Rest, My Love (Triple R Book 2)
Page 1
EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ®
www.evernightpublishing.com
Copyright© 2016 Jules Dixon
ISBN: 978-1-77339-043-7
Cover Artist: Jay Aheer
Editor: Lisa Petrocelli
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
To all of our military men and women who return with both good and bad reminders of their service, I send you some of my strength to face whatever challenges and aftershocks you may encounter. To those who have faced or are facing breast cancer, I wish you all the best for your future. Pink and camo, forever.
Hooah!
With love, Jules
REST, MY LOVE
Triple R, 2
Jules Dixon
Copyright © 2016
Chapter One
Singer and interior designer Sage Whiteman and ex-military, new security business owner Rahl Vendetti have been coworkers at Two Fine Irishmen for six months. Sage has desired Rahl from the first night that she experienced his brooding exterior, but he just looks right through her. One night, Sage gets inebriated while working, and the manager directs Rahl to take Sage to her home. Rahl helps her into bed, and she says what he thinks are lyrics, but in reality she is professing her feelings. He goes home, and searches the Internet for what she said, only to find nothing.
Sage’s coworker, Oliver Aston, hits on her. She claims she has a boyfriend, Rahl, but she’s a bad liar. The following weekend at Two Fine bar, she sings a couple of love songs. Rahl approaches her, questioning if she was singing to someone. She denies it, but again, she’s not a good liar, but she witnesses a smile, something he doesn’t ever do.
Rahl invites her over to brew beer. After meeting his family, Sage decides to tell him who she really sings to every weekend. They kiss, and Rahl asks her out on a date. The next morning, Rahl learns that his baby sister and one of his roommates are involved romantically, and he goes all out “pounding soldier,” his PTSD coming to the forefront.
The following Tuesday, Sage is waiting for him to get to her apartment. She lets him into the building, opens the door, and it’s Oliver, not Rahl. Rahl shows up and sends Oliver on his way. Rahl’s been having sleeping problems and quickly falls asleep on the sofa. During the night while he’s having a night terror she comforts him, agreeing to be his “angel” to save him. They sleep in each other’s arms but Sage fears what she has to offer him, which includes a shortened life span due to medical issues, and a mastectomy from past breast cancer which has left her without nipples.
She comes over for dinner the next night after going to Run-Ride-Rock Gym. Sage sings “Happy Birthday” to Rahl. His younger sister surprises them, and Sage ends up falling and hitting her head. Rahl takes care of her, and after a night of sleeping in the same bed, the tension and attraction are too much, and they have sex. She sees his physical scar where he took a bullet, but Sage won’t let him see her breasts.
Not feeling well, she admits to him that she has to see an oncologist. She shares her scars with him and how she can’t have children, and he shares his anxiety with her about losing friends over in Afghanistan. She forces him away with her fear, but the next night at Two Fine bar he professes that he’s in love with her. During the night his PTSD takes hold and he ends up hurting his best friend, terrifying Sage with his rage. He commits to therapy, and Sage finds courage to tell Rahl’s younger sister about her medical past.
Sage finds a stain in her underwear, imagining the worst. She sees a gynecologist for blood work and exam. All seems to be going well, but Rahl is distant after Sage tells him that she wishes she could have children now that she’s found him. Rahl comes upon Sage and Oliver in an innocent friend-to-friend embrace at Two Fine Irishmen, and his PTSD makes him rage. Sage breaks up with him, forcing him to examine himself.
Sage learns she’s pregnant but won’t tell Rahl just yet. On a follow-up trip for an ultrasound, the OB/GYN tells Sage she’s carrying triplets. Rahl continues therapy, releasing years of war and resentment. Rahl returns to her, she tells him the news, and he saves her heart. In the epilogue, he takes her to the home he’s built for them and their children. She asks if they can use the names of his friends who died for the middle names of their babies. He agrees and they make love in their new home.
Chapter One
Rahl
I approached the other male bartender. “Hey, Jude. I remember you saying you’re Presley’s personal trainer. We have a date on Tuesday at Brix. What do you know about her?”
“Nothing.” He growled the word while walking to the other side of the bar and pretended to be busy at the three-compartment sink washing pint glasses.
“That’s right. I forgot, you’re a douche bag.” I slammed a bottle of rum back into its place in the liquor storage.
“You’d know, Vendetti,” Jude said over his shoulder. “You’re the king of bad attitude.”
“Mind your own business, Saylor.” Several expletives exited under my breath to finish our conversation.
I didn’t expect him to give me Presley’s measurements, but something to start the conversation would’ve been doing a bro a solid. I didn’t need his help anyway. She accepted my invitation, and I was ready to get to know her better. Kind of got the feeling he was trying to send me a signal last night that he was interested in her, but I didn’t give a shit in the desert what he was interested in. Presley was beautiful and even drunk she seemed to have her life together, not that I necessarily had mine together, but maybe she and I would hit it off and enjoy a nice life together. Or even just a night or two. I would be fine with whatever, and if it pissed off Jude Saylor, it was even better.
“Rahl, I need another lemon-drop shot. A random aisle dancer knocked over the last one.”
One of our best waitresses at Two Fine Irishmen, Sage, rolled her pale green eyes at me while she wiped dripping liquid from her black serving tray into the garbage.
“Here you go.” I filled another shot glass with citron vodka and went back to filling pints for the ten people who made the seats at the hand-carved wood bar their home station for the night.
Out of the corner of my eye I witnessed Sage down the shot herself. Odd. She normally doesn’t drink … at all.
The same band from last night droned to the blue, red, and green flashing dance lights. To a bartender, cover bands acted as white noise. Tonight’s music was no different.
Jude filled another lemon-drop shot for Sage, and as before when he turned his back, she downed that one, too.
What’s the deal?
Sage Whiteman was a pretty girl and pretty talented, too. I was a fan of hers ever since fellow waitress, Tia Cotes, convinced her to get up on the stage and she sang an acoustic version of “Falling For You” by Colbie Caillat. If angels sang like that, I’d like to think my buddies who lost their lives in that hell on Earth were truly in a better place.
After watching the wavy brown-haired, slender girl down several shots over the course of the night, I was concerned. Between her absence of waitressing effort and Jude’s ample and abysmal attitude, I worked harder than I should’ve had to. I wasn’t complaining. Just maybe they both needed a swift kick in the ass. But because I’d experienced a bad night or two in the recent past, I kept my boot-covered feet to myself.
“Hey, Sam.” I tried to avert his attention.
Two Fine was known as one of the best bars in west Omaha, Nebraska. They had reasonably priced drinks, and no cover charge to hear popular bands. It was a hot spot for the up-and-coming twenty-somethings and the settled thirty- and forty-somethings, plus a few older generations came out for dancing or a night of people-watching.
Sam, manager and pseudo-security, turned and pointed with a flick of his head to avoid a glance back at the unfolding car crash of a human. “Hey, Rahl. What’s up with Sage?”
“Don’t know. She must’ve had a bad week. I’ll give her a ride home.”
“Why don’t you two leave now? Jude and Tanny can cover the last hour, plus she’s not gonna be vertical for much longer. Let her know the next time this happens—she’s gone-gone.”
“Will do, boss.”
I rounded the bar, told Tia what was happening, and grabbed Sage around the waist. I carried the wiggling and giggling mess to the back room to collect her personal items. She stumbled forward after getting her purse from the locker, and I caught her before she slammed to her knees. When her body went limp against mine, there were two options—drag her or carry her. Carry it was. I moved both of us out the back door to my truck. Thank God I didn’t drive the Harley here.
I balanced her next to the passenger door.
“Sanks for the ride, Rahls,” she slurred out, her hand slapping my chest and trailing over to my bicep to give a squeeze. “Nice.” She giggled.
I smirked at her inebriated admiration. “No problem, Whiteman. In you go.” I lifted her rubbery body into the cab and clicked her into the seat belt before I rounded the truck to my side.
She leaned against the passenger door and squirmed in the seat until she was facing me cross-legged and the seat belt slashed across her perky chest. I’d been to her apartment a couple of times to pick her up for work when her crappy car was having issues, so there was no need for drunk-girl GPS.
“Tells me, Rahl, why do guys only sees whazz on the outzide of a woman?”
Before I could think of a respectable and short answer, ‘cause she’s not going to remember anyway, she waved the question off.
“No, don’t tell me, I’d probabsly not like the answers.” Her hair fell forward, covering her face.
“Sage, what’s up?”
She sighed. “I don’t know. You tells me. Even handsome ogres should find someones, but what if happiness sis in fronts of those amazings puppy-dog eyes?”
That made no sense.
She huffed and her hands slapped her legs. “Dogs aren’t blind, right? They have excellent … no, wait! That’s cats!” She giggled an angelic coo.
My heart stuttered a beat, and I coughed away the unexpected reaction.
She rolled those huge eyes. “Cats have excellent eyesights. Maybe I just need a good romp in the hay?” She leaned forward and whispered, “You know, to get laid.”
I chuckled. “Yeah, I do know. Kind of there myself.”
“Oh, I bets you get plenty of gurrrls. But, me, who wants someone who’s a jigsaw puzzle?” Tears ran down her cheeks in slow, silver, moonlit streams.
Jigsaw puzzle?
“Okay, we’re here. Let me help you out.” I walked to her side, unbuckled and guided her next to me as she cried into her hands. Balancing her against the building with one hand, I used the other to find her keys in her purse to open the security door. “Top floor, right?”
“Penthouse,” she sobbed.
I chuckled. I doubted she lived in a penthouse on a waitress’s salary, but this place wasn’t shabby. Inside the door, my army training came in handy. I fireman-carried her up the two flights of stairs while her petite and round ass stared me in the face.
At the top of the stairs a tiny elderly woman peeked her head out of her door at the end of the hall. It closed quickly. The security chain slid before the door reopened as I passed to get to apartment 3B.
“Are you going to rape her?” the silver-haired woman with a somber voice inquired through the small crack.
“No, ma’am. I’m going to put her inside her apartment and then leave.”
“I wrote down your license plate, so you do anything to that wonderful girl, and you’ll hear from the police.”
The old coot is spitfire. Good to know someone’s looking out for Sage.
“My name is Rahl Vendetti, write it down. I own a security firm called Vendetti Security, Inc. I promise, ma’am, she’s never been safer than in my arms.”
The words were true, and I enjoyed having her right here. It was like I was rescuing her, but from what I didn’t know.
The woman closed and opened her door. “Pity such a beautiful girl is all alone. She needs someone.”
I turned around while opening Sage’s door and wanted to ask what she meant, but the lady stepped back into her apartment, her hand grasping the edge of her door.
“Good night, Mr. Vendetti.”
“Good night, Mrs...”
Her hand displayed an indentation on her ring finger where there used to be a wedding ring.
“Celina Pinkey.”
“Good night, Mrs. Pinkey.”
Inside the apartment, I released Sage to her feet and she wobbled like one of those Hawaiian dashboard luau figures.
“Do you need help getting—”
She’d already crashed her ass to the floor.
“Guess I’ll help you to your bedroom.”
I scooped the still-crying woman from the floor and transported her down the hallway and into the bedroom.
She inhaled broken breaths through her sniffles. “My life’s zuch a mess. Nobody shoulda had to choose. Decisions are for adults, not eighteens-year-olds.”
After I placed her on the bed, she tried to kick her shoes off. Unsuccessfully. I peeled off the shoes and her socks.
“My jamas are ins the second drawer.” She pointed.
I shook my head to dispute her demand that I was going to be the one to get her pajamas, but it was obvious she couldn’t see my nonverbal response, or if she could there were probably two or more of me in her vision.
I barely knew this woman and rifling through her underwear drawer seemed a little too … invasive. And stimulating.
I cursed a short response and resigned to my fate. At the wooden dresser, I grabbed a matching pair of flannel shorts and a t-shirt.
When I turned around, Sage lay on her bed in only her underwear. How she got undressed so fast was pretty impressive considering her completely sloshed state. Her cream lace bra supported her mouthwateringly plump breasts with a floral tattoo peeking out and trailing up her shoulder. I averted my eyes, but in the soft glow of the night-light plugged in next to her bed, she was radiant, buttery, and her tanned skin demanded to be viewed.
I swallowed hard and shook my head to focus.
Get her into bed and leave. Period.
“Okay, here.” I threw the pajamas on the bed, but she raised her arms like she wanted to be dressed.
Great, I get to dress a half-naked drunken woman. That’s not torture.
“Fine.” I slid the t-shirt over her head and arms, trying to avoid touching any skin. My thumbs inadvertently skimmed her soft, bronzy stomach, and goose bumps rose on her skin. “Lift your leg, please?”
She calmed from her hysterical crying and lifted one foot, then the other. I pulled her shorts up as she lifted her ass. The elastic waistband snapped against her waist. I caught myself on either side of her body, caging her in while leaning over her.
“Sorry, Sage.”
Our bodies were inches from each other. The smell of lemon on her breath was sweet and tangy and tempting.
“No worries, Rahl.” Her hands floated down my arms as the muscles tensed and released. “Thank you fors your help.”
I straightened and blew out a lon
g breath.
After crawling up the bed and under the covers, she wiped her tears and rolled to her side to face me.
“I’ll be right back.” I found the kitchen and after realizing the overhead light didn’t work, I used my phone as a flashlight to locate and fill a glass with water. Then I searched the cabinets of the bathroom until I found some pain relievers.
I stopped at her bedroom door as she blinked heavy inebriated eyelids that set off a chain reaction in my body. If she weren’t completely trashed and not in control of her reactions, I’d believe there was a flash of desire in those pale moss-shaded orbs.
“Here, take these. Can’t promise you won’t have a hangover tomorrow, but maybe they will help lessen the pain.”
She sat up and swallowed the two pills with a gulp of water. Tucking her hands under her cheek on the pillow, she looked like someone half her age lying in the bed.
Innocent. And beautiful. Time to leave, Vendetti.
“Sage, I’m gonna go.”
She rolled over, her back to me. Her voice wavered. “When you realize the rest of the world is only noise and I’m the song that can save you, I’ll be waiting to sing for you … and only you. Good night, Rahl Vendetti.”
Save you? Waiting to sing, only for you? Are those song lyrics?
I stared at the curve of her lithe body, watching her breathing deepen as the alcohol in her system took over. I questioned leaving her alone. She didn’t have more than a shot an hour, but it was her slight weight that made her so vulnerable. There was no doubt she would wake up with a nasty reminder not to do the foolish move again, but maybe that would be a good thing. She was still young. She’d learn.
On my walk down the hall I heard a squeaking noise. In the living room, I caught movement in a glass container sitting on top of a short bookcase. Inside, a tiny furry body ran on a circular wheel.