Bad for Her

by Christi Barth

  Rafe wasn’t thrilled with the face-to-face lecture. But it did give him the chance to press on the issue that got them moved to Bandon in the first place. The one Delaney never mentioned. “Is the bastard still in the hospital?”

  “He’s . . . back in. A complication from his heart attack.”

  Flynn tapped his fingers on the table. “You sure he isn’t faking it to get a better bed than the Cook County Jail provides?”

  “He’s in the jail ward at the hospital. It’s not a cushy situation. Now stop worrying about McGinty. We’ve got eyes on him at all times. And we won’t let the bastard die before he gets eviscerated by the courts.”

  They could only hope. Rafe jumped back to the more immediate problem. “If the sheriff thinks we’re good guys—which would be bolstered by what we did tonight—why’d he drag you down here?”

  “He didn’t. Mateo knew that as soon as he inputted your names into the system on the police report, I’d get a ping. He gave me the heads-up so I wouldn’t panic. So I wouldn’t race down here.” She bared her teeth in more of a grimace than a smile. “But he doesn’t know the Maguire brothers like I do.”

  Thanks to Kellan’s relentless poking at the marshal, Rafe felt secure that they weren’t in danger of being exposed. Secure with their handler? Not so much. And if they were going to have any success here, he needed this spelled out.

  “Hang on, Marshal. Do you really think we did the wrong thing tonight? That we should’ve let a harmless little old lady have her shop vandalized by bullies?”

  Two quick swipes of her hands had her hair behind her ears. Her lips firmed. Thinned. One hand reached for the gun belt missing from her waist tonight. Delaney tip-tapped the length of the room before whirling around to brace both arms on the table.

  “No. Damn it, you did the right thing twice over. You ‘acted’ like model citizens. And the fact that you even felt the desire to do so means I wasn’t crazy in giving you one last chance. Deep down, I believe you’re good guys at heart. I always have. So thank you for helping.”

  He respected that she didn’t keep fighting with them on principle alone. Rafe thought he’d toss her a bone. That way the trip down here—and the dinner with the undoubtedly boring sheriff—wouldn’t be a total loss. “You have no idea how good we are. I signed all three of us up for the community service you suggested.”

  Flynn’s voice was grim. “You did what?”

  “Not a fan of you making decisions about my life.” Kellan swung his head side to side, slowly. “The last one you made has turned out for crap.”

  In contrast, Delaney beamed at him. Right now, she was the only one who mattered. He’d deal with his brothers later. When he wasn’t doing his damndest to make a good impression on the one person responsible for keeping them alive. “That’s excellent, Rafe. You’re truly making strides to fit in here and connect. Even if you did go a bit overboard tonight. What are you doing?”

  Oh, she’d fucking love this. “Ever heard of the world-famous Cranberry and Cheese Festival?”

  Chapter 12

  Mollie never got a long lunch break. Oh, it was marked off in her schedule. But most days the string of patients was too long to ignore without feeling guilt over enjoying a sandwich. Her patients came first. They were her priority.

  Except today.

  Rafe had done a drive-by on her at the hospital. Two could play that game. She’d stop by the garage. Unzip what, in her fantasy, were grease-stained blue coveralls, and give him a blow job that would roll his eyes back in his sockets.

  Then she’d leave. With the upper hand. Over him, and over her emotions. Then she’d call Karen and Elena to see if she could talk them into a celebratory happy hour.

  It was a solid, well thought-out plan that probably wouldn’t even take up the extra time she’d blocked out.

  Today’s priority was proving herself right. Proving that she knew herself better than her friends did. Proving that this fling with Rafe came with no strings and no emotions. It was all she wanted. All she could handle. And, for the record, all she asked for from him.

  When she ordered a hamburger, that’s what she got. Not a slab of prime rib with a side of crab cakes. When she paid for a five-minute spin in the massage chair at the mall, that’s all she wanted. Not to be stripped down, oiled up, and rubbed for an hour by two hot hunks.

  Okay, maybe Mollie wouldn’t say no to that.

  But she and Rafe went into this thing with guidelines. Eyes wide open. Both of them on the same page. A page that her friends, no matter how well-meaning and concerned, had zero license to try and edit.

  The triple-time flutter in her heart at seeing him last night, all rugged and confident and leaning against that cop car like a super hero, meant nothing. It was gratitude, plain and simple. Gratitude that he’d stopped the thieves in time so that Gran was able to recover all of her merchandise. Gratitude that he and his brothers unexpectedly came back with sheets of plywood, hammers, and nails to board up the broken windows. Rafe had said that stopping the burglars was only half the job. Keeping anyone else from getting in was the other half.

  He didn’t have to do that. She’d already been on the phone with her gran to get the name of her preferred handyman. They would’ve taken care of it themselves.

  But it was so nice that Rafe did it, instead. So thoughtful. So responsible. So . . . sexy watching him flex his muscles.

  As long as it stayed at gratitude, she’d be safe. Anything else was too dangerous. Too much of a risk that her heart would get involved . . . and then shattered when he inevitably left her.

  But gratitude and respect and a serious case of the hots and genuine like and—

  Mollie slammed on the brakes. On her plan and on the car.

  She was still blocks from the garage, but there was Rafe, right in front of her. Right in front. As in crouched at the edge of the street with a measuring tape in his big hands. In gray coveralls with the top unzipped to show a plain white tee stretched to its limits against his perfectly bulging pecs. She pulled over onto the tiny strip of grass that edged along the water and parked.

  The measuring tape made a metallic whizzing snap as it reeled back into the case. By the time she approached, Rafe was on his feet, with a huge smile to greet her.

  Nope. No emotion whatsoever. No flutters in her heart. No butterflies in her stomach.

  None that she’d cop to, anyway.

  “Do your patients know you’re playing hooky, Doc?”

  “Does your boss know that you are?” Mollie lobbed back.

  Rafe tapped something into his phone, then slid it and the tape into his pocket. “She knows I’m out here. But it’s a legit errand. I’m on official business.”

  “Is Frieda trolling the streets for business now? Having you listen to cars that drive by to see if they’ve got knocks or clunks?”

  “Stick to the day job, Doc. You’re lousy at business development.” Rafe snaked out an arm to pull her close. “Better yet, stick to me.” His other hand tugged at her ponytail. Just enough to tip her head back so that when his lips came down, Mollie was at the perfect tilt to receive them.

  Heat burst through her. No slow and steady sizzle. No polite but short kiss in deference to being on the edge of a busy street. Rafe devoured her like they hadn’t touched in days. When, in fact, he’d kissed her good night after boarding up the windows just last night. Mollie matched him in hunger. In selfishly taking everything she could from his questing tongue and firm lips and pressing against every rock-hard muscle possible.

  They fit together . . . well. Perfectly. His mouth gave the flawless amount of just-this-side-of-bruising pressure. Even his low hum of appreciation? Lust? Whatever it was, the throaty buzz ratcheted up her need. It sounded dark and dangerous. It was a sound that really only belonged let out of its cage when Rafe was naked and they were on tousled sheets.

  He set her back on her feet before Mollie realized that he’d lifted her off the ground. Whew. At least he hadn’t actu
ally made the earth move.

  As he brushed gravel off the legs of her scrubs that must’ve transferred from his coveralls, Rafe said, “Nice to see you, Doc.”

  “Same goes for me. But you’re crawling around the street why exactly?”

  “I’m measuring the width of it for maximum float size for the festival. Bigger is always better,” he said with a wink and a sexy smirk, “but we want a wide margin on either side. To accommodate for little kids running in the street, emergency personnel needing to get by. Looks like this town has been eyeballing it on a wing and a prayer in past years. Time to get safety conscious.”

  Mollie was more than a little surprised. Yes, he’d signed up to help with the parade, but he’d made it clear at the C of C lunch that he thought the festival was stupid, nutty, and way too full of cranberries.

  “As a health care professional, that’s an improvement I am definitely behind. I’m in no hurry to treat float-squished toes.”

  “I figure my new blood brings a fresh perspective. It’s easy to get in a rut and always do things the same way.”

  Mollie squinted up at him, haloed by the bright—for once—noon sun. “Why are you going to such lengths to improve the parade when you’ve got nothing good to say about the tart red star of our festival?”

  Rafe crossed his arms over his broad chest. All the teasing glints slipped from his eyes. The little smile crinkles deepened into something far more serious. “Because when I commit to something, I give it one hundred percent.”

  “Even if you don’t believe in it? Or hate it?”

  “You bet. I gave my word. That matters.”

  Some people gave lip service to that phrase. But Mollie had no doubt that Rafe meant it. Stood behind it. Geez, it gave her goose bumps, the way he said it like a solemn vow. People with that kind of integrity were rare in this world.

  “Does that mean you’ve decided to commit to Bandon?”

  His blue eyes widened. She grinned back and mouthed gotcha. Then he laughed. “The truth? I’m not sure—but I’m sure as hell trying.”

  “Well, your newfound hero status should make it easier to integrate with all the locals.”

  “Stop it with that bullshit.” Rafe turned sideways. Rubbed at the back of his neck. Shifted his weight between his feet. Really, he could not have looked more physically uncomfortable if he’d been trying not to pee. “People who shouted that out last night were just caught up in the moment. When fists fly, you want to be on the side of the guy who’s still standing.”

  A modest man with biceps like steel and blue eyes that could melt you with a look. Rafe Maguire had to be too good to be true.

  “That’s not why it happened at all. And the compliments are still flying. You’re the talk of the town. Everyone’s calling you and your brother a hero. I heard it in Gran’s coffeeshop this morning. Then over at the bakery. All the nurses and the patients have your name on their lips.”

  His look of astonishment also surprised her. No, it was more confusing. Who would turn down an accolade like that? Especially when he knew good and well that he’d earned it?

  Then his expression hardened. She could crack a hazelnut on the line of his jaw.

  “Well, they need to quit it. We don’t want to be the latest gossip. No attention, in fact, would be great. We prefer to keep a low profile.”

  Now it was Mollie’s turn to laugh. Really hard. Doubled-over hard. He was about to learn a very important lesson about living in a small town. “Impossible. There is no such thing as a low profile in a town of three thousand people.”

  “Why not?”

  Dismissing it with a joke was one way to go. But Mollie got the impression that Rafe genuinely did not know what he’d gotten himself into moving from whichever big city—and why didn’t she know which one?—to Bandon. And it was an important lesson to learn. One that she was uniquely qualified to share.

  Taking his hand, she drew him over to the strip of grass that ended in a protective curve around the edge of the marina. Nobody else needed to hear their conversation. Walking slowly, she said, “Do you remember I didn’t want to be with you when I found out that you live here?”

  “Yeah. I won’t ever forget it.” Rafe snorted. “The weakest attempt at a brush-off ever.”

  It wasn’t . . . for crying out loud. It wasn’t personal. It wasn’t a brush-off. It was her preference. No different than saying she wouldn’t date a smoker. Or a man who didn’t share her deep and abiding love for the creamy goodness of fettuccine alfredo. A preference that Rafe overcame with his sexy swagger, anyway.

  “We’ll argue about that some other time. My point was that I didn’t want you learning all about me from the people in town. I didn’t want them to give you a one-dimensional impression of me.”

  Voice low and hot against her ear, Rafe said, “I like the three-dimensional version. A lot.” He butted her hip with his own, to press the point. Or just because it was fun. Mollie didn’t really care why. She just cared that the feel of his hip bone driving into hers made her imagine them doing that again soon—but naked . . .

  Good thing a seagull squawked and got Mollie’s brain back on track. Otherwise she’d have been down the rabbit hole of sexual fantasy for who knew how long.

  His compliment made it that much easier to share her story. Her story, and thus one that should only be told by her. Not by any and every other random person in Bandon who had ever had even a minor role in it . . . as they were wont to do.

  She angled to look up at Rafe. “You haven’t asked about my parents.”

  “Was I supposed to?” One dark eyebrow lazily winged upward. “You didn’t ask about mine.”

  “Touché.” Oh, but it was fun when he challenged her. Why didn’t more men realize that women craved a back-and-forth, a give-and-take? That should be the headline to a Cosmo article: Get Your Girlfriend Between the Sheets by Keeping Her on Her Toes. “But since I live with my grandmother, it’s kind of an obvious oddity, hanging out there waiting to be picked off in a conversation.”

  “I figure if and when you want to tell me something, you will. If you want to keep things close to your vest, that’s your call.”

  Wow. Rafe was so willing to let her keep her secrets. That was definitely a rarity here in Bandon. “Thanks, but I want you to know. I think it’ll make this transition to small-town life easier for you.”

  “Okay.” He stroked a hand from the crown of her head down her ponytail to end in a caress that rubbed his rough callouses across the nape of her neck. To be precise, it ended in an explosion of goose bumps from one shoulder to the other. “Are your parents exiled Russian royalty?”

  Mollie giggled. “Aaaand the award for most random guess of the year goes to . . . Rafe Maguire.”

  “Just trying to make you smile before we get into something that I’m sensing is pretty heavy.”

  There he went being thoughtful again. Which, once again, just increased her urge to strip off his pants and jump on top of him. “It is and it isn’t. I never knew my father. When my mom told him she was pregnant, he left. Never came back. His name isn’t even on my birth certificate.”

  His thumb moved into a back-and-forth caress right at the curve of her neck. It was gentle, tender even. But Rafe’s voice was as harsh as broken glass. “He doesn’t deserve it. People who abandon their kids are scum. Doesn’t matter if it was his choice or not. When you have a kid, you have to be all in.”

  “I happen to agree. It’s why I’ve never looked for him. If he doesn’t want anything to do with me, I’m just fine without him. Better than fine, actually.”

  “Very fine.”

  “Thank you.” Mollie switched sides, to put the stiff ocean breeze at her back. It had a tendency to make her eyes water and she didn’t want Rafe to think this story was making her cry. She hadn’t cried over her parents—or lack thereof—in at least, oh, a decade. Except for her med school graduation when there’d been a moment of welling up, wondering if they’d be proud of her . . .
“Anyway, my mom tried to raise me. But she was only nineteen when I was born. That’s a hard age to give up everything for a screaming, pooping bundle of full-time responsibility. She tried for three years.”

  “Do or do not.” Rafe scrunched up his face in what she assumed was an approximation of Yoda’s wrinkles. “There is no try.”

  “Nice. I like a man who can work a Star Wars quote into a confessional. Can you do it with, oh, I don’t know, The Godfather, too?”

  “No. Not at all. I don’t watch movies about the mob.”

  His response was both fast and weirdly abrupt. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to judge you based on your taste in movies. Not when I drop everything to watch the Hallmark Channel Christmas cheese-fests.”

  Rafe half spun away, shielding his face as if warding off any potential romantic movie contagion. “Thank God it’s only May.”

  She wouldn’t mention their whole Christmas in July run of movies. Because this . . . fling with Rafe would be over by then. Probably. Definitely. Wasn’t there a time limit on how long a fling could last?

  No matter how fun and casual, if it kept going for a measurable amount of time, it would turn into something. Something more concrete. There was an expiration date on their casual fun—Mollie just didn’t know when it was. And didn’t want to think about it right now.

  “So my mom fell for a new guy. A rich one. She followed him back east. Didn’t take me with her, as a three-year-old tends to impinge on romantic moments. They married. Started their own family. One that didn’t have room for me.”

  “She left you behind?” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder back toward the town. “Like a beat-up dresser that didn’t fit the décor in the new house?”

  For all of his thoughtfulness, she also appreciated that Rafe didn’t beat around the bush. Although Mollie wasn’t loving the analogy. “Essentially, yes.”

  “That’s unforgivable. It’s fucking illegal. Child abandonment.”