by Elle James
Roxi had just returned from taking a tub of dirty dishes to the kitchen when she spotted Decker taking a seat at the bar.
Her heart skipped several beats, and she fought the urge to check her hair. She smoothed her hands over her denim cutoffs and slipped behind the bar, pasting a subdued smile on her face when she wanted to grin like an idiot. Inside, she could be as giddy as a teenager with a crush. On the outside, she didn’t want to appear too eager. Hell, she hadn’t done a lot of dating, and what did she know about what men liked or didn’t like?
Awkward and suddenly insecure, her hands shook. She grabbed a rag and wiped it across the counter to where he sat. “Hi.”
“Hey.”
The dead air stretched between them until Roxi found her tongue. “What can I get you?” She held up her hand. “Let me guess—scotch on the rocks?”
He nodded, a real smile tilting his lips upward. “Thanks.”
She bent to grab the bottle of scotch from beneath the counter, dropped ice into a tumbler and poured. “Have you eaten? Do you want a menu?” Grabbing the rag, she wiped the counter again, trying to keep busy so that he didn’t notice how nervous she was.
“I had a sandwich at my place.” He reached out and placed his hand over hers. “Roxi, I didn’t come for dinner. I wanted to know if you were walking Otis after work tonight and, assuming you were, if you’d mind company.”
Her stomach erupted in a flock of butterflies all fluttering at once. “Um. Yes. I usually walk Otis before I call it a night.” Her cheeks flooded with heat and, low in her core, her insides tightened. “And yes, I would like company.”
He nodded. “Good.”
“Hey, sweetheart,” one of the men watching the game called out. “Can we get a refill on this pitcher?” He held up the empty pitcher.
Roxi tamped down her irritation at being called sweetheart and answered, “Sure.” She hated leaving Decker at the bar but hurried to fill the order and take another. The football teams were playing a close game and the noise in the bar increased as the men downed their fifth pitcher of beer and the game headed into the fourth quarter.
Roxi waited on a couple having a late dinner of buffalo wings and fries, refilling their drinks before she moved to the big table of game watchers to clean up the empty mugs and plates of snacks.
As she turned with the tray of dirty dishes and trash, the man who’d called her sweetheart, grabbed her around the middle and swung her into his lap. The tray she’d been holding crashed to the floor, the contents scattering, the heavy glass mugs hitting hard. One shattered, shooting broken shards of glass across the room.
Anger shot through Roxi and she struggled to stand. “Sir, let go of me.”
“Ah, sweetheart, I just want a little kiss. Just one.” He wrapped his hands in her hair and pulled hard, forcing her to lie back on his lap.
The surprise of the assault had caught her off guard, and the added pressure to lie across his lap made her heart race and the first stirrings of panic to flare. That helpless feeling she’d had when she’d been thirteen washed over her. Once again, she was a young teen attacked by a man three times her weight and forced into a back alley. She drew in a deep breath, reminding herself she wasn’t that kid, and said as calmly as she could, “Let go of me.”
The man leaned over her, his breath smelling of the many mugs of beer he’d guzzled over the past few hours. “Just one kiss, baby. That’s all. Just one.”
“Come on Len, let the girl go,” one of his buddies said.
Her fists clenched, Roxi turned her face to avoid the bastard’s lips connecting with hers. If he didn’t let go of her at the count of three, she’d slam the heel of her palm into his nose. One…two…
Before Roxi could swing her arm, Len lurched to his feet, releasing his hold on her hair.
Roxi rolled to the floor and scrambled to her feet, braced for a fight.
Len stumbled backward, his chair crashing to the floor. He was propelled across the room by a stern-faced Decker, marching him to the exit.
Frank hurried ahead and flung the door open.
Decker charged through, holding the man’s arm jacked up between his shoulder blades.
“I’ll have you up on charges!” Len shouted between cries of pain. “I know my rights.”
“Yeah, and you gave them up when you violated Roxi’s,” Decker said, his voice low and angry.
Roxi followed the crowd gathered around the two men on the front porch of the Gone Fishin’ Bar & Grill.
Decker gave the man a shove and let go of his arm.
Len staggered toward the steps leading off the porch.
“Show’s over,” Decker called out and turned toward the remaining crowd gathered around to watch.
Instead of descending the stairs, Len spun and charged at Decker like a linebacker going after a quarterback.
“Decker, look out!” Roxi cried.
He’d only turned halfway around when Len hit him in the side with his shoulder, slamming him up against the wall. But Decker recovered sooner than Len and jammed his elbow into his attacker’s gut.
Len doubled over and staggered backward.
Frank grabbed Len’s arms from behind and walked him down the steps. “You’re not welcome here anymore. Don’t come back.” Then he shoved Len, sending him flying into the sand.
His buddies laughed. One of them went down to help him to his feet.
Len slapped his friend’s hands away and lurched to his feet, swaying. “I’ll go wherever I damn well please.”
Roxi stood at the top of the stairs, her feet spread wide, her hands fisted on her hips. “That’s fine, as long as you don’t come back to the Gone Fishin’ Bar & Grill.”
DECKER STOOD TALL at her side. Amazed at how strong and proud she was in the face of such an attack.
“Come on, Len,” his friend said. “It’s not worth it.”
“That’s right, get him out of here before I call the police,” Frank warned.
“I’m leaving, but I’m not through with you,” Len pointed his finger at Decker.
Decker stepped down one step, balling his fists. “Yes. You are.”
“We’re leaving,” Len’s friend said, dragging at the man’s arm.
Decker remained on the step, ready to take on any other dumbass who dared to manhandle Roxi. Once the crowd cleared, he turned to Roxi. “Are you okay?”
Her stiff shoulders sagged, and she nodded. “I hate when men think a woman is nothing more than a piece of meat.”
Frank put an arm around her and hugged her. “You sure you’re all right?”
She smiled at Frank and then at Decker. “I am, thanks to you two.”
Frank shook his head. “Nah, I saw you. If Decker hadn’t stepped in when he did, you’d have floored that jerk with a fist to the nose.” His chest puffed out. “You make me proud.”
“I should have done it sooner, I just didn’t relish cleaning blood off the floor.”
“You don’t worry about the blood. Just do what you have to.” Frank hugged her again “Come on. I think we can close early tonight. Especially after all the excitement.”
Roxi entered the bar and went to work cleaning up for the night. If her hands shook, she scrubbed harder, swept faster and hurried through the chores.
Decker stacked chairs on the tabletops and mopped after Roxi swept. Frank handled the kitchen, and within thirty minutes they had the bar cleaned and the lights turned off. The three of them exited through the rear entrance.
“Well, goodnight, Roxi.” Frank kissed her cheek and hugged her briefly. “You sure you’re going to be all right tonight? Want me to camp out on your couch?”
Roxi shook her head. “I’ll be fine. I have Otis.”
Frank nodded. “Then good night. And remember, you’re not that thirteen-year-old kid anymore. You could have taken that dumbass with one hand tied behind your back.”
She nodded. “I know.”
Frank climbed into his pickup and drove away to his co
ttage two miles down the road.
Which left Roxi with Decker. The shakes she’d experienced in the aftermath of the earlier attack started all over again. Only this time, she trembled in anticipation of the good things that might come of the rest of the night—if she played her cards right and didn’t freeze at the man’s touch. Decker made her feel incredibly sexy, desirable and…normal. In Roxi’s books, normal was nirvana.
Come on, nirvana.
Chapter 7
Decker stayed by Roxi’s side, the anger simmering beneath the surface. How he wished he’d driven a fist into Len’s face for taking advantage of Roxi. The panic in her eyes had twisted at his heart. And what had Frank meant when he’d said she wasn’t a helpless thirteen-year-old anymore? Roxi had told him she’d moved to Cape Cod when she was thirteen.
Which led Decker to believe something traumatic had occurred to precipitate her mother and Frank moving her to the coastal town. Had she been attacked?
His fist clenched even tighter thinking about the drunk pawing at her. Having been traumatized as a teen could still be affecting Roxi even today, and would explain why she ran away from him that afternoon when he’d kissed her.
His chest tightened, and his gut clenched. Damn. He could have frightened her as much as the drunk. “Look, Roxi. I’ll understand if you don’t feel comfortable walking with me tonight.”
She turned to him, her brows furrowed. “Are you too tired?”
“No, not at all. It’s just that after what happened earlier, you might not want to be with me, or any man for that matter.”
Roxi scowled. “Otis needs a walk, and I won’t let a drunk scare me so much that I refuse to come out of my house.”
“Yeah, but walking after dark has its own set of dangers. If that nutcase decides to seek revenge on you because you wounded his pride, Frank and I might not be around to help you.”
She lifted her chin. “I didn’t need your help tonight. I could have taken care of myself, and I was about to do just that when you interfered.”
He bowed slightly, a smile tugging at his lips. “My apologies.”
“You laugh, but I’ve taken several self-defense lessons. I know how to immobilize a man.” She curled her fingers and shot the heel of her palm toward Decker’s nose stopping short of connecting. “A swift palm slammed upward on the nose drives the cartilage into the attacker’s skull and could kill him. At the least, it hurts a great deal and causes the attacker’s eyes to tear profusely, giving the victim a chance to escape.”
Decker held up his hands in surrender. “Okay. I’m a believer. I hope you never have to use that technique on me.” He glanced toward the top of the stairs. “I think I hear Otis scratching up there. We should rescue him before he destroys the door.”
Roxi’s shoulders relaxed, and she led the way up to her apartment. “I’m sorry if I come across too strong. I’m just passionate about defending myself. I don’t ever want to be in a position of complete helplessness again.” She shoved her key into the lock and let Otis out.
The dog bounded out before Decker could ask Roxi what she meant by “again.” He wanted to know what caused her to be so guarded and why she was so determined to defend herself. Maybe with time, she’d open up and let him in. For now, it was enough to walk with her along the beach. Enough for him.
For the entire day, he hadn’t thought about Allison, the wreck, or how he wished he’d gone with her when she’d died. Today he felt as though he might still be there for a reason. Whether it was to pull the jerk off Roxi in the Gone Fishin’ bar or to walk along the beach with her, he didn’t know. But something had changed in him from the moment they’d both beaten the riptide.
Roxi locked her apartment door and followed Otis down the steps. “Otis. Heel.”
The German shepherd spun and returned to her side walking along, barely containing his energy. When they stepped out on the open beach, Roxi said. “Okay, Otis. You can play.”
The dog shot ahead. The wind had picked up even more, whipping Roxi’s hair about her head. A shiver shook her body, and she stepped closer to Decker.
“The national weather channel is tracking Hurricane Charlie. The outer edges of the storm are expected to skim the D.C. area tonight,” Decker said, just to be talking.
Roxi slipped her hand into his and leaned against his shoulder. “If it doesn’t hit the coast soon, it might make it up to us. We could get the call to evacuate tomorrow. In which case, Frank and I will be busy boarding the windows and packing up.”
Decker liked how soft her fingers were inside his. At the same time, her hands and arms were strong, well-toned with muscles from working in the bar, carrying heavy trays and pushing a broom and a mop night after night. “I guess I’ll be locking the storm shutters on the cottage, and I promised my neighbor I’d look after his cottage as well if the storm worsened.”
“The traffic will back up on the road out. If they call for evacuation, you’ll want to get out as early as possible.” She tossed her hair out of her face and stumbled in the sand.
“Thanks.” He squeezed her fingers, gently, let go and slipped his arm around her waist, amused at their talk of weather when there was so much more going on between them. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Decker liked how she fit against him and was glad she didn’t pull away.
They passed the pier and kept walking until they arrived at Decker’s cottage.
“You don’t have to walk me back to my apartment.” Roxi stepped away from him. “Otis and I get along pretty well on our own.”
He grinned. “I admire independent women. But would you consider coming in for a drink? I have beer in the refrigerator.” His grin twisted wryly. “Though I’d think working in a bar, you’d be tired of just about every alcoholic drink.”
Roxi smiled. “Ice water would be nice.”
“I can do that.” He waved her toward the stairs leading up to his cottage perched on thick treated posts, buried deep in the ground, made to weather the strongest storms and tides as high as twelve feet.
Otis slipped past them on their way up and sprawled on the decking at the top.
“I’d suggest sitting out on the deck, but the wind is really getting wicked. However, the living area overlooks the beach.” Decker opened the door and held it for her to enter, followed by Otis.
“No, Otis!” Roxi grabbed his collar. “You weren’t invited.”
“He’s welcome to come in.”
Roxi released the dog’s collar and stepped into the cottage.
Decker was surprised that having Roxi in his cottage didn’t inspire the usual twinge of guilt he’d felt every time he considered seeing other women after Allison’s death. Perhaps being at Cape Cod had helped him to let go. He’d never brought Allison here. This place held no shared memories. The cottage, the beach, the quaint towns were a clean slate for new memories. He found himself eager to create new ones with Roxi—a woman as different from Allison as he could imagine.
With Roxi in his cottage, all manners of possibilities raced through his head, and his heartbeat thudded against his chest. He felt like a teen on his first date and feared he’d make a mistake and scare her away. Fighting back the urge to take her into his arms and hold her, Decker strode past her to the kitchen and filled two wine glasses with ice and water. When he returned to the living area, Roxi stood at the huge picture windows, staring out at the night sky.
“It’s hard to believe there’s a hurricane off the coast when the moon is shining bright where we are.” She accepted the wine glass and smiled. “Nice touch.”
“It’s our first drink together.” He touched the rim of his glass to hers. “To getting to know each other.”
She tilted her glass, sipped the water and then set it on a nearby end table. With a determined look, she took his glass from his hand, set it beside hers and then stood in front of him. “I’ve not been in many relationships, so I might get this all wrong…but…the kiss yesterday…” She bit her lip, her cheeks flooding with color
.
Decker waited. Roxi’s confession and confusion were endearing. He wanted anything that happened to be something she wanted and initiated. If she had been sexually assaulted as a young teen, she might still have issues with men.
With every ounce of control he could muster, he held back and let her come to him. At the same time, he understood the weight of her decision if she chose to initiate something with him. It meant Decker had to be open for more than a one-night-stand. He had to let go of the grief and guilt he’d harbored since Allison’s death.
His gut clenched for a moment as his insides churned. Allison was gone. What they’d had as husband and wife had been good. They’d been happy.
It was quite possible the beautiful woman in front of him had as many hang-ups as he did. Was Decker the right person for her? Would he get cold feet and back out if she wanted more than a kiss? She deserved someone whole, committed, sure of his intentions and gentle.
But, damn it, he couldn’t turn away. Not when she stared at him with big cornflower blue eyes, so wide, trusting and—holy shit—sexy!
THE MOMENT DECKER yanked Len out of his seat and threw him out the door of the Gone Fishin’ Bar & Grill, Roxi knew that John Decker was the kind of guy she could trust. He would never do anything to hurt her. Most likely, he’d leap into any fray to protect her. As she stood in front of him, her pulse beat a wicked tattoo against her eardrums, pushing red-hot blood through her veins to pool low in her belly. A delicious ache built at the juncture of her thighs.
“What was I saying?” Her heart beat so fast, it made her a little dizzy. Or was it the ultra-male scent of Decker and his aftershave? Roxi swayed toward him, her hands reaching out to settle against his rock-hard chest.
“Something about a kiss.” He leaned closer.
“Oh.” The heat in her cheeks deepened. “Yes…uh…did I say thank you for saving me from that jerk tonight?”
Decker raised his hands to rest on her arms. He didn’t hold her tight, giving her every opportunity to shrug free. “Not actually.” Brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, he chuckled. “I gathered you were a little disappointed you didn’t get to use your ninja talents on the guy.”
