunk open, and Ryan lifted up the floor, revealing the spare. Shrugging off his jacket, he tossed it aside, and I hurried over to pick it up off the grass.

  “Can you do it?” Mrs. Fox asked.

  “Yeah.” He rolled up his sleeves in quick, masculine motions that turned me on, revealing his muscular forearms and wrists.

  “Oh, you have a tattoo,” said Mrs. Fox. “Our grandson has one of those.”

  “The damn fool,” said Mr. Fox.

  I thought I saw Ryan’s brow furrow, but I couldn’t be sure. He was walking around the car, putting something in front of the wheels.

  “Well, I should get back inside,” April said. “Thanks a million, Ryan. Nice meeting you, Stella.”

  I nodded. “You too.”

  “Do you work here too?” Mrs. Fox asked me.

  “No. Just visiting.”

  “And you’re some kind of mechanic?” Mr. Fox squinted at Ryan, who was using a long metal wrench to remove some bolts from the flat tire. It was clear from the man’s tone what he thought of mechanics.

  “No,” Ryan answered.

  “He’s a handyman, dear. Isn’t that what she said?”

  Ryan ignored them, using his foot to stomp down on the wrench.

  “Easy there, boy,” barked Mr. Fox. “That’s an expensive car.”

  I held my breath and wondered if Ryan would object to being called a boy. I certainly would have, if I were him. He didn’t appear to, but I did notice that he didn’t ease up on his stomping.

  While Ryan was jacking up the car, Mr. Fox looked at his watch. “How much longer is this going to take? Maybe I’ll go in and have another drink. And it should be free, to compensate me for my troubles.” He stuck his hands on his hips and planted his feet in a stance that said Entitled Old Fart.

  “Now, now,” hushed Mrs. Fox.

  But the crotchety old drunk went off, listing all his grievances about Cloverleigh, from the poor lighting on the road in to the servers who weren’t quick enough to the high prices they charged for food that was too fancy for him and their failure to stock his favorite bourbon even though he’d told them numerous times what it was.

  From there he moved on to complaining about his grandkids with their phones and tattoos and stupidity. “Not one of them chose my alma mater,” he griped. “And one shithead was dumb enough to join the military. He’s gonna be sent to some godforsaken country in the Middle East and get himself killed, and for what?”

  “Chad,” said his wife. “Remember your blood pressure.”

  “I wouldn’t have high blood pressure if the country hadn’t gone to hell in a handbasket ten years ago! The whole war is pointless. We can’t win, and those people don’t want us there. Now my idiot grandson will be in the middle of it, alongside a slew of other low-IQ idiots.”

  Ryan froze in the middle of placing the spare tire in position.

  Inwardly I prayed the guy would stop talking, but he didn’t.

  “Bunch of arrogant cowboys going over there to play at being soldiers, that’s all there is. If any one of them had any brains, they’d be in college.”

  “Now, now,” Mrs. Fox said. “College isn’t for everybody.”

  “Well, they could at least be here contributing to the economy,” he scoffed. Then he gestured toward Ryan. “Like this boy here. He’s got some useful skills, at least.”

  I couldn’t take any more.

  “He’s not a boy,” I said loudly. “He’s a man. Actually, he’s a U.S. Marine who served in Iraq and Afghanistan.”

  “Stella,” Ryan said, tightening the bolts on the wheel. “Don’t bother.”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t help it,” I said hotly. “It bothers me to hear someone talk that way.”

  “That true?” the asshole said, squinting at Ryan. “You were over there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you should know better than anyone that there’s no chance of victory and the whole thing is just a big, expensive waste of our time and money.”

  Suddenly Ryan jumped to his feet, dropping the wrench to the pavement and squaring off against the old man. “I lost buddies over there,” he growled. “Good men. Brothers and fathers and sons. I watched them get blown apart. They paid more than you’ll ever be worth. So don’t stand there and tell me it was a waste.”

  “You ever kill anybody?” the old man asked.

  “Fuck off,” Ryan said, shoving him so hard on the chest he fell backward on his ass.

  I gasped, and Mrs. Fox shrieked.

  Ryan marched past me. “Let’s go, Stella. With his college degree, I’m sure he can figure out how to get his car off the jack.”

  “Come back here!” bellowed the asshole, still on the ground. “You can’t do that. I know the Sawyers! I’ll have you fired!”

  But Ryan had already stormed off down the road, and all I could do was follow, my legs working hard to keep up. “Hey,” I said, jogging a little to get beside him. I was still carrying his jacket. “Ryan, slow down.”

  He grabbed his coat from me and threw it on but didn’t ease up on his pace. “Fucking assholes like that guy drive me crazy.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “I usually don’t let that shit get to me,” he went on angrily. “I don’t know what my problem is tonight. I probably just fucking lost my job.”

  “No! That wasn’t your fault! He was so rude to you.”

  “They don’t get it. None of them fucking get it. They’ve got no idea what it was like for us there.”

  “Of course not. But he’s just one drunk old jerk, Ryan. One dickhead stranger.”

  He huffed sharply. “You think he’s the first guy to ask me that question? I get it all the time. From strangers, friends, family.”

  My jaw dropped. “My God. How can people be so cruel and thoughtless? They should be thanking you for your service!”

  “That’s even worse! What th
e fuck do they think they’re thanking me for? They don’t know what I did over there! They don’t understand that I’ve got seconds to make a judgment call that will either save my guys or end someone’s life—and that someone could be an enemy combatant or it could be a civilian. A farmer. A woman. A child. Or it could be both! That’s the real fucked-up part of it. It could be both a child and the enemy. That kid you’ve been giving candy and comic books to? The one that brought you fresh bread and knows your name and taught you a few words in his language? Is he the one reporting your position? Did he pull the trigger wire on the IED that killed your friend and wounded every single guy in your squad? Has he been the enemy all along? Is it your fault for talking to him?”

  I was so shocked, I didn’t know what to say. Tears burned my eyes, and my chest ached as I raced along beside him. “Oh, Ryan, no. Of course it isn’t.”

  “It is. I should have known. I let them down.”

  “You didn’t,” I said, trying to touch his arm, but he shrugged me off, refusing to be comforted.

  “And how about the time Taliban fighters lined up women and children as shields behind a compound wall while they fired at you, only you didn’t realize what they’d done until after you’d fired back, killing dozens of innocents?”

  The tears dripped down my cheeks, but I silently wiped them away in the dark. This wasn’t about me, and I didn’t want him to stop if he needed to get these things out.

  “Or how about the farmer I killed that didn’t respond to warning shots, the one whose son later told us was deaf and mute? Should I be thanked for that?”

  I could see how furious and heartsick he was, and I hated that I’d brought this on. “Yes,” I said firmly, although I continued to cry. “Because you’re brave and strong and you did what you were trained to do, what you had to do.”

  “I used to think that too,” he said bitterly as he left the road and headed across the lawn for the barn, me following tight on his heels. “But did I have to do all those things? Did I have to kill innocent people? Is something wrong with me that after a while I was able to pull the trigger without feeling a fucking thing?”

  We’d rounded the back of the barn when he suddenly spun around and faced me in the darkness. “Because I don’t, you know. Feel anything. I can’t.”

  Both of us were breathing hard, and tears were still hot on my cheeks. I felt horrible. I’d ruined our last night together, but worse, I’d made him suffer. All I wanted now was to take that pain away.

  I put my hands on his chest. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

  “I’m not,” he said. “I’ll never be okay. You shouldn’t even be here with me.”

  “Shhh,” I whispered, rising on tiptoe to kiss his lips. “I trust you.”

  “You shouldn’t.” He dropped his forehead to mine, and moved forward, forcing me backward until I was pressed against the back of the barn. “You shouldn’t.”

  For a fraction of a second, I was slightly nervous.

  You don’t really know him.

  Even sociopaths can like apple pie.

  You let your hormones lead you into an unsafe situation.

  But something deep inside me, some gut instinct I couldn’t name and didn’t even fully understand, had a voice too.

  This wounded man is healing something in you.

  Don’t give up on him.

  Open your heart—you can feel enough for both of you.

  A moment later, his lips were on mine, and my fears melted away inside his kiss.

  Nineteen

  Ryan

  Take her home, I thought when I saw her tears. You’ve fucked everything up beyond reason already.

  I’d lost my temper. Likely my job. Probably this whole new life I was trying to build for myself.

  I’d have to move away again. Start over. And this time, I wouldn’t have Mack there to help me.

  You don’t deserve his help. You’re a lost cause. And you certainly don’t deserve this woman’s trust.

  But here she was. Soft and sweet and reaching for me. A safe place. A sanctuary.

  I needed her. I needed her so badly it scared me—even if it was just for tonight.

  She could make me feel good again. She could wrap me up in her warmth and her trust and her desire. She would take me inside her even after knowing who I really was.

  And I needed to make her feel good too, to channel this hot pulsing rage in me toward something good, to hear her moan and sigh, to feel her fall apart around me, to know I wasn’t alone.

  My hands were everywhere. In her hair, beneath her blouse, between her legs. They shoved my jacket from her shoulders. They fumbled frantically with the button and zipper on her jeans. I slid one down her underwear and moaned at the snug, slick warmth as my fingers slipped inside her.

  She clung to me, kissed my lips, my jaw, my throat. She ran her hands inside my jacket, over my chest, around my lower back. She yanked my shirt from my jeans so she could feel my skin, and my stomach tightened at her touch. She slid her palm over the bulge at my crotch, moved it up and down over my cock, which strained at the zipper.

  “I want my mouth on you,” she whispered at my ear before sucking my earlobe into her mouth, teasing it with her teeth and tongue. Her fingers traced the outline of my erection lingering at the tip. “I want to lick you like this. I want my tongue right here.”

  “Fuck,” I growled, circling my wet fingertips over her clit, knowing if I didn’t get her off first, my dick would take over and all would be lost.

  She began to writhe above my fingers. “Oh God,” she whispered. She clenched a fist in my shirt and turned her face to the side, her mouth falling open. I slid my fingers inside her again, and she rocked her hips over my hand, driving both of us closer to orgasm. A second later, she cried out and I nearly came in my pants at the sight of her climaxing in front of me.

  As soon as she opened her eyes and looked at me, I undid my jeans and shoved them down, desperate to get inside her.

  “Oh fuck,” I said, hating myself. “I didn’t bring anything.”

  “That’s okay.” She dropped to her knees in front of me and freed my cock from its prison. “We don’t need one. And don’t worry …” Wrapping her hand tightly around my shaft, she circled the crown with one sweep of her tongue. “I know what oral sex is now.”

  I groaned, my knees close to buckling. I put my hands on the wall behind her. Fuck yes she knew—I don’t know what books she’d started reading once she realized the truth, but Christ, she’d paid attention. She used her hands, her lips, her tongue. She licked and sucked and swirled and teased. She moaned like my dick was the best thing she’d ever tasted, and she told me she’d never imagined she’d be with anyone so big, so hard, so intimidating.

  It was possibly bullshit. I definitely didn’t fucking care.

  I was rough with her. I was too loud. I pulled her hair and forced her to look me in the eye, which she did—unabashedly, while moving her mouth up and down my cock so slowly I thought I was going to die. I held her head and fought the urge to fuck her mouth like the monster I was, then gave up, bracing my hands against the wall and thrusting with deep, vicious strokes between her perfect round lips. She grabbed my hips, took me to the back of her throat again and again and again. I watched it all, until my body reached the breaking point and my vision went starry and all that heat and tension exploded in hot, rhythmic bursts.

  I don’t know how she didn’t choke.

  She did gasp for air, however, as soon as I pulled out. “Holy shit,” she panted.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, barely able to breathe myself, still propped up with my palms against the barn. I didn’t trust my legs not to give way.

  “Yes.” She wiped her mouth with the back of one wrist. “More than okay. That was amazing.”

  “For me it was. I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

  She looked up at me. “You didn’t. But if you did, I wouldn’t tell you, because I wanted it.”

  I reached
down and pulled her to her feet, yanking my jeans up before wrapping my arms around her. “You’re too good to be true.”

  She twined her arms around my waist and lay her cheek on my chest. “I wanted to make you feel better. I felt bad for ruining our night.”

  “You didn’t ruin anything. And you made me feel so good I forgot about everything but you.”

  She squeezed me tighter. “Good. I’ve never done that before.”

  “What?” I leaned back at the waist so I could see her face without letting go of her. “You can’t be serious.”

  She looked up at me guilelessly. “I’m serious. I haven’t.”

  “Not ever?”

  “Well, I might have tried to give it a go a couple times, but I was never into it. And I for sure never … you know, made it to the finish line. I dropped out of the race every time.”

  “Well, fuck. You definitely won the marathon this time.”

  She smiled. “It was more like a sprint, actually. You’re fast, just like you said.”

  I groaned. “That is not what I meant when I told you I was fast.”

  Giggling, she snuggled close to me again. “I’m teasing. Don’t worry, you were perfect. I loved every second.”

  Jesus, was this woman real? “I feel like I should pinch myself. Make sure this isn’t a dream.”

  “I’ll pinch you if you want me to. But I promise this is real.”

  I held her close. She was real, wasn’t she? And she was here, with me, by choice.

  Except—she wasn’t really mine. Some other asshole was going to win the race next time, and the time after that, too. After tonight, I couldn’t even compete.

  Something splintered in my chest. I would miss her. I didn’t want to miss her. And I didn’t want to think about some other asshole sticking his dick in her mouth, or touching any part of her body, or even holding her this way.

  So don’t think about it. Flip the switch.

  I forced myself to go numb even as I dropped a kiss on her head. “Hey. Want some dessert? I know where we can get some. The place isn’t too fancy, but the pie is the best you’ll ever taste.”