by D. L. Roan
“Shit!” Connor grabbed the unfinished sandwich from her hand, tossing it and the soda into the grass. Before she could protest, she found herself flat on her back, Connor hovering above her. He reached over and grabbed the edge of the blanket then pulled it over them, wrapping them up like a burrito.
“Con, what are you doing?”
“Fucking drones!”
“Drones?”
He cursed as the faint buzzing sound grew louder. “The paparazzi. They have no boundaries,” he explained, his forehead resting on her shoulder. “Fucking bloodsuckers follow us everywhere, like giant electronic mosquitos.”
He shifted onto his elbows, caging her beneath him from head to toe. Her heart raced. Her stomach flipped, sending a warm ache flooding through her pelvis. Connor McLendon’s large and very hard body pressed her against the unforgiving ground, their panted breaths mingling in the stifling heat under the blanket.
“I was afraid this would happen,” he breathed against her neck, intensifying the throbbing between her thighs. “The second those sharks smell one ounce of blood in the water, they start circling. Car’s given them a goddamn blood bank lately. I’m sorry. I know this is the last thing you needed.”
No. Not really. The last thing she expected, maybe, but need was on a fast track to the top of the list.
“What do we do?” she asked when the faint sound of the drone’s propellers grew closer. “It sounds like it’s right above us.”
Connor lifted his head. Breezy’s lungs seized. His parted lips were so close she could smell the scent of orange soda on his breath. His gaze locked with hers, then traveled to her lips. She felt his heartbeat against her ribcage, mirroring the racing gallop of her own as his tongue made a slow, seductive pass across his bottom lip.
She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. The buzz of the drone faded into the background of a myriad of other sounds: her pounding pulse against her eardrums, the sound of Connor’s rapid breaths, the crinkle of the grass beneath her. The heat of the sun was dwarfed by the sizzle that crackled inside their red cocoon as his gaze drifted back to hers. He watched her with his emerald eyes as he lowered his head and her lips met his.
A faint whimper squeaked from her throat when Connor traced her bottom lip with the tip of his tongue. The fiery burn in her lungs morphed into an overwhelming ache. Her eyelids fell closed, her lips parted and her entire body arched against his when his tongue slid slowly past her lips and pushed against hers.
The taste of orange soda and peanut butter and Connor McLendon exploded on her tongue. It was the sweetest, most beautiful taste. A heavy breath rushed from her lungs when he deepened the kiss. He tangled his hands in her hair, cradling her head in a possessive grip that sent her blood scorching through her veins. He rolled his hips against hers, moving over her in a seductive rhythm that her body craved and emulated without effort or control.
She moved her hands aimlessly over his back, clenching the back of his shirt when he moved again, the hard length of his erection pressing against just the right spot. She cried out, the heaviness of the ache too much to bear and remain silent. He stilled above her, but his kiss continued. Time and time again, his tongue tangled with hers, unhurried, uninhibited, as if he were memorizing the very taste of her soul. She was completely lost, floating in some euphoric dream, when he finally lifted his head.
She opened her eyes to find him staring down at her, smiling a satisfied grin. Her breathing slowed, an odd mixture of caution and disbelief filling the void left behind by the fleeting moment of unanticipated passion. She’d just kissed Connor McLendon!
“Wow,” Connor said. He caressed circles along her temples with his thumbs, his eyes still focused on hers. “Life is full of exciting surprises.”
An astonished chuckle bubbled up from the pit of her still fluttering stomach. She could feel the evidence of his excitement between them, hard and thick against her hip. It sure is, she thought, reaching up to pluck a piece of straw from his hair.
A loud boom crackled through the air, jolting them both from the intimate moment. Connor flipped back the blanket in time for her to see the drone, hovering beyond his truck, explode into fragments before it crashed to the ground after a second shot was fired.
Connor bolted to his feet, shielding his eyes from the sun as he peered down the hill at the truck barreling toward them. “Come on.” He reached for Breezy’s hand and pulled her to her feet. “It’s Daniel and Uncle Cade.”
They raced down the hill to where the drone had crashed, the pick-up truck pulling alongside them a moment after the first pieces came into view. “Good shot, Uncle Cade,” Connor said, slapping the driver’s door as they passed.
He released her hand and sprinted ahead, picking up a piece of the wreckage. The truck stopped and the two older men stepped out, the driver holding a shotgun in his hand as he joined Connor. Breezy recognized the passenger as Gabby’s father, the one who’d held her together as she’d cried for Ford.
“Breezy Youngblood,” the man said with a welcoming smile. She assumed, since Connor had called the other man Cade, that this one must be Daniel. “I heard you were visiting.”
Her heart swelled with remembered gratitude. “It’s good to see you again,” she said as Daniel pulled her into his arms, hugging her as if he’d known her forever instead of only one tragic moment. Everything from that night came rushing back in a tidal wave of emotions.
“You’re all grown up,” Daniel said, giving her shoulders a friendly squeeze. “It looks good on you.”
“Thank you,” she said politely, unable to contain her bashful smile. “I didn’t get the chance that night, but...I always wished I’d thanked you for what you did for me. It meant a lot.”
Daniel waved off her thanks. “Not necessary, girl. You come find me anytime you need a hug.”
“They’re piling up on the road,” Cade said as her and Daniel walked closer.
“What’s piling up?” she asked, bending down to pick up a jagged piece of plastic.
“Reporters,” Daniel explained. “They launched the drone from the Grunion’s fields.”
“Bastards,” Connor cursed. “I’m surprised it took them this long to find us, though.”
“Car can’t reach Rod on his cellphone, so your mom sent us out to fetch you.” Cade gathered up the drone’s remains as he spoke.
“We gotta go,” Connor told her, taking her hand.
“I know you get a lot of publicity, but is it usually this bad?” she asked once they were back in the truck.
Connor propped his elbow on the door, massaging his temple as he sighed. “Living with the paparazzi is bad on any day, but after what happened the night of Papa Joe’s stroke, it’s ten times worse.” He looked over at her, his frustration evident in the harsh lines between his brows. “It was an accident, but a ton of press was there. It’s a PR nightmare. We’ve kind of been hiding out here, but it was only a matter of time before they found us.”
Understanding his agitation, she didn’t press him for more details. They rode the rest of the way back to his grandparents’ house in silence, but Connor snagged her hand before she could reach for the door handle and leap out of the truck.
“Breezy, wait.” Her skin tingled where his thumb caressed a tender circle on the underside of her wrist. “Whatever happened between us today, I want more of it.”
Her heartrate stuttered. How many times had she imagined him saying that, or something of the like? Only, in her dreams, Carson was there, too. Never once in her life had she imagined one without the other. Carson had made it abundantly clear that her dream would remain exactly that—a dream.
She tried to pull her hand from his, but his grip firmed around her wrist. “Con, the timing...I should be focusing on Joe.”
“I’m just asking that you give this a chance to play out, see where it goes.”
She closed her eyes, the cold air inside the cab rushing into her lungs with the deep breath she took. What was God doing to
her? How could she say yes, when she knew her heart would always want what he was asking for, with his brother, too? No matter how screwed up Carson was, or how much he hated her, a part of her had always loved him and always would.
She glanced up at Connor, prepared to tell him no. But how could she? Images and sensations of their kiss flooded her mind and mangled her resolve into an unrecognizable heap. “I’ll think about it.”
Chapter Fourteen
Carson paced Gran’s kitchen, the aroma of the apple pies baking in the oven swirling in his wake with every pass. Where the hell were they? The shit-storm that was his life was crashing down around them and Connor was somewhere making out with the lightning bolt that had started it all.
“How damn long does it take to drive out to the upper forty and back?” he asked the empty room with an exasperated sigh.
“The same amount of time it always has.”
Carson turned at the sound of Papa Joe’s voice. “Hey.” He rushed to Joe’s side as his Papa Jake helped him across the kitchen. “Let me help,” he said, offering his arm for Joe to use for leverage.
“Nonsense.” Joe waived him off as he shuffled across the floor, his leg still limp from the effects of the stroke. “I’ll tell you like I told your Gran. I won’t overdo it, but I’m not accepting anybody’s help until I need it. And I don’t need two grown men helping me walk to the kitchen table. I’ll do as much as I can, when I can. Like Breezy ordered.”
“Of course she did,” Car grumbled under his breath.
Joe made it to the table where Papa Jake hovered until he was safely seated. “I’m going to go help Hazel change the sheets,” Jake said, casting Carson a dubious glance as he left the room.
“I detect an attitude,” Joe said as he reached down and repositioned his lame leg under the table.
Of course there was an attitude. Did nobody else see the damn elephant in the room? And good god, he’d almost kissed her! She had to go. “I know you like her, Papa Joe, but after everything that’s happened—”
“After what’s happened?” Joe asked, fingering the silverware lying beside his empty plate. “Did I miss something?”
“You know what I’m talking about.” Carson sighed, resuming his pacing rhythm before an alarming thought struck him. He stopped in his tracks and turned to face Joe. “You do still remember the night of the accident, right?”
“I lost the use of my leg and hand, not my brain,” Joe grumbled. “Not all of it, anyway. Of course I remember. What I can’t figure out is why you’re still chewin’ on that bad patch of grass. Is there something you need to get off your chest?”
“No.” Maybe. “I just...” He reached up to squeeze some of the tension from his neck. “It’s not only that night. It’s everything.”
Joe shook his head. “You’re as thick-headed as your dad,” he said with a disapproving grunt.
Carson gave his Papa a cynical snort. “Which one would that be?”
Joe cast him an incredulous glance. “You should stop worrying about my mental health and start looking after your own. You know damn well I’m talking about Grey. That boy of mine may have been as hard headed as one of your Gran’s goats, but at least he had the sense to know he was the one with the problem.”
“I know I’m the one who screwed up, Papa Joe, but I’m trying to make it right again. I...god, why does everything have to be so damn hard?”
“You don’t know what hard is, boy,” Joe scolded.
Carson felt a sudden stab of guilt as he watched Papa Joe struggle to hold the fork he’d managed to pick up from the table, cringing when it slipped from his grip and tumbled to the floor. “Shit!” Joe cursed as he glanced below the table to see where the fork had landed. “Hard is when you can’t even feed your damn self!”
“Let me get it.”
“No!” he insisted when Carson bent to pick up the fork. His jaw set in determination, Joe ignored the fallen utensil and began again with another, testing and exercising his mobility.
“You’re right, Papa,” Carson conceded. “I just thought—”
“You haven’t thought about a damn thing except yourself since you ran off and joined the circus, or whatever the hell it is you do,” Joe rumbled. “And that’s not the stroke talkin’ either. It’s past time somebody reminded you of where you come from.”
Carson stared wide-eyed and speechless at Joe as he continued his chastising rant.
“You know what that girl lost, besides her only brother? Nothin’,” Joe said before he could think to answer. “She had nothing else to lose. That pa of hers was a no good drunk who spent every dime his son dropped out of school to earn, on booze and gambling, and beat the living hell out of that boy every chance he got. And don’t get me started on the shit those Grunion folks of theirs put them through. They have the nerve to call themselves a family? Didn’t even have the decency to give the boy a proper burial, for God’s sake!”
The blood drained from Carson’s face as he sank into the chair across from Joe. Breezy’s words came rushing back to him, cutting him from the inside out. I’d be happy to put these on Ford’s grave, if I knew where he was buried.
He’d had no idea. The times she’d joined his family at the creek, she’d never once said anything about their father drinking, or why Ford had dropped out of school. He’d assumed he was an angry deadbeat, like his dad. Could that have been why Ford still called Charlotte after they’d broken up? She often tutored middle-school kids at the library after school a few days a week. Could she have been tutoring him? Oh hell. Shame curled in his stomach and made itself comfortable beside the ever-present guilt. If that was true then he’d been wrong about Breezy, too.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me this?”
“You haven’t been here to tell.” Joe dropped the fork on his empty plate, his hand trembling as he spoke. “I’m proud of you and your brother, don’t get me wrong, but I’ve seen that video.” Carson shrank back, the idea of Papa Joe seeing him like that hitting him with the force of a bullet. “I know my boys raised you better than that. It’s time somebody set you straight on what family’s about around here, before you end up no better than them bastards across the fence. You hear me?”
“Yes, sir.” He nodded, swallowing the lump that had rocketed to the top of his throat. He reached out and laid his hand over Joe’s still trembling one. “Papa, please calm down. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You want to fix something? Stop worrying about me and start with that girl out there who worships the ground you and Connor walk on.”
His brows pinched together, his head snapping back in confusion. “Breezy?” That was crazy. She couldn’t give a rat’s ass about him, or Connor. She’d said as much that morning. Hell, she must hate him at this point.
“Of course, Breezy,” Joe scoffed. “Christ, boy, do I have to spell it out for you?”
Someone needed to. Carson shrugged, at a loss as to what the old man was thinking.
“Lord help me. You and that twin of yours are as blind as a couple of bats on a beach at high noon when it comes to women.”
Carson would have laughed had he not been numb with shock. The entire conversation had come out of left field.
“That girl followed the two of you around like an infatuated puppy for a year and you’re tellin’ me you didn’t notice? Sometimes I wonder if any of you kids are my offspring.”
“She was just a kid,” Carson murmured as he raced through his memories, counting how many times he’d caught her lurking in the shadows, watching them. That day in the woods hadn’t been the first, but he’d thought she’d been spying on them. “Son of a bitch,” he sighed as the truth hit him like an avalanche, a proud smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. She’d had a crush on them. That’s why she’d followed them around.
“Car?” Connor called out from the front door. A few seconds later he and Breezy appeared in the kitchen doorway.
Carson glanced down at their joined hands, then up to Bree
zy. Her eyes darted away and he felt it like a kick in the gut. He was a bastard.
He took note of the way his brother hovered around her, protecting her, claiming her. Despite how wrong he might—or might not—have been about her, he had to get her out of there before history repeated itself. Given the way his body reacted to her despite his reservations, he didn’t have a chance in hell of keeping his hands off her if she stayed. He couldn’t do that to Connor again.
“Did Rod get back to you?” Connor asked, releasing Breezy’s hand to go to the cupboard, grab two glasses and fill them with water, handing one to her.
“No,” Carson said, his gaze still on Breezy as she sipped the water. He watched her throat move up and down, her pretty bowed lips wrapped over the rim of the glass. His groin tightened in response. Fuck, he sure as hell never noticed that before.
“Damn,” Connor cursed and scrubbed his palm over his jaw. “Those vultures know we’re here, and you and I both know they aren’t leaving without a statement.”
“Go ahead and tell em’,” Papa Joe spoke up.
“Tell them what?” his Gran asked. Papa Jake and Papa Nate filed into the kitchen behind her. Gran went straight to the oven and pulled out the first of several bubbling-hot pies.
“I won’t do that,” Carson said. They’d managed to keep the news of Papa’s stroke from the media, giving him and Connor a place to hide out for a few weeks until Rod could come up with a plan. The break had been nice, but he’d be dammed if he’d use Papa Joe to cover his ass. “This is my mess,” he said with a reluctant sigh. “I’ll get rid of them.”
“You’re not going anywhere near that mob out there,” Connor warned. “I’ll handle them.”
“Did you two stop by the B&B and get Breezy’s things while you were out?” Hazel asked, cutting Carson off.
“No, Gran,” Connor said, wiping a finger across the counter to gather some of the gooey pie filling that had bubbled out and dripped over the pie plate. “Ouch, that’s hot!” he said and popped his finger into his mouth. “We went for a picnic instead of driving into town. Didn’t want to take the chance,” he turned and winked at Breezy, “even with the circus waiting for us down at the end of the road, I can’t say it was a wasted effort.”
