by J. H. Croix
Max kicked at a broken box. “Dammit! Someone broke in this afternoon after I left. I can’t believe this!”
She climbed the rest of the way into the attic. “Why would anyone do that?” She scanned the items scattered about, seeing mostly clothing and kitchen items.
Max shook his head and shrugged, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “I’ve got a bad feeling someone might know something about how my dad died.”
Her gut tightened and a cold wash of fear ran through her.
Max stood at Hank’s side in the attic as Hank’s eyes scanned the area. Roxanne was on Hank’s other side, peppering him with questions.
“I mean, why would anyone do this? This house has been sitting here empty for years and now someone decides to break in and go through old boxes. What the hell?” she asked.
Hank had been mostly quiet, but he glanced her way and over to Max. “I think Max has a point. Him showing up back in Catamount is rattling somebody. I’ve just gotten started with my investigation into your dad’s accident, but I’m keeping it real quiet. I haven’t even interviewed anyone yet. I’ve been putting together a timeline and confirming who was there. My guess is Max showing up made somebody nervous. After your little convo with Lee Hogan, I’m wondering if your gut feeling was right on. I’d be surprised if this was him though. Too bold and too direct.” He paused and shook his head. “Maybe it was though. Lee’s always been a pretty impatient guy.” He glanced around the attic again. “Any idea if anything’s missing?” he asked.
Max shook his head and rolled his eyes. “How the hell would I know? All I’ve done with the boxes so far is check to see which ones had any old files and paperwork. Those are all in my car. If they took anything out of these, I’d be surprised. Nothing more than old clothes and kitchen stuff.”
Hank nodded and pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Let me snap a few pics. I’ve called two of my guys to come over with a kit to check for fingerprints and get better pics than what I can get here on my phone. I’ll wait until they get here before we leave. In the meantime, I’d suggest you find somewhere safe to store those boxes.” He quickly pulled up the camera on his phone and aimed it around the attic for photos.
Roxanne piped up. “Why don’t you leave the boxes at my store? We have an old safe in the back. There’s tons of room in it. It’s so solid, it would take a bomb to open.”
Hank glanced up. “Good idea. I’ve seen that safe. It’s built into the foundation wall. Your granddad added it when he expanded the kitchen in the back of the house.” He caught Max’s eyes. “She’s right. It would be damn near impossible for someone to get in there. Plus, the store has a security system in place and has people coming and going most of the day.”
“You sure you don’t mind?” Max asked Roxanne.
“Of course not! Let’s head over there now. I don’t like the idea of those boxes sitting in your car after this happened,” she said with a wave of her hand around the attic.
Hank nodded firmly. “The sooner, the better. No need for you to wait here with me. My guys will be here any minute.” As he spoke, the sound of vehicles pulling into the driveway filtered upstairs. “Speaking of…” Hank said as he turned away and climbed down the stairs.
Max gestured for Roxanne to go ahead of him and took a last look around before climbing down. His gut churned with a mix of anger and worry. He didn’t like it at all that his mere presence in Catamount stirred the ashes of his father’s death.
Roxanne hefted the last box into the safe and set it alongside the others on the dusty shelves in the back. The safe had shelves lining its walls and a rectangular table in the center. Once upon a time, her grandparents had stored weekly cash deposits in here, along with the store’s accounting paperwork and her grandfather’s hunting rifles. As her family modernized the store over the decades, deposits were delivered to the bank daily, they made the move to computerized records, and the safe fell out of use. However, its door remained locked and it was as impenetrable as ever. She’d decided only to let Diane know they were storing the boxes from Max’s family in here. With the safe always locked, no one would notice otherwise. While she trusted her employees completely, she didn’t want some of the younger staff to gossip randomly.
She dusted her hands off and turned around to find Max leaning against the table. His hands were curled on the edge of the table, his shoulders rolled forward and his eyes staring at the floor. A thread of tension ran through his features, which were shadowed in the dim light.
“Well, that’s the last box,” she said.
He lifted his head, his eyes meeting hers, weariness reflected within them. “Thanks for helping carry them in.”
“Of course. You didn’t think I’d just stand around while you did all the work, did you?” she asked with a wry grin, attempting to ease the tension emanating from him.
His mouth curled at one corner, his eyes lighting up. “Nah. Not really your style. That’s one of the things I always loved about you. You just throw yourself into whatever’s at hand.”
The ease with which he said he loved her hit her right in the solar plexus—a sharp blow to her very center. Her breath caught, and she felt unsteady for a moment. She’d become so accustomed to being on her own, to being the strong, independent one that it was strange to have someone care about her like this. Max encircled her in his presence the way he had so long ago—as if she was simply meant to be there. As she stood there staring at him, his gaze grew somber, his tawny amber eyes darkening. Without thinking she took a step, closing the distance between them. He lifted a hand and brushed a loose lock of hair off her forehead, tucking it behind her ear. Her breath became shallow and her pulse lunged.
“I’m sorry about this whole…” she paused, trying to sort out what she meant to say. “…this whole mess with your dad’s accident. When you told me about what your mom said, I guess it didn’t really sink in. Having someone break into your house like that scares me. It’s bad enough you had to lose your father that way.”
His hand threaded into her hair with his thumb moving in slow strokes on the side of her neck. She didn’t think he realized he was nearly driving her mad. She felt him shrug. “We don’t even know if it had anything to do with my dad.”
She glanced up at him. “What do you think?”
He closed his eyes for a second before opening them again. “I think it probably did. Let’s wait and see what Hank finds out, okay?”
She nodded quickly. Before she thought about what she was doing, she reached up and traced the dark slash of his brows with her fingertip, an effort to wipe the furrow away. The hand in her hair tightened, just barely, before his breath sucked in sharply. “Roxy,” he said, his voice taut with a hint of warning.
She suddenly didn’t care about trying to keep herself from caring so much, from wanting him with every fiber of her being. Light angled in through the partially open door, catching on his mahogany hair. “Max…” was her whispered reply.
She leaned up on her toes, sighing when she felt the muscled planes of his body against hers. His lips met hers halfway. The heated kisses she’d remembered from years gone by didn’t do justice to the way Max kissed now. He was far from the boy she once loved and was now a man whose kisses set her aflame inside and out. His kiss was raw, hot, and possessive. He claimed her mouth with bold strokes of his tongue. She strained against him, savoring the glide of his tongue against hers, the rough scrape of his stubble against her cheek when he tore his lips free.
He tugged at the short row of buttons at the top of her shirt, groaning against her skin when he managed to tug her shirt down far enough that her breasts plumped over. He laved her nipples through her black lace bra while she gripped his head, her fingers sinking into his hair. Her breath came in bursts and soft moans broke free as his hands traveled over her bottom. Arrows of heat shot through her when he slid a hand between her thighs. She was already drenched with need and frantic to have him inside of her. Now.
She yanked the fly to his jeans open, sighing when she curled her palm around his cock—hot and hard in the slide of her touch. He moved swiftly and spun her around, his hands moving roughly over the curve of her hips as he yanked her jeans down around her hips. Cool air hit her, a shiver racing over her bare skin. His palm slid up her back under her shirt and down again, the calloused surface sending jolts of heat through her. He kneed her thighs apart, her name coming out in a husky gasp. Her only reply was to arch her spine, pressing her hips back into the cradle of his, a soft moan falling at the feel of his hard shaft against her.
He shoved the thin silk out of the way and stroked his fingers roughly into her folds. She was so wet, all she wanted was to feel him inside of her hard and fast, and she wanted it now. A keening cry fell from her lips as his fingers delved into her.
“Max…now!” she managed to choke out.
He complied in seconds with his fingers sliding out and the head of his cock nudging at her entrance. He dragged it back and forth through her folds, driving her nearly beyond her sanity, until she arched and pressed back toward him. He slid inside in a swift surge, and she almost came right then. He held still, seated all the way inside of her, before he began to move. He rocked slowly against her, the glide and pull of each stroke tightening the pleasure building inside. One of his hands gripped her hip tightly while the other rested at the bottom of her spine, anchoring her into every roll of his hips. Tremors started to ripple through her until she felt like she was hurtling toward a precipice, need driving her. Another deep surge into her channel and she let loose inside, pleasure raying through her in a hot burst. A keening cry echoed in the tiny space.
Max went rigid against her, her name coming out with a guttural groan. He held still for a long moment. Her knees were weak. If she hadn’t been gripping the table and had him holding her hip in his strong grip, she’d have fallen. Awareness slowly filtered in. She faintly heard the sound of the hallway to the back opening and closing, the distant hum of voices in the deli reaching her.
He eased his grip on her, giving her hip a soft squeeze before he moved back slowly. She started to turn around, but he pulled her jeans back up over her hips, his practical touch almost a caress. She straightened the rest of her clothes and turned to find him buttoning his jeans. He lifted his head, his eyes slamming into hers. Caught in his gaze, her heart hammered away. Every moment with him, and she fell deeper and deeper into that place she thought she’d left behind. With him, everything felt so right and so easy as long as she didn’t think. She stood there, caught in the maelstrom of emotion storming through her. He simply stepped to her and ran a hand through her hair, his palm curling around her nape.
“Were we still going to have dinner?” he asked, his tone light.
Tears pricked at her eyes, and she idly straightened the edge of his denim jacket. She swallowed and took a breath, trying to wrangle her emotions under control. Another breath, and the tightness eased inside. “We should. I’m starving.”
“Let’s go,” he said softly.
They stepped out of the safe, and Roxanne turned to lock it behind them. With his hand gripping hers, she tugged him toward the back door, not quite ready to face anyone else at the moment.
13
Roxanne slid a tray into the oven and closed it, quickly tossing the oven mitt on the counter beside her and turning around. “Fifteen minutes, and we’ll see how they turn out,” she said.
Phoebe sat on a stool by the stainless steel table in the deli kitchen and grinned, lifting her wineglass in a mock toast. “You know they’ll be awesome. Everything you make is good.”
Roxanne stepped to the table beside her and tugged another stool over. “Most of the time things turn out, but I modified the filling you use and added pine nuts,” she said, referring to the small puff pastries Phoebe had made a few weeks ago.
“You modify everything,” Phoebe countered with a chuckle.
They were having their weekly dinner at Roxanne’s this evening. Chloe and Shana were on the other side of the table, looking at photos of Shana’s daughter on her phone, while Lily had stepped to the corner to take a call about a computer server problem at one of the businesses she contracted with. When Roxanne hosted dinners, they usually ate in the deli kitchen, primarily because she cooked so much throughout the day, the actual kitchen in the private quarters upstairs was rarely used.
Roxanne snagged her glass of wine and took a swallow. “What’s new at the hospital?” she asked. Phoebe was a nurse at the hospital, along with Shana.
Phoebe shrugged. “Not much. We’re never bored, that’s for sure. This week was the start of the constant parade of food for the holidays. I swear, every time I turn around there’re cookies and fudge everywhere. Speaking of the holidays, are you inviting Max to Thanksgiving dinner here? It’s just a few days away.”
Roxanne had carried on her family’s tradition of hosting a large dinner for locals. Phoebe’s question was entirely expected, and Roxanne had already been obsessing about it. If she went with her silly, weak heart, the answer was easy. All she wanted was to be with Max all the time, so of course she’d invite him. Yet, the small part of her heart that she’d boxed away after he left was still occasionally protesting. If she’d learned anything about herself since his return, it was that she’d be devastated anew if things didn’t work out with him. That terrified her, so she found herself ruminating over how she could bolster herself and carve out some space inside her heart. Somehow, everything was moving so quickly with him. The level of intimacy had surpassed any memories of what they’d once had, which made her feel restless and edgy if she stopped to think.
Her pause in answering Phoebe was long enough that Phoebe spoke again. “Okay, so you’re totally freaking out about this.”
Roxanne whipped her head up to find Phoebe’s warm brown eyes on her. Roxanne shrugged and sighed. “Maybe so. What should I do?”
“Invite him for the dinner,” Phoebe said matter-of-factly.
“That sounds so simple.”
“Roxanne, it’s obvious Max means as much to you now as he did back then. I totally get why you might be struggling to come to terms with that after the way things ended last time. But, he’s made it more than clear he’s not going anywhere. Plus, even if you’re not sure about the long run with him yet, you’ll beat yourself up if you make him have Thanksgiving all alone. He doesn’t have any family left here. Back when we were growing up, his family always came here.”
Roxanne stared at her for a long moment, pondering Phoebe’s words. Part of her was plain annoyed to be getting advice. She didn’t appreciate the emotional whirlwind Max had brought into her world and chafed against how vulnerable it made her feel. Yet, her heart had some things to say. Her primal feelings for him ran so deep, it was hard to ignore the rumblings of her cat. She took a slow breath and mentally shook herself. “You’re right. I’ll definitely beat myself up if I don’t invite him for Thanksgiving. I can’t even stand the idea of him not being here.”
Lily’s voice came over her shoulder. “Oh good. I was afraid you weren’t going to invite him.”
Roxanne glanced over her shoulder to find Lily coming up behind her. Lily hooked her hand on the leg of another stool and pulled it beside Phoebe. She brushed her dark blonde hair off her shoulders and leaned forward to pour a glass of wine.
“You were?” Roxanne asked.
Lily took a sip of her wine and glanced over, her blue eyes holding a gleam as she nodded. “Uh huh. You’re stubborn sometimes. I’m with Phoebe though. No matter what happens in the long run, you’ll feel like crap if you don’t invite him. Half the town comes here for Thanksgiving.”
Roxanne rolled her eyes and grinned. “Fine. I was probably going to invite him anyway, but now it’s for sure.”
“So how are things with Max anyway?” Lily asked.
Roxanne fiddled with the pen holding her hair in place, one of her nervous habits. “I don’t know. Good, really good as long as I do
n’t think. It’s just happening so fast. I mean, less than a month ago, I thought I’d never see him again, and now he’s here and it’s like everything’s racing at me.”
“I think it only seems fast if you act like you two were never together before. I mean, now you understand what happened. It doesn’t change that it sucked for you, but at least it makes sense. Plus, if we were all judged forever on how we handled things when we were seventeen, well, most of us would be screwed,” Lily said with a shrug.
“So true,” Phoebe added with a grin.
“Give me some time to get used to this whole thing, okay? You two make it sound like it should be simple, but I’m still not sure we’ve even had enough time to figure out if this is something more than the fumes of our memories.”
The oven timer beeped at that moment, and Roxanne spun off her stool to check the pastries. She was relieved at the interruption and more relieved that conversation had moved onto something else when she came back to the table.
Max walked down Main Street through the lightly falling snow. It was Thanksgiving Day. The lights he’d helped hang on Roxanne’s Country Store glittered brightly through the wispy white morning. After their interlude in the safe, he’d seen Roxanne, but she held herself slightly at a distance. He hadn’t managed to spend another night with her. He sensed she was caught in her own doubts about them, and he was fighting himself to keep from pressuring her. The lion inside was nearly roaring its frustration because his feelings for her were so primal and ran so deep. Yet, he knew she was still adjusting to his return to Catamount and his drive to woo her back to the connection that bound them. While she worried he might be running along the tracks of nostalgia and memories, he knew beyond all doubt that what they had in their youth had held strong through absence and distance. He simply had to give her enough space to come to her own conclusions. He was prepared to push the issue, but not until he gave her time first. Roxy didn’t do well with pressure. Female shifters were naturally independent and strong, yet Roxy stood above most in those characteristics.
