Beneath the Scars

by Cherise Sinclair

  Josie told the three men, “Food won’t be for a few more minutes if you want to join the boys and do something active.”

  “Sounds good.” Vance and Jake sauntered out, and Holt heard Jake call, “Vance and I will defend the net. Let’s see if you can get anything past us.”

  Whoops of enthusiasm came from outside.

  “Looks like they’re all busy.” Holt straightened. “Now who is going to defend you?”

  Josie bit her lip, a flush rising in her cheeks.

  Lovely. Moving forward, he trapped her against the counter with an arm on each side of her.

  “This isn’t a good idea, Holt,” she whispered. “I-I don’t date.”

  “That’s fine, pet. We can just hang around at home and fuck,” he whispered back.

  She gave an indignant sputter of laughter and that was when he took her mouth. Her lips quivered against his and then…she surrendered.

  Was there anything sexier than a woman who put her whole heart into a kiss? One who softened against him. One who didn’t want to kiss him, yet ended up plastered against him.

  The thump of approaching footsteps broke them apart. By the time Brandon appeared in the kitchen, Holt was nibbling on shredded cheese instead of a little submissive’s neck. A pity that.

  “Brandon.” Josie gave the boy a sweet look. “I take it soccer isn’t your game?”

  “Nah,” the kid said. “My father wanted me to play football and baseball. He didn’t like soccer.”

  Holt gave him a closer look. The boy was tall and hefty; he was also out of shape. Doubtful that he played any extracurricular sports. “I better go save Vance and Jake from the under-twenty crowd. Thanks for the treat, Josie.”

  From the way her color increased, she knew he didn’t mean the cheese. “Tell the boys they still have a few minutes to grind you old guys into the dirt.”

  “You’re a vicious woman, Josephine.”

  As Holt walked out, he heard Brandon laugh.

  Ten minutes later, he headed into the house on a bottled water run. He’d expected to see Brandon watching TV. Instead, the kid sat at the kitchen island, cutting up black olives for the tacos, and pouring his heart out.

  Yeah, Josie had a talent for listening.

  After a moment, Holt silently headed back outside. The boy was talking about his father and a divorce and never being good enough, and his emotions were bouncing from tears to sheer fury.

  Best that everyone continue with the soccer for a few more minutes.

  Duke and Wedge were taking on Jake, Vance, and Yukio. And Carson had been sidelined while he knotted together a busted shoelace. He looked up at Holt. “We get a few extra minutes?”

  “Eh, I didn’t ask. Your buddy is talking with your mom, and I didn’t want to interrupt.”

  After a second, Carson nodded his understanding. “That’s good, yeah. He’s had a hard time—and Mom’ll help. She’s good at that.”

  “She is.” Holt leaned against the picnic table. “I’m pretty good, too…if you ever need to talk about shit.”

  Carson looked up. “Huh?”

  “My father died when I was around your age. It made it rough since sometimes a guy has questions—ones he can’t ask a female.” Holt ruffled the kid’s hair. “Just remember you can call me if you get into trouble you can’t handle.”

  The kid flushed and nodded, gratitude in his eyes. “’Kay, thanks.”

  At a yell from Yukio, Carson darted out, swept up the pass, and kicked the ball right past Jake and into the net.

  Holt grinned and let out a whooping cheer.

  Startled, Carson turned. The boy had his mother’s grin.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Christmas day was almost over. That evening, Josie walked around her house, picking up stray pieces of wrapping paper and ribbon.

  It’d been a very nice day.

  Oma’d invited two women to their holiday dinner. One was a widow from Oma’s bridge club, and the other was a divorcee whose ex had the children for the day. The poor woman.

  The two guests had been delightful, even showing up early to help prepare dinner. Carson had been on his best behavior, peeling the potatoes and running errands.

  Her boy was feeling better these days. He’d sure had fun last Sunday, watching football with the crew over at Holt’s. When they’d all come over afterward, well, she’d never laughed so hard in her life. Men had the oddest perspectives on life. And Holt kept the conversation hopping. The man could quite simply talk about anything. No one stayed a stranger around Holt.

  Despite her good intentions, she wasn’t managing to stay a stranger either. It was as if when they’d had sex, he’d awakened her sleeping desires. Now she wanted him with every cell in her body. She wanted to touch him, to hear his voice, breathe in his scent.

  He’d driven her crazy last night during church.

  Yesterday, when Holt had checked Oma’s blood pressure—something he’d been doing frequently since he moved in—Oma had ordered him to join them for Christmas Eve service. Admitting he hadn’t been to church in years, he’d thanked Oma for including him.

  During the service, he’d captured Josie’s hand and refused to release it, despite her tugging. Taking it a step further, he’d put his arm along the back of the pew so his hand rested on her shoulders.

  And kissed her forehead when she frowned at him.

  He wasn’t just a man, but a Dominant, as well. A determined, unshakable one.

  Why did that simply melt all her resolve?

  Shaking her head, Josie stuffed the wrapping paper into the recycle bin. The Christmas tree certainly looked bare without presents beneath it.

  It’d sure been fun to open those presents. Her great-aunt had been delighted with her new eReader. Quite a few members of Oma’s book club had embraced the technology, especially loving the ability to increase the font size.

  Carson had loved his presents, which was a relief. He sure was more difficult to shop for the older he got. Who knew how much she’d miss buying cute stuffed animals and toy trucks? Now it was Xbox games and music. And soccer shoes.

  However, getting a cell phone had totally made his day. She foresaw many future arguments about its usage. Still, all that mattered was that he could now call for help if he got in trouble.

  After the service last night, she’d given Holt his present. Last Sunday, the men and teens had argued over their favorite cookies. She’d memorized Holt’s choices, done a cookie-baking marathon, and filled an oversized Christmas tin for him.

  He’d opened the tin right then and there to sample the contents—and realized it held his favorites. His stunned expression had been worth all the time in the kitchen.

  The gifts hadn’t been one-sided. This morning, Carson had found presents from Holt on the doorstep.

  Josie grinned. He’d given her boy a Lego starship model. Score. Carson had already started building it.

  Her present had been a gorgeous leather notebook, colored pens, and a mug that said, I WRITE. WHAT’S YOUR SUPERPOWER?

  When she’d opened it, Carson told her Holt’d read her books and thought they were great. She’d come very close to crying. The Dom liked her stories—and gave her presents for a writer.

  Poor Holt was working today. He said that since he didn’t have children who’d be crushed if he wasn’t home, he preferred to work so nurses with families could have the day off. God, Holt. She’d never seen anyone who would appreciate a family more.

  While she’d been unwrapping presents, singing carols, enjoying a big Christmas feast and socializing, he’d been caring for children who were so ill they were in ICU. He’d spent Christmas stuck in a cold, sterile building.

  Feeling tears prickle her eyes, she went into her office and looked out the window. His lights were on. He was home. Damned if he shouldn’t have a bit of Christmas, too.

  After piling a plate with baked ham, cheesy potatoes, and various side dishes, she tapped on Carson’s door. “Hey, you. I’ll be back
in a few minutes.”

  “’Kay, Mom.”

  At Holt’s, she rang the doorbell.

  And waited.

  She’d turned to go home when the door opened. “Josie?” He stood in the doorway, hair wet and shoved out of his face. Jeans zipped up, yet unbuttoned. No shirt.

  She’d never thought she’d be the type to drool about a man’s chest. Dark blond hair, golden tan. And muscles so hard and ripped that her mouth went dry. Her fingers quivered with the urge to touch.

  Instead, she held up the covered plate. “I…brought you some Christmas dinner. Since you couldn’t come.”

  “Did you now?” His lips curved in a pleased smile. “I’m starving. The unit was crazy, and I never did get a break. I was about to open the cookie tin—and I’m not going to tell you how many of those I already ate last night.” He took the plate from her, closed his hand around hers, and pulled her into his living room.

  “No, I didn’t come—”

  “You’ll keep me company while I eat, won’t you?” His hard arm around her waist didn’t relax at all. Every breath brought her his clean, just-out-of-a-shower scent.

  “Holt.” She looked up at him, had a moment to see the pleasure in his gaze, and then his lips were on hers and he kissed her with all his devastating skill. When she sagged against him, he took her weight with an approving hum.

  “I can’t leave Carson alone.”

  “Does that mean you’re inviting me over to your house?” He had a wicked glint in his eyes.

  “You know, Master Holt, you’re awfully sneaky.”

  “I am. And I can’t think of anything nicer than spending the evening with you both.”

  The sincerity in his smooth voice shook something deep inside her, and it took her a moment to recover and keep her tone light as she said, “You’re not fooling me, Sir. You simply want someone to serve you your food, don’t you?”

  He brushed the backs of his fingers over her cheek. “Yes, sweetheart. I’d like that very much.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  On Thursday, Josie poured herself a glass of sparkling cider left from yesterday’s Christmas dinner. As she walked down the hall to her office, her footsteps echoed in the empty house.

  Since Carson had winter break from school, she’d agreed he could spend the night at Isaac’s house. Their move to this part of Citrus Park meant her boy didn’t get to see his buddy often. Although Carson had new friends, it would be a shame to lose the old ones.

  Like Josie had lost hers. Because of Pa. She shook her head. After Mama left them, her father had decided Josie spent too much time on “frivolous” activities like being with her friends, and her friendships had soon withered from lack of contact. She’d do her best to keep that from happening with Carson and Isaac.

  Even if it meant the house felt hollow-hearted. She frowned. Funny, she never thought much about Mama—her abandonment had cut deep. Her mother had always been busy, a whirlwind of noise and activity, singing and humming, cooking and cleaning. After Mama ran off, their house had been cold. Unhappy. Josie’d come to hate empty houses.

  Josie and Carson’s apartment buildings had been filled with noise, and she never felt totally alone, even when Carson started school. Maybe that was why she’d never wanted to move into a real house before.

  For a couple of hours, she worked on her book, right up until Laurent started flirting with Tigre. Again. The heroine sure wasn’t listening when Josie scolded her and said, “No romance.”

  Frustrated, she abandoned the manuscript and took a shower instead. Only her long hot shower turned into a short one when she started thinking about empty houses and knives and Psycho.

  Having an active imagination had a serious downside.

  Grumpily, she pulled on her great-uncle’s old work shirt and pajama shorts—her comfort clothes—and stomped into the living room. Watching a movie by herself wasn’t appealing. Maybe Oma would want to have some hot chocolate or… No, Oma wasn’t home. This was her church group night.

  The woman had a better social life than Josie did.

  Josie huffed a laugh. When she grew up, she wanted to be Oma. A brilliant career, a loving marriage before losing her husband to a heart attack, then working overseas for years, and… Josie’s smile faded. In a way, Oma had taken those international assignments to escape her own empty house.

  Josie looked around the living room. Last night, Holt had been on that couch, arm around Josie’s shoulders, teasing Carson about the excessive collateral damage in a car chase scene. The evening had felt…different…with him there. Fuller. Richer.

  What would it be like to have a man around? Someone to talk with in the evenings, to cuddle up to on the couch. To cook for and have the joy of seeing him enjoy the meal she’d made. She didn’t need a guy, not for doing chores or fixing things—she’d learned how to do stuff herself and to hire people when needed.

  It was tough to hire someone to assuage loneliness, though.

  Or to help with parenting. That was a biggie. She got so tired of making all the decisions. Like earlier when she’d tried to decide whether to let Carson spend the night with Isaac. And when she was trying to figure out why her boy was being so quiet and whether she should try to discuss his moods or leave him alone. It was…scary…to be a single parent.

  It was even scarier to realize she was whining and dragging her mood even lower. With a grunt of exasperation, she abandoned the hollow-sounding house and went outside.

  Here was noise. Finding a smile, she walked over to the tall maple and leaned against the trunk. Frogs croaked in the ditch behind the fence. With quiet cheeps, birds were settling in for the night. A hum of traffic came from the distant highway. She could hear a sitcom’s laugh track from Percy’s house next door. Rock music drifted from across the street with occasional discordant notes. Wedge was practicing his bass guitar.

  Small neighborhoods were never truly silent. And she’d been lucky in her neighbors. Even the dominating, Harley-owning hottie was quiet. Smiling, she glanced over the fence. She’d hoped he might come over after he got off work, but his windows were dark. Maybe he went somewhere else.

  As she turned, she spotted a motionless form on his patio.

  Intending to tease him about his silence, she wandered closer to the fence and frowned. Usually, he sat on his patio with his feet up, head tilted back to enjoy every moment of being outside. Tonight, he was hunched forward, leaning on his forearms with his head down.

  “Holt? Is something wrong?” The question popped out before she could think. Boy, talk about intrusive. She was peering at him over the fence like a snoopy neighbor in a sitcom. What if he wanted to be alone?

  His head came up. “Josie.” He stood and walked over. “It’s a pretty night out, isn’t it?” His tone was dull.

  Yes. Something’s wrong. “It is. You know, I have a couple of cold beers in the fridge. Why don’t you come over and sit with me.” She winced. Her invitation was as romantic as talking to Carson. Well, aside from the beer.

  He shook his head. “I wouldn’t be good company tonight, pet.”

  “I realize that.” At his quizzical look, she straightened her shoulders. If she needed to be blunt, so be it. “That’s why you need to come over.”

  His lips curved slightly, and in the moonlight, she could see the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Aren’t you a bossy subbie? All right, I’ll join you for a while.”

  “I’ll let you in the front.” She started toward the back door—and he simply put a hand on the top of the fence and jumped over.

  Wow. The athletic grace gave her libido a lovely shimmer.

  He followed her to the back patio and patted the long porch swing. “New addition?”

  “It was my Christmas present to myself. We had one in Texas when I was growing up, and I loved it.” She pointed to one end. “Sit.”

  At his long look, she felt a quiver in her belly as if she’d poked a wolf with a stick. “Um. Please, Sir, have a seat.”
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  “Better.” He brushed his knuckles over her hot cheek in a gentle caress. “Thank you.”

  God, how did just the merest touch of his fingers make her tingle? “I’ll…uh…be right back.”

  In the kitchen, she pulled in a slow breath. That “Sir” word had popped out…because that’s how she felt. Holt had gone all Dominant and turned her submissive with just a look. But he didn’t usually pull that Dom card on her.

  Tonight might be different. She shook her head. As a kid in Texas, she’d tried to help a starving dog and made the mistake of cornering it. It hadn’t attacked, but its terrifying growl had sure made her retreat.

  Apparently, bossing around a Master when he wasn’t feeling up to par netted the same response.

  When she returned with two bottles of beer, he’d taken a seat. The swing rocked gently.

  After handing him the beer, she sat on the other end.

  He took a long drink of the cold beer and straightened. In fact, she could almost see him trying to change his mood to a sociable one.

  That wasn’t the point. How blunt could a person be with a Dom? Did Doms let other people help? She shoved her bangs out of her face and ventured forth. “So…what happened today to make you so unhappy?”

  He stiffened, and this time, his attempt at a smile wasn’t convincing at all. “Nothing worth discussing. How’s Carson doing? He looked as if he was—”

  “Holt. We’re friends…and we have something between us. You said so.” Carefully, she reached over to stroke her hand up and down his arm. His scarred forearm was thick with muscle—very tense muscles. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  He turned his hand over and interlaced their fingers. “I know you want to help, but you don’t need to hear about this. It’s ugly, sweetie.”

  Wednesday and Thursday were his hospital days. She slid across the swing until their hips and shoulders touched. “Cops, soldiers, firefighters, medical people, the ones who share last longer. Manage better. And you know, everyone talks to bartenders.”

  His fingers tightened around hers. “This—”