Calamity Jena

by Janet Elizabeth Henderson

  “Did he say why?”

  Claire shrugged. “Something about being close in case his friend needs him.”

  “You don’t think that’s suspicious? Why would Joe need him? This just proves my point. You don’t know anything about this guy, other than he has caveman tendencies and a pierced penis.”

  Claire felt her cheeks heat. “Stop talking about his penis. You shouldn’t know anything about it. It’s private. It’s my penis.”

  Megan threw up her hands in disgust. “Listen to yourself. His penis doesn’t belong to you. He doesn’t belong to you. You’re not behaving normally.” She let out a heavy sigh, running her hand through her long hair. They were dressed identically today: cream sweaters, blue jeans and brown leather boots. They never planned to look alike—half the time they didn’t even go clothes shopping together, but it just seemed to happen.

  “I think,” Megan said, “you’re clinging to Samuel in an attempt to deal with Dad’s illness.”

  Claire set the glasses she’d retrieved on the countertop. “How can you say that? Dad has been ill for eight years and Samuel isn’t the first boyfriend I’ve had.”

  “Listen to yourself—he isn’t a boyfriend. He’s a middle-aged guy with stalker tendencies. What else would make you put up with him other than the stress of Dad getting worse?”

  “Look, I know this situation is a little odd, but it’s not like he’s bullying me into spending time with him. I want to get to know him. There’s something about him.” A shiver went down her spine. “When he looks at me, I feel like I’m his whole world. I’ve never felt like that before.”

  “See.” Megan pointed a finger at her. “Stalker. Stalkers are obsessed with their prey. They’re the whole world to the stalker. You’ve just proved my point.”

  Claire rolled her eyes. “You sound like Matt.”

  Megan shuddered and made the sign of the cross. “We make a pinkie swear never to say that. Matt does overprotective to the nth degree. I am nothing like Matt. I want you to have a boyfriend. I know you’re old enough for sex. Matt still thinks we’re ten. I’m not being unreasonable. You don’t know this guy, and he’s freaking terrifying.”

  “Fine.” Claire lifted her chin. “Let’s go get to know him.”

  She marched into the front room that used to be Magenta’s bedroom when she lived with them, but was now a living room. Grunt was sitting on the sofa watching the BBC World News. His arm was draped over the back of the couch and his legs were stretched out in front of him. He gave Claire a wicked smile that made her insides melt. Yum. She licked her lips. No matter what Megan said, cavemen had always appealed to Claire. She liked a little possessive behaviour from her men. And there was nothing sexier than a man who had the confidence to know what he wanted. Yeah, she liked that a whole lot. If Megan and her suspicious nature weren’t in the room, Claire would have crawled into Samuel’s lap to see if he tasted as good as he looked. The soft blue shirt he wore over faded jeans rippled on his shoulders as he looked between them. His eyes turned assessing. He nodded.

  “Interrogation time,” he said. “Fire away.”

  With an irritated huff, Megan sat in one of the armchairs, leaving Claire with the option of sitting in the other chair or curling up beside Samuel. Tempting as it was, she figured she should resist the urge to rub herself all over him like a cat. She sat in the chair.

  “Tell us about yourself,” Megan ordered.

  Grunt’s lips quirked into a little smile. “I’m thirty-one, never been married. Never wanted to get married. No kids. No living family.”

  “Job?” Megan’s eyes narrowed.

  He didn’t look away from her. “Security. Bodyguard stuff mainly. I was in the navy until two years ago. Got out, went travelling, hung around until Joe told me he was looking for a business partner. Been working with Joe for a couple of months.”

  Claire smiled at him. “You went travelling once you got out the navy? Didn’t you travel while you were in it? I would have thought you’d be fed up with seeing new places.”

  “Babe.” Grunt gave her a panty-melting grin. “We went to war zones. Not a lot of tourist crap to do on your downtime.”

  “Oh, yeah.” She blushed and tucked her hair behind her ear.

  Megan snapped her fingers. “Focus, King Kong. Do you have any sexual diseases?”

  “Megan!” Claire glared at her sister.

  Megan shrugged. “What? It’s a good question.”

  Although it was clear Grunt was trying not to laugh, Claire was still annoyed.

  “No sexual diseases. No diseases at all. Clean bill of health.”

  Megan cocked an eyebrow. “Proof?”

  Claire groaned and sank back into her chair. There was nothing she could do to stop Megan. She was the one-woman reincarnation of the entire Spanish Inquisition.

  “I can get some,” Grunt said.

  “Good.” Megan stuck her nose in the air. “I want to see documented proof before you go near my sister.”

  Claire unwrapped the cowl neck of her sweater and buried her face in it. I’m not here. I’m somewhere else. This is all a bad dream.

  “Are you prone to violence?” Megan asked.

  “Not unless it’s needed.”

  “Would you ever hit a woman?”

  Grunt growled. “I would never hit Claire.”

  “Have you ever hit a woman?”

  “No.” Yeah, now he sounded like a pissed-off gorilla.

  “Would you ever force yourself on a woman?”

  “No.” The menace in that one word made both twins’ eyes pop. “No real man forces himself on a woman. No means no.”

  Claire trembled at his answer. She looked at Megan, telling her by telepathy to let the questions drop. As usual, the telepathy thing didn’t work. So much for that bloody mystical twin bond.

  “Have you ever killed a man?” Megan said.

  Claire made whimpering noises. This was worse than anything Matt would do. Way worse. She almost wished he was there.

  “Yeah. Line of duty.”

  “Did you enjoy it?”

  “Megan!” Claire looked up to see her sister squinting at Grunt. Her eyes were aflame. There was no bringing her back. She was set on this.

  Meanwhile, every muscle on Grunt’s body looked either poised to strike or flee. He held Megan’s eyes. “You would need to be a sick son of a bitch to enjoy something like that. The answer is no. I didn’t. I still see the faces and hear the screams of every guy I killed. I know it was necessary. I know it was my job, but if there had been another way, I would have found it.” He sat forward, placing his forearms on his knees. “I trained as a marine. We have honour. We don’t screw around.”

  Claire’s eyes went wide. Marine? Weren’t they like the superheroes of the American armed forces? She wasn’t sure. She gnawed at her bottom lip and wondered if anyone would notice if she pulled out her phone and Googled the marines. She looked at the two hard faces. Mmm, maybe later.

  Megan looked thoughtful. “Gold digger?”

  “I have my own money. Savings. Investments.”

  “What if Claire disagrees with you on something?”

  He shrugged, relaxing back into the sofa again. “Then she disagrees. We work it out. We either compromise or one of us gets our own way. That’s how all relationships work.”

  “So she’s allowed to disobey you,” Megan said.

  Grunt actually laughed. “Who said I was looking for obedience? If I wanted a dog I’d buy one. She’s an adult. Got her own opinions. Makes her own choices. I’d be freaking bored if it was any different.”

  Megan seemed to relax a little. “What are your intentions towards my sister?”

  Claire looked at the ceiling and let out a long, low groan. When she looked back, Megan was frowning at her and Grunt was grinning. A delightfully sexy, knowing grin.

  “My intentions?” He cocked an eyebrow at Claire, daring her to interrupt. She suddenly found her tongue was glued to the roof of her mou
th. “My intentions are to get to know her. To get her naked. To get her into my house. To get married to her. And to get her pregnant. That’s what I intend. Whether Claire wants that, or whether she likes what she sees in me, is something else, but I know my intentions.”

  Claire sat frozen in Grunt’s heated gaze. Megan cleared her throat.

  “Well, that’s very retro. As in 1950s mentality.” Megan lowered her voice. “Get woman. Keep woman. Woman must be barefoot and pregnant.”

  Grunt’s lips quirked into a smile, but his eyes stayed on Claire. She felt the heat of his gaze melt her reserve.

  Megan turned towards her sister. Claire smiled at her, but her eyes strayed back to Grunt.

  “Claire, please tell me this is not attractive to you,” Megan said. Claire could practically hear her roll her eyes. “Does the word feminism mean anything to you? This is just like that movie The Faculty, where the teachers were possessed by aliens. There’s an alien in your body. It’s the only excuse for your loss of sanity over this guy.”

  Claire grinned widely. “What can I say, Megan? It’s the muscles. I mean, look at those shoulders.”

  Grunt playfully flexed his biceps for her.

  “I think I just vomited a little in my mouth,” Megan said. “Fine, the interrogation is over. I don’t think he’s a serial killer, or a woman beater, but I can’t say for certain he’s sane.”

  Grunt winked at Claire. She grinned widely. Out of the corner of her eye, Claire watched Megan stand. She headed towards the door. “I’ll leave you two alone, but I’ll be right upstairs if you need me. And remember. Keep your penis in your pants until the doc gives you the all-clear.”

  Claire’s eyes broke away from Grunt to glare at her sister. “Don’t I get a say in whether he opens his pants or not? And will you stop saying penis? It gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

  “Bloody hell, Claire, the more you hang around pre-schoolers the more immature you become. I take it back. You both belong in the fifties. Enjoy your little time warp together. And for your information, penis is a perfectly normal word. If you don’t stop complaining I’m going to start using all those other words that freak you out. Like vagina, vulva, cli…”

  Claire wedged her fingers in her ears and sang nonsense at the top of her lungs. Megan rolled her eyes and left the room. When Claire looked back at Grunt, he was shaking his head at her as he laughed.

  “Babe,” he said. “Is it only the official words you have a problem with, or can you say…”

  Na, na, na, na. Clair shut her eyes tight as her singing and fingers blocked out the words.

  Strong arms wound around her waist, giving her a start. Grunt lifted her, sat in her armchair and settled her in his lap. His grin was still in place.

  “Okay, I gotta know. What do you call your—” She smacked a hand over his mouth before he could finish that sentence.

  Claire swallowed a grin as his shoulders shook with laughter. “I call it ‘down there’,” she said in the most prim voice she could affect.

  His laughter deepened. With a roll of her eyes, she removed her hand.

  “Guess we should all be grateful you don’t call it down under. That way if you ever have a problem, the doc won’t think you mean in Australia.” He nuzzled the spot behind her ear that made her stomach do flips. “Babe, if you can’t use the words, how will you tell me what you want me to do to you?”

  “Oh, but I can say the words. I can say lots of words. I just like winding my sister up.”

  His eyes glittered with mischief. “What kind of words are we talking about here? You got to tell me some, or I won’t believe you.”

  Claire straightened her shoulders. “Willy, dick, club of the gods, joystick, Mr Winky, the one-eyed monster, the mighty—”

  Grunt smacked a hand over her mouth as he laughed. She waggled her eyebrows at him.

  “Enough,” he said. “I take it back. Someone who looks like an angel shouldn’t have a potty mouth.”

  “Potty mouth? Big, bad Grunt says potty mouth? Does Joe know you say stuff like this? I’m not sure that even your manliness can handle saying potty mouth. You’ve just lost at least ten points on the macho scale.”

  “You need to shut up now.” His sparkling eyes ruined the threat.

  Claire leaned into him, until their lips were almost touching. “Oh yeah, why don’t you make me.”

  “With pleasure.” The low rumble swept through her body.

  His fingers grasped the back of her head. He paused, barely an inch between them, and inhaled as though breathing her in. Her eyes fluttered shut as his warm lips met hers. They were soft, teasing in their touch, and mind-numbingly delicious. He coaxed her lips, easing her mouth open until he was able to take his time tasting her. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. His woodland scent engulfed her. It was the most perfect kiss she’d ever had. Slowly, with tiny nips to her bottom lip, he moved away from her.

  Claire felt more than a little stunned. She wanted to stay right where she was forever. Wrapped in his strong arms, engulfed in his scent, able to taste and feel him whenever she chose. It was bliss.

  He flashed that wicked smile of his. “I need to hit the road. Don’t want you missing church in the morning and getting a bad rep ’causa me. But save the afternoon for me. I need my Claire time.”

  Claire smiled at him as her heart stuttered. It took a moment for his words to really register, a delay that amused him.

  “I have a family dinner in the afternoon, then we’re going to visit my dad.”

  “What time will I pick you up?”

  Her brain stalled. He couldn’t mean…? She blinked at him. “You can’t come to our family dinner.” She cringed. That sounded really rude.

  “Baby,” he said slowly. “Your family’s got to get to know me.”

  “Do they have to do it tomorrow, though?”

  “Yeah.” His grin said he thought she was cute. “Sooner we get this outta the way, the sooner we can focus on us.”

  Damn, why did that sound reasonable and terrifyingly stupid at the same time?

  “What time am I picking you up?” His tone was low and teasing, and his eyes sparkled with mirth.

  “One.” She gave in with a sigh.

  He leaned forward and tucked his nose in her neck below her ear. She heard him let out a long breath. “Good,” he whispered.

  He chuckled at her mewls of complaint as he led her to the front door.

  “Lock up after me,” he ordered.

  She shook her head with a sigh. Maybe there was a handbook somewhere on how to deal with a bossy alpha male? With one last toe-curling kiss, he turned towards the path. Leaving Claire to wonder if she had the skills needed to handle a man like Grunt.

  16

  Jena thought Sunday lunch with Matt’s family would be a relaxing affair. Maybe even a little dull. That was before Matt’s mother, Heather, led one of Frank’s goons into the kitchen.

  “No,” Jena shouted, grabbed her purse and made a run for the back door.

  Matt snagged the back of her purple wraparound dress and held on tight.

  “Stay,” he snapped.

  “Do I look like your freaking poodle?” Jena snapped back, giving him the words he’d used on Bob the butcher.

  Matt ignored her. Instead he turned to Mr No-Neck Mob Hitman. “What are you doing here? If Frank wants to talk, he can come to the station. In the meantime, you can get out.”

  “Matt!” His mother looked like she was ready to smack him. “I didn’t raise you to be rude.”

  The goon kept his eyes on Matt. “I’m not here for Frank Di Marco. This has nothing to do with him.”

  Jena tried to prise Matt’s fingers from the neck of her dress. If there was going to be a fight, she wanted to be far, far away—even if dinner did smell delicious and her stomach rumbled loud enough to be heard.

  “Leave. Now. Before this becomes messy.” Matt was coiled tight, ready to pounce.

  “What’s going on?” One
of the twins said as she came into the room. Her arms were full of Tupperware boxes, filled with what looked like cookies. Jena’s mouth watered at the sight.

  “We have an unwanted guest, Claire.” Matt’s jaw clenched. Jena tried to appear invisible. “This isn’t the place to talk about Jena. You need to leave, Grunt. Before I forget my manners.”

  “What manners?” Claire smacked the containers onto the countertop. “Samuel is my guest. Do you see me trying to kick Jena out? No. You don’t.”

  Matt’s gaze snapped to his sister, and Jena cringed. She was so glad he wasn’t her brother. Claire looked fit to spit. His mother looked annoyed and about ten seconds away from putting a stop to the confrontation happening in her kitchen—by any means necessary.

  “What do you mean he’s your guest?” Matt’s voice was a low, threatening rumble.

  Claire’s face flushed. “I mean he’s with me. I invited him, kind of…”

  There was a deathly silence. Jena wished Matt would forget about her and let go of her dress. Instead his grip tightened.

  “You’re dating him?”

  Everything within Jena screamed for her to run. The air crackled with the warning. The red in Claire’s cheeks deepened. She tucked her long blonde hair behind her ear. The goon frowned, his jaw hardened and he stepped closer to Claire. Positioning himself between Matt and his sister. His fists flexed as his posture loosened. She’d seen that stance before—he was getting ready to fight. No, not fight—defend Claire. Jena’s eyebrows tried to crawl up her forehead. Poop in a bucket, the goon was crazy about Matt’s sister. World War Three was about to start in Heather Donaldson’s kitchen. And Jena was trapped in the middle of it.

  She took a deep breath as her sense of self-preservation kicked into overdrive. “Okay, so this has nothing to do with me. This is obviously a family thing. Best if I go. Don’t worry, I’ll see myself home.” She tugged at Matt’s grip as she tried to walk towards the door.

  “I don’t think so.” He yanked her back. “Well?” he demanded of Claire.