Cain glanced at Jake. The soldier’s gaze was locked on to the widow with an intensity that was heartbreaking. Everything had changed, and yet so much remained the same. The hunger, the want, was hard for the soldier to hide, and Cain looked away, uncomfortable.
Marnie and Steven Edwards were in the family room, a large open space just off the kitchen. It boasted an entire wall of glass that brought the outdoors inside, and in the distance the stars reflected on the lake like diamonds on black velvet. They sat together on a leather sofa, an open book of photos displayed on the coffee table. A small group was gathered around them, their voices low in that polite, mournful way.
“Here.”
Cain turned and accepted a plate of sandwiches from Mac. There was tuna, salmon, and, no surprise, the always-crowd-pleasing ham. It didn’t last long. He hadn’t eaten since the plane.
“Oh shit, here she comes.”
Cain turned at Mac’s harsh whisper. “Who?”
“Rebecca Stringer.”
“Stringer?”
Mac guffawed drunkenly. “Seriously? You don’t remember? ‘Stringer-dinger, she’ll ring your bell’?”
It came back quickly. Blond. Plastic. Head cheerleader, homecoming diva, and queen of the back-seat. They’d each dated her at one point or another—dated being a loose term.
He stifled a groan and glanced at Jake. He’d changed out of his military dress, but the plain white T-shirt and jeans did nothing to detract from the powerful energy that surrounded him. His short dark hair and even darker eyes only emphasized this. Afghanistan had changed the man in more ways than one.
The soldier was quiet, stuffing sandwiches into his mouth, his eyes still on his brother’s widow.
“Well, well, well…the Bad Boys of Crystal Lake all together again.” Rebecca’s candy-red lips were glossy, as if they’d been coated in syrup. They were porn-star perfect and somehow out of place in northern Michigan. “In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re missing one.” Jake glared at Rebecca, his eyebrows knit into a frown, his mouth tight.
Rebecca’s face flushed deep red, and for a moment she was speechless. “I’m sorry. Of course…I didn’t mean…” Her voice trailed into silence as Jake shoved past them.
“Whatever,” he muttered. “I need another drink.”
Cain took a step, intending to go after Jake. The man was hurting.
Rebecca’s hand on his chest stopped him. Her fingers grazed the fabric of his shirt a little longer than was necessary.
“Cain.” The way she purred his name reminded him of his mother’s old cat—all soft and fuzzy, with claws waiting in the wings. “Shame on you for not coming home sooner.” Her shiny lips loosened into a pout.
She smiled so wide, Cain was afraid her makeup was going to crack. “Tell me,” she said, and sidled up as close as she could. Cain glanced at Mac, but his buddy raised a bottle of water in a mock toast and moved away.
He was caught in the corner with Rebecca Stringer. Shit.
“You ever write a song about me?”
He nearly choked on the tuna in his mouth. “Uh—”
“I mean, that one they played on the radio a few months back.” She paused and sang in a girlish voice, “‘She had my heart, she stole my soul, I’ll keep her close till I grow old.’” Her eyes glittered. “I think that could have been about me.”
What the hell could he say to that?
She hummed it over again and grinned at him crazily. “We had some good times, right? Back in the day?”
Someone rescue me.
His pulse quickened when he spied the woman from the porch. She was tidying up the table in the kitchen, gathering empty plates and cutlery. From where he stood, Cain didn’t see her little boy.
“Who’s that?” he asked instead.
Rebecca glanced toward the table, her eyebrow arched. “The cleaning lady?” She lowered her voice, as if she were sharing a dirty secret. “Well, she moved to town about a year ago. Came from the South, Savannah or New Orleans.” She shrugged. “I think her name is Sally, maybe? Dunno, she cleans my house too.” Her eyes narrowed as she focused back on him. “Why?”
Cain’s eyes hardened. He didn’t like her tone or her attitude. Some things never changed. Money bought a lot of things, but class and humility sure as hell weren’t on that list. “The woman scrubs your floors, and you have no idea what her name is?”
“She cleans my toilets too. Should I be on a first- name basis with her?” Gone was the sly smile.
Cain leaned in close. “You forget, Rebecca, there was a time when my mother cleaned your toilets and half the town’s elite’s, for that matter.”
“But,” she sputtered, “that’s different. Lauren’s one of us now, and technically they weren’t my toilets, they were my mom’s.” Nervous laughter fell from her lips as she swept her tongue over what Cain now decided were collagen blunders.
The remainder of his sandwich was tossed into the garbage. He was tired as hell, and the beer and vodka hadn’t helped. The day had been an emotional roller coaster, and he didn’t have the time or patience for someone like Rebecca Stringer.
It wasn’t as if he was looking to get into her pants. Hell, that boat had sailed, crashed, and burned.
“And what is it you do these days?” he asked.
“Do?” Rebecca looked surprised. “You mean, like a job?”
He nodded. What did someone like Rebecca Stringer do with her time?
“Well, I—I’m married.” She shrugged. “I don’t have to work.”
“Figures.” He glanced at her hands. The fingers were tipped scarlet, their perfection and length obviously fake. A large diamond sparkled on her finger. “Who’d you marry?” Rebecca’s eyes were now dark slits of anger, her pouty lips pursed so tight, she resembled a goddamn blowfish. She raised her chin and took a step back.
“Bradley Hayes. He’s just been named junior partner in his father’s law firm.”
“Good luck with that.” He’d spied Hayes chatting up a leggy brunette outside. The bastard was no different than his father. Cain’s mother had stopped working for the family after the elder Hayes had been inappropriate one time too many.
He walked past her without another word. Rebecca was much like the bored, rich housewives who were a dime a dozen in LA—always looking over the horizon, loving no one but themselves and the size of their husband’s wallet.
“Hey, need some help?”
The redhead jumped, her eyes wide as she glanced up at him. He’d startled her, and for one second she reminded him of a deer caught in the headlights of a car.
She regained her composure and looked away, her voice soft, the drawl he’d noticed earlier a little more pronounced. “No, thank you. I’m tidying up for Marnie. It’s the least I can do.”
“I don’t mind.” Cain grabbed the stack of plates she’d gathered into a pile and moved them to the counter near the dishwasher. He stared down at the machine for several seconds. He had one at home, a supersized monster, in fact. He’d just never used it before.
“Don’t worry about dishes. The caterers will be here within the hour to do the real cleanup. Everything belongs to them.”
She was there, beside him, placing several wineglasses in a neat row next to the dishes. Her fingers were long and delicate, the nails short and free of color. She was smaller than he’d thought. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder. Her scent lingered in the air, and Cain wondered what it would feel like to hold her. Would she lean into him, soft and pliant, with those big blues looking up at him? Or would she be aggressive and hard, pushing and reaching for something more?
He took a step back, ran his hand along his forehead, and then rolled his shoulders. He really shouldn’t be thinking about her like that. Hell, he shouldn’t be thinking about anything right now except sleep.
“I see you’ve met our Maggie.”
Lauren Black slipped her arm through his, and Cain gave his mother a hug.
Maggie. It suited he
r. His dark gaze swept back to the redhead, but her eyes were lowered. Her hands clutched a rag so tightly, her knuckles were white.
“We met earlier on the porch,” he answered. “Though I don’t think we were officially introduced. I’m Cain.” She looked up. Her eyes were darker than before, the deep blue now two shades past navy. A thin layer of freckles sprinkled the bridge of her nose, and an image of his tongue sweeping across her creamy skin flashed before him. Cain’s groin tightened; his lips thinned.
What the hell was wrong with him? He was at a funeral reception for Christ sakes.
Jesse’s funeral.
It was the booze. The lack of sleep. It had to be. He nodded toward the far end of the kitchen. “How’s Raine?” When in doubt, divert attention.
Lauren shook her head. “Not good.” Jake was at Raine’s side, his hand on her shoulder, his eyes intense as he leaned in close to listen to whatever she was saying. “They loved each other so much. She didn’t deserve this.” Lauren paused. “I thought they’d live the dream, you know. I really did.”
“Dreams sometimes turn into nightmares.”
Cain and his mother turned back to Maggie. She looked pensive, surprised maybe that she’d spoken out loud.
“I, uh…” Her small tongue darted out and moistened her lips. They were full, kissable, free of gloss, and sexy as hell. She had the kind of mouth men fantasized about, lips meant for sinning, for gliding and nibbling. Cain’s chest tightened as he stared down at her, an unfamiliar feeling warming his body.
She was really…kind of perfect.
“I didn’t mean anything.” She paused and nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I just…when you love like that, you take a chance.”
“On what?” Cain was curious. He’d never been hooked. Hell, the Natasha fiasco had been a whirlwind of hot sex and fantasy. In the end it had been nothing more than a train wreck, and when it finally derailed, he’d been left wondering what the hell he’d ever seen in his ex. There’d been nothing of substance, no glue to hold them together.
“On losing yourself.” Maggie glanced at her watch. “I have to call a cab and get Michael home. He fell asleep over an hour ago.”
His mother’s grip tightened and she yanked on his arm. “Don’t be silly. We’ll give you a ride.” She glanced up at her son. “Cain will drive you.”
“No.” Her answer was abrupt. “He’s been drinking.”
She was right. Cain couldn’t drive.
“You have your driver’s license?” Lauren asked.
At Maggie’s nod, she continued. “Perfect. You take Cain’s rental and drop him off at my house on the way.”
His mother planted a quick kiss on his cheek. “I’m going to grab my purse and say good-bye to Steven and Marnie. Don’t wait up. I have a prior engagement I can’t get out of.” She paused. “You do know where the house is, right?” Her sarcasm was noted and he shrugged sheepishly.
His mother had married a wealthy financier from Chicago a few years after he left town. Cain had met the man a few times—they’d jelled over football and not much else. He’d been a proper sort of man and had doted on Lauren. Sadly, he’d died nearly five years ago, leaving the bulk of his wealth to his wife.
Her eyes narrowed onto his. She’d bought a new place a few years back and knew damn well he had no clue where it was.
“No matter,” she continued, “Maggie knows.” She turned to the young woman. “If you could help us out, that would be great.”
“Of course.” Maggie turned abruptly. “I’ll get Michael.”
Cain’s eyes followed her slight form as she disappeared down the hall, his eyes resting on the curve of her ass.
“Forget it, Cain. She’s not for you.” His mother pursed her mouth, and a frown creased her forehead. At his look of surprise, she did everything except shake her finger at him. “I mean it. She’s not some groupie or model or anything like the women you’ve been with. The last thing she needs is someone like you filling her head with nonsense.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean? Someone like me?”
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Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Six Weeks Later
Available Titles
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