Too Wilde to Tame (Wilde Security)

by Tonya Burrows

  His gaze lifted briefly to hers again, then dropped to her lips. He was going to kiss her. For a heart-stopping moment, she was sure of it. And, God help her, she wanted it, despite all the perfectly logical reasons she shouldn’t.

  But logic had never been her strong suit.

  Jet wiggled his big body between them and jumped up onto Greer, tongue lolling out of his mouth.

  Greer sucked in a sharp breath and backed a step away. He looked at dog. “Jet, right?”

  Natalie crushed down the surge of disappointment at the interruption and plastered on a smile. “Yep,” she said a little too cheerfully and grabbed Jet’s collar to pull him down. “You’ll have to forgive him. He failed puppy school. He’s not all that bright.”

  “He doesn’t look like he’s all that fast, either. Why Jet?”

  “I originally named him Jeté…uh, it’s a kind of leap in ballet,” she added, realizing that was probably a term he wasn’t familiar with.

  The corner of his mouth kicked up in something that might have been a smile. “I know what a jeté is.”

  That took her by surprise. “You do?”

  “My mother was a dancer. She made me and my brothers take lessons right up until she died.”

  That info clicked together several pieces of a puzzle she hadn’t even been aware she was working on inside her head. She held up a hand. “Wait. Was her name Meredith LaGrange?”

  “That was her maiden name,” Greer confirmed.

  “But it was the name she used when she danced?”

  “Yes.” His brow creased. “You knew her?”

  “Knew of her.” She’d read an article in a children’s dance magazine recently about Meredith LaGrange. It was all about how she had encouraged her five sons to dance. There had even been photos, and now she wondered if any had included Greer. She’d have to find it again. “Your mom was good, and the ballet community is a small one. Her death hit everyone hard, especially my teacher. Larissa Schafer?”

  He shook his head.

  “Oh,” she said, surprised he didn’t recognize the name. Then again, Greer had only been a teenager at the time, and kids that age often didn’t realize their parents were more than just parents. She sure hadn’t appreciated that hers were real people with lives outside of their children until she reached adulthood. Greer probably didn’t know most of his parents’ friends. “Well, Larissa was devastated. She dedicated that year’s recital to your mom. She owns the dance studio I teach at. I’m sure she’d love to meet you.”

  He appeared distinctly uncomfortable at the idea, which only cemented in her mind that it needed to happen. She doubted his parents would want this revenge rampage he was so intent on—what good parent would? Maybe reminding him of them, making him see them as something other than victims, would change his mind about seeking justice. Bonus: it’d keep her nephew from becoming his next target. If Andy had truly been paid to mug him, that was.

  God, she wished she could talk to the kid, but he wasn’t answering his phone, and her parents—bless their naive hearts—thought he was staying with her for the weekend.

  “How long for the pizza?” Greer asked abruptly, yanking her attention away from thoughts about her nephew and back to the conversation.

  She smiled a little. He was definitely trying to change the subject. All the more reason she should engineer a meeting between him and Larissa. “They said twenty minutes, but that’s what they always say. My guess, it’ll be more like forty.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Mind if I lie down until it gets here?”

  “No, go ahead.” She watched him cross to the couch and sit down, one hand pressed to his side. He didn’t make any sound to indicate he was in pain, but he didn’t have to. His face had lost color as they stood around making awkward conversation, and sweat now glistened on his forehead.

  “Here.” She went into the kitchen to fill a glass with water, then found the bottles of medicine Jesse had left. One was a painkiller. The other, an antibiotic. She shook out the proper dosage of each and took them over to Greer with the water. “These will help.”

  He eyed the pile of pills in her palm like she was offering him anthrax. “I’m okay.”

  “Jesse said you’d say that. He also said if you refused to take them, I should call and he’d come force feed them to you.”

  Greer grunted.

  She waggled her hand, making the pills clink against each other. “Yeah, you act all big and tough now, soldier, but the shape you’re in, I’m thinking that hot cowboy could hogtie you without much effort.”

  He scowled and grabbed the pills. “Jesse’s not hot.”

  Leave it to the male ego to focus in on that after everything else she’d said. “Of course you wouldn’t think so. But Raffi and I agree, the cowboy look works for him. So do his Wranglers.”

  “He’s no good for you. Sucks at relationships. Been divorced three times.”

  “Who said anything about a relationship?” She grinned as Greer’s scowl darkened. “Besides, if he’s divorced, that means he’s unattached. Sounds like a perfect partner for some horizontal dancing.”

  He grumbled and tossed back the pills, then snatched the glass of water out of her hand. “Find a different partner.”

  A little thrill danced through her heart, and she drew a deep breath to calm it. Even though he was trying to brush it off, he didn’t like the thought of her with Jesse. Was he jealous? She should take pity on him and tell him he had no reason to be—yes, Jesse was hot, but he wasn’t the neighbor she’d been crushing on for the last couple of years.

  Except…

  She kind of liked that he was jealous. Nice to know she wasn’t the only one to notice the tug of attraction between them.

  Feeling bold, she asked, “A different partner? Like you?”

  Well, he didn’t spit out his water. That was a good sign. He swallowed the gulp he’d taken, then slowly lowered the glass to the coffee table. For a handful of seconds, he watched her, considering. Lust burned in his gaze as he swept it down her body. He was clearly playing out that horizontal dance in his mind’s eye.

  But then he shook his head. “You’re too complicated.”

  She planted her hands on her hips and glowered down at him. “Oh?” She laced the word with as much sarcasm as she could fit into one syllable. “I’m complicated?” She wasn’t the one with Syrian money in her wallet, a bullet hole in her side, and a connection with a top-secret military base. “How’s that?”

  If he was at all fazed by her snark, he didn’t show it. “You’re too close.”

  “To what?” she demanded.

  “To me.” With that, he lay down on the couch—or, really, it was more of a collapse—and gave her his back.

  She wasn’t at all ready to drop the conversation, but as she moved around the couch to face him again, she realized arguing was a moot point. He wasn’t feeling well, so even if she did convince him they’d rock together in bed, they weren’t going to try it tonight. She braced her arms on the back of the couch and gazed down at him. “Greer.”

  He didn’t open his eyes, but she could tell he wasn’t asleep. He tensed ever so slightly at the sound of his name.

  “You’re only getting a pass because you’re not well, but we’re not done with this conversation. I think you might need some complicated closeness in your life.”

  His eyes finally opened. “No,” he said so softly she wasn’t even sure he’d spoken at first. “That is the very last thing I need.”

  Chapter Eight

  The house was exactly as Greer remembered it. The oversize floral slipcover on the sofa and matching valances over the window, family pictures hanging on the sponge-painted wall of the stairway, the huge, boxy TV he and his brothers used to fight over after school. Everything untouched, a frozen tableau of his childhood. He smiled a little as he ran his hand over the faded ink marks on the wall between the living room and dining room. His mother used to line him a
nd his brothers up once a year and commemorate their growth spurts with a marker. He’d always been the tallest. He still was, though the twins weren’t very far behind him.

  He could hear the twins. Not as the men they were now, but as little boys. And he saw them, like ghosts, chasing each other down the stairs, through the living room, the dining room, the kitchen, and circling back. One of them was probably going to fall and get hurt—because one of them was always falling and getting hurt.

  “Twins! Knock it off!” He put the bite of command in his voice, and the two little boys skidded to a stop in front of him.

  “He started it,” they said at the same time, each pointing at the other. Then Cam stuck his tongue out at Vaughn and they were off again.

  “Wait for me!” Ten-year-old Jude came bolting down the stairs and chased after them. That kid was always bouncing off the walls and tonight, he was especially hyper after sneaking over to a friend’s house and bingeing on candy as they watched Jurassic Park.

  No, Greer thought. Christ, no. Not this night. Any night but this night.

  He watched a younger, ganglier Reece catch Jude by the back of his dinosaur pajamas. “You’re going to be in so much trouble when Mom and Dad get home.”

  Jude squirmed. “I didn’t do anything.”

  No. No, no, no, no.

  Greer knew he was dreaming and tried to open his eyes, wake up, but he couldn’t. He was trapped and silently panicked as his dream self moved across the living room to pull Reece and Jude apart. His body felt different, not quite as big, and his voice was younger, not quite as deep. “Reece, leave him alone. Go get the twins back in bed. Mom and Dad will never trust us to stay home alone again if we let them destroy the house.”

  Reece grumbled, but did as he was told and chased after the twins.

  “I didn’t do anything,” Jude said again, pouting.

  Greer crouched down in front of him. “Yeah, you did, little man. You snuck out and really scared Mom and Dad.” He hoped they came back soon so he could tell them Jude was safe. Mom had been worried sick for her youngest son when they left.

  “You sneak out all the time,” Jude pointed out.

  Greer winced. “That’s different. I’m older.” And not setting a very good example for his brothers, he realized.

  “So when I’m older, I can sneak out again?”

  “That’s…not how it works.”

  “Why not?”

  “Just…because.”

  “But why?”

  He pushed out a sigh and wracked his brain for a response, because Jude wasn’t going to let it drop until he got a satisfactory answer. “Because I’m oldest and the oldest always gets special privileges.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “Well, the youngest gets special privileges, too.”

  Jude perked up at that. “Like what?”

  “Well…uh, when the twins graduate high school and go to college, you’ll have the whole house to yourself. Just you, Mom, and Dad.”

  Jude’s face scrunched up as if he couldn’t comprehend it. “I get Mom and Dad all to myself?”

  “Yup. The rest of us will all be away at college.”

  “Huh. How old will I be?”

  “You’ll be seventeen. A senior in high school.”

  “How old will you be?”

  “I’ll be twenty-two.”

  “You’ll be old.”

  “Yeah, I will.”

  “How old will you be when I’m twenty-two?” Jude asked and Greer groaned inwardly. Once the questions started, they didn’t stop until you either fed the kid to shut him up or he fell asleep. And he definitely didn’t need any more sugar tonight, so the only other option was to bore him to sleep.

  “Do the math. I’m five years older than you, so what’s twenty-two plus five?” Greer asked.

  Jude didn’t have to think about it. He’d always been good with numbers. “Twenty-seven. You’ll be really old then, Greer. Almost as old as Dad.” The doorbell rang and Jude jumped. “Who’s that?”

  Reece reappeared in the archway between the living and dining room, the twins right behind him.

  “Is it Mom and Dad?” Vaughn asked.

  Reece rolled his eyes and pushed his slipping glasses up his nose. “They wouldn’t ring the doorbell, knucklehead.”

  “Then who is it?” Cam asked.

  Greer gave Jude a gentle shove toward Reece, then moved over to the door and peeked out the window. “It’s…the cops.”

  As soon as the words left his lips, he knew. Somehow, without even opening the door, he knew his parents were dead and Jude would never have his year alone with them.

  Suddenly, Greer had control of his body again. He was no longer his younger dream-self stuck in a time-loop. He was an adult, and he sure as fuck wasn’t going to open that door and ruin his brothers’ lives. He spun toward them, and they grew before his eyes. The house changed too, fire leaping up around them in licks of yellow and orange, blackening the walls, the ugly sofa, the family photos. The height chart peeled away, exposing the wall studs underneath. Fire leapt from Jude to Cam, then to Vaughn and Reece, but none of them moved to escape it. They just stood there, staring with hatred in their eyes as they burned.

  “You were wrong,” Jude said. It strangely wasn’t his adult voice, but still the voice of a ten-year-old. Fire crawled up his body and in the seconds before it engulfed him, he pointed an accusing finger. “This is your fault. We lost our home because of Syria. What you did. What you are. It’s. Your. Fault.”

  …

  Greer burst from sleep gasping like a man who had been held under water too long. It was a familiar dream, one he’d had many times before.

  And still, it got to him. Every. Fucking. Time.

  Rosy morning sunlight streamed through the sheer curtains over the bay window. Last thing he remembered was that awkward conversation with Natalie while waiting for the pizza. He’d taken those pills, stretched out on the couch, and had dropped into unconsciousness. By his estimation, he’d slept for well over twelve hours before the nightmares decided to torture him.

  That had to be a new record for him. Most nights, he was lucky to get more than three hours.

  Sitting up, he raked shaking hands over his face and through his hair. He locked his fingers around the back of his neck and breathed deep, forcing oxygen into his constricted lungs.

  He often dreamed of the night his parents were killed. Sometimes it was a painfully realistic blow-by-blow replay of the night’s events. Sometimes it was a horrific reimagining. Sometimes, like last night, it was a mix of both. But last night, the dream’s ending had been a new one. Never before had the house caught fire. He could only guess that came from seeing the burned-out ruins yesterday.

  “Greer?” Natalie’s voice floated across the apartment and settled over him like a soft blanket. Warm. Comforting.

  Complicated. So damn complicated.

  He looked toward her bedroom.

  She leaned in the doorway, backlit by the soft yellow light of a lamp. Like a halo. His angel.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” he managed. “I’m fine.” Which, he realized, was the truth. Despite the lingering adrenaline rush from the nightmare, he felt better than he had in days.

  “Are you sure?” She was wearing her shawl again. When she closed the distance between them, the fringe whispered against her legs. She propped a hip on the arm of the couch by his feet. “Because you didn’t sound fine a few minutes ago. You kept shouting ‘no’ over and over again.”

  Jesus, she’d heard him? “A dream,” he muttered.

  The corners of her mouth tilted into a frown. “It sounded like a bad one.”

  “It’s not the worst.” While dreaming of his parents was always emotionally traumatic, it wasn’t the sheer horror he faced in some of his other nightmares. But why did he tell her that?

  She was too close. The thought kept bouncing around in his head. Too damn close.

&nb
sp; Her frown deepened. “Do you talk to anyone about these nightmares?”

  “You mean a shrink? Hell no.”

  “Typical.” She huffed out a breath and slid down the couch’s arm to the cushion. “It might help, you know.”

  He snorted.

  “Well, if you won’t talk to a professional, you could…” She hesitated. “Talk to me.”

  And bring her in closer? Not a chance. He sent her a sidelong glance. “I thought you were a dancer.”

  “I was. Am,” she corrected. “But I also have a masters degree in psychology.”

  Okay, he hadn’t seen that coming. When he found out she was a dancer, he’d just assumed that was all she was. Like his mother and his high school girlfriend—dance had been their lives and neither of them had gone to college in the traditional sense. “You have a masters degree?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised.” Natalie picked at a loose thread on her shawl. “My dance career ended when I was only nineteen.”

  “That’s young.” At nineteen, barely out of high school himself, he’d been responsible for his four teenage brothers. He’d also had an anvil hanging over his head in the form of Bruce Chambers and the promise he’d made to keep his brothers together and safe.

  Natalie nodded. “I was very young and I didn’t have a back-up plan. Dance was all I ever wanted to do from the time I was four years old. I sacrificed so many of the normal childhood experiences—I was even homeschooled so I could spend more time at the studio. Then one wrong landing during rehearsal…and bam! It all ended. All those years of work, and it was just over.”

  Something his mom used to say came back to him in a whisper of memory. “Dancers die twice. The first time is when they stop dancing.”

  A ghost of a smile played over her lips. “It’s true. I was so depressed after my injury, I didn’t even want to live anymore.”

  His stomach cramped. He knew what that was like. That pull to just end it all. He lived with it every day. “How did you deal?”

  “Lots and lots of therapy. Eventually, my doctor convinced me my life hadn’t ended with my dance career, and he urged me to go to college. I originally thought I’d be a physical therapist like the ones who helped me after my injury, but I found psychology much more interesting.”