“So, to apologize, you throw out my dinner?” She stares at the mess in the bottom of the stainless-steel sink, tears welling. “I could’ve saved that for tomorrow.”
“I’ll replace it, okay?” God damn it, I will not. I will toss out every package as soon as I can and stock her refrigerator with real food.
Sweating, I wipe my forehead with one of the napkins from inside the bag. “Is your AC off?”
“This place has air conditioning?”
I take a step toward the thermostat which reads about eighty-five degrees. “Yeah, shit. I’m sorry.” Yet, another thing I need to get fixed.
“I take it no one’s lived here for a while?” Thankfully, she’s turned from me, grabbing a couple of bowls, and can’t see how much it hurts to talk about it.
“No. My wife used it for, ah, her hobbies.”
“Divorced?” Brows raised, she looks over her shoulder.
“No, she died.”
“Gee, I’m sorry.” When her face turns bright red, I realize how cold I sound.
“Don’t be sorry. How could you know?” I turn away from her concerned gaze as she opens the silverware drawer.
The corkscrew is in the next drawer over and our arms collide when I reach. Like every time we’ve touched so far, electricity shoots between us. We both stop what we’re doing and stare. I’m the first to recover and slowly retract my hand so I can open the bottle of Italian Barolo.
“You went all out.” At the pop of the cork, she gives me a small smile.
I shrug, grab two wine glasses, and wince. These were on the table the last day of Charlene’s life, before she fucked her final lover.
Sighing, I pour, and give her a glass. “I figure I owe you an explanation.”
I sit and her big brown eyes are already staring at me across the table. Ah fuck. I’m standing on the train tracks, blinded by headlights, unable to jump off. For the first time in years, I ponder letting a woman into my life. The thought sends shivers down my spine and alarms go off in my head.
I shouldn’t be here.
She reaches across the table and covers my knuckles, her eyes into me. “Listen, Mr. Slate, I get it. Shit. I should be the one apologizing to you. I had no idea.”
“No Mister, just Slate.”
“Okay. Just Slate.” The little smile, her touches, and her body language send red flags to my brain.
I’m in too deep but for some reason, I can’t shut up. “My wife used this place as her love nest when I was deployed.”
Her eyes widen and those sweet lips sink into a frown. “You knew?”
“Damn right. I’m a fucking security expert.” My laugh is bitter as her fingers wrap around my hand and my cock jumps, imagining someplace more intimate.
“I’m so sorry.” Her unasked question hangs in the air.
“I didn’t divorce her because of my son. He died.”
“Oh my God. How old was he?”
“Three.” I take the worn picture out of my wallet and slide it across the table.
“He looked just like you. Damn, I’m so sorry, Slate. And I’m sorry me living here has brought it all back.”
I swallow the knot in my throat. “I failed him. I knew my wife was drinking but I swear, not how much. I never thought she would put him at risk. Even in his car seat, my son never had a chance.”
Other than the Airforce psychiatrist, I’ve never told anyone. And for the life of me, I can’t figure out why I’m telling her all this, now.
A sip of wine soothes my throat and I venture a glance into her eyes. They’re brimming with tears. For me. Ah hell. I’m going down. When summer is done, she’ll leave and I’ll be a fucking mess.
Like a man on death row, I decide to enjoy my last meal and give her my best smile, trying to lighten up the conversation. “So, ah. Am I forgiven?”
“Jeesh. Of course. Listen, I get it, now. If you need me to go, I will.”
A part of me panics at the thought of her leaving while the more rational brain suggests I write a check for a few thousand dollars and send her packing.
“Don’t go. Please. Dog needs you.” I need you.
Her smile has a bit too much pity but it’s okay. We have all summer to work on that.
After I pour us both a second glass of wine, I ask about her school and growing up in Maine. I like her warm throaty laugh and the way her eyes sparkle. I love how she savors each bite of food, closing her eyes with little mmmms.
I think I could sit here and watch her eat forever.
“Aren’t you hungry?” She points to my untouched bowl.
I am hungry but for the first time in years, it’s not for food. I stare at her lips, knowing she’s watching me. Damn. I can’t remember when I wanted a woman more. It’s too soon, though, for both of us. God knows I’m damaged and if she’s in Mel’s group, I can only imagine the shit she’s gone through. Two people couldn’t be more wrong for each other and yet here we are, eating a meal, thinking things we shouldn’t be thinking.
We finish the bottle and she grins, draining the last drop from her glass. If I’ve done nothing else, I’ve proved I’m not the rude, arrogant bastard she thought I was.
“So…” She yawns.
“I guess that’s my cue?” I stand, my head almost touching the overhead fan.
“Unless you’re staying the night.” She turns bright red and snorts a cute laugh. “Oh my God. That didn’t come out the way I intended.”
Holy shit, she’s fucking adorable when she’s flustered. “Don’t think anything of it. Can I show you how to set the alarm?”
This is probably the first time I’ve appreciated how small the kitchen is. She has to slide in front of me to view the keypad to the left of the door. I press in closer, my interest swelling as I show her how to type in the code.
Liking how she feels tucked into my chest, I make her practice turning it on and off even though it’s not all that difficult.
“You good?”
“Yes. Thank you for this and for dinner.” She turns to look over her shoulder, eyes on my lips, her mouth partially open.
If I kiss her, we won’t be stopping until we’re both sated and it’s too damn soon to go there. When I fuck her, it’s going to be the right time and it’s going to have meaning.
“See you in the morning?” I open the door and slide outside before I lose my resolve.
“Is six AM okay?”
“Sure. I’ll be up. Dog will be ready too, won’t you, boy?” His ears perk at the sound of his name and he uncurls from where he was sleeping on the bed, tail quivering.
As a second thought, remembering how scared she was earlier, I ask, “Do you want him to stay here?”
A shadow crosses her face but she masks it with a fake smile. “No, No. He’s still young. He needs to be with his alpha.”
“Is that what I am? Alpha?” I grin, liking the sound of that.
“To a dog.” She smirks but it’s too late, I know what I heard.
“Goodnight, Lila-with-a-c.”
“Goodnight just-Slate.”
Whistling, I wander across the yard and up the deck steps with Dog at my side. Once inside, I grab a shot of whiskey, suddenly wide awake. Why the hell didn’t I kiss her? Maybe then I’d be in her warm bed, my cock sliding into her.
Out back, her light is still on. I picture her firm flesh. She’ll be wet and tight as hell when I enter. She’ll scream out my name and beg for more.
With these visions in my mind, I fist my cock, and slide up and down with my eyes closed. She’ll cling to me and moan. I’ll tell her how beautiful she is and touch her body until I know it as well as I know my own. After that, I’ll take her.
I cum hard, my juices spurt, and I rest my forehead against the cool wall.
Afterwards, I climb into bed and toss and turn like some randy teen with a crush, wondering if she’s got it as bad for me as I do for her.
In the morning, my alarm goes off, Dog barks once, and nuzzles me.
&nb
sp; “Shit, give me a moment.” I push my hair out of my eyes and scratch at my beard. Careful of my right side, I roll out of bed, and into the bathroom.
She’ll be at my door any second and I want to look good. Splashing cool water on my face, I slick my hair and stare. I’m not much of a prize but it’s all I got. I make a mental note to trim the beard as I throw on a clean pair of jeans.
Before I can make coffee, she’s on my porch and… Oh fuck, my cock crams against the zipper of my pants when I open the front door. This morning, she’s wearing a white tank top built so you can see the floral bra underneath and some kind of spandex shorts that stop just shy of her butt cheeks. The rest is all smooth, long, legs and a big smile.
“Good morning.” Her face lights up more when her eyes meet mine.
God, I can’t remember when I reacted so viscerally to a woman. At the same time, I have to fight the urge to slam the door. She’ll probably break my heart but damn if I care anymore.
I want her and that’s it.
“Sleep good?” It’s polite to ask but I can see she didn’t. Whatever kept her up all night, I hope it was thoughts of me.
She politely avoids the subject. “Like Maine, it’s quiet and dark.”
“Yeah, not like the university, I’m sure.”
A short cloud comes over her face, then disappears. “No, not at all… Well, I should be off…”
“Woof.” Dog strains to go as she attaches a leash to his collar.
While they trot down my driveway, I head to my gym. I need to get into shape. More than that, I got tons of sexual frustration to detox from. I’m still working out almost two hours later when Dog barks at the front door.
Sweaty, I grab a towel and greet them.
She must’ve gone full out because her body is covered with a sheen of sweat.
Dog zooms through the open door but she hesitates in the frame, a bit of fear flashing over her face. Damn, do I scare her that much?
“Come in. I’ll get you a cold water.” I shoot her a reassuring smile. “I swear, I don’t bite.”
His ears perk up, his tail wags, and he gives a short bark of approval. Then, the pup pads over to my side, pushes on the back of my legs like I’m a cow or something, and herds me to his bowl in the kitchen.
Laughing, she relaxes and follows. I feed Dog, grab a couple of waters out of the fridge, and sit on a stool by one of the islands.
“Holy shit. This is some kitchen. You cook?” She takes in the huge bright room filled with stainless steel and granite countertops
“No. My wife liked to entertain.” My voice sounds brittle, even to me, and her face turns red.
“Sorry.”
I never know what to say or do with the awkward silences that follow at times like this. I don’t want her to think I’m mourning over the bitch who cheated on me and got my son killed.
“Don’t be.” I take a sip of cool water.
“Must be hard, though.” She reaches across the table and again, her hand is atop mine.
This time I take it and hold it, gaining strength from her as I wipe away a lone tear. “He’d be five. Entering kindergarten this fall.”
Damn. This is why I don’t like to discuss them. They’re gone. Nothing can be done to bring them back and no amount of talking will ever make it right.
She seems to get that and lets me get my shit together while staring out the glass doors. After a few minutes of silence, she changes the subject. “How many acres do you own?”
“From here to the park. About thirty”
“Wow.”
I know what she’s thinking. It must’ve cost a small fortune, a lot more than I could earn on an Airforce salary, even as Special Ops. “When the baby came, my grandmother insisted on buying this place for my wife. I was overseas.”
“I’m guessing you didn’t approve?”
“Yeah. Something like that.”
“Why don’t you sell it, then?”
I shrug. “Investment. The market is going up and the value is increasing. Frankly, I don’t usually think about this place at all. Most of the time, I sleep in the city. I got a crew that comes in and keeps it neat.”
“So, you’re a bodyguard.”
“Yeah.”
“Is that how you got shot?”
I nod. “My boss and his wife had a nutjob-stalker trying to kill them.”
“Holy shit. Is he still out there?”
“No. He’s dead. My boss shot him right after I got nailed.”
She looks a bit hurt at my terse tone so I try to soften it with a smile. “It’s a real dark subject and too nice a day to go into it.”
Already she thinks I’m scary. We don’t need to discuss what I do for a living. It’s too soon.
Dog is curled up into a warm spot in the sun and makes a little puppy whimper in his dreams making us both smile.
“Did you eat?” I stand, open the refrigerator door, and she eyes the fully stocked shelves.
“I thought you said you don’t cook?”
“I have a chef come in every few days and set me up with meals. All I have to do is put it in the microwave. Want an egg sandwich?”
“Ah, sure.”
“Let’s take this outside on the deck.” While I warm up a breakfast container, goose bumps run up and down her arms. No doubt my AC has made her uncomfortable. “I guess, after you eat, I should let you get cleaned up.”
Her brows shoot up, she smiles knowingly, and I recall the broken pipe. “Oh shit. Sorry. There’s a shower downstairs by the pool. Very private.”
“Wait. You have a pool? Where?” She leans over the railing with an exaggerated look to the right and left.
I try not to stare at her sweet ass cheeks, firm thighs, and muscled calves.
“It’s downstairs and inside. My wife didn’t like the sun. Just last week I had a guy check the pH. It should be fine. There’s a Jacuzzi as well.” I step behind her, grasping the railing on either side of her hips.
Damn, she feels so fine tucked close, her hair clinging to my beard, me breathing in her scent.
She goes still and I wonder if she’ll squirm away or turn in my arms. Instead, she leans back and sighs. I don’t dare move because I don’t want this feeling to ever go. We stay like that for a long time, staring out at my property while puffy white clouds meander across the blue sky.
Suddenly she stirs and ducks under my arm. “I almost forgot. I have my class tomorrow, so I’ll miss Dog’s afternoon and evening run, is that okay?”
I slide my finger down the soft skin of her inner arm. “No problem. Can I drive you?”
“Shit no, I mean no. You’ve already been way too kind.” Her eyes lift to mine, and her lips move in toward me, ever-so-slightly.
I move halfway, surprised at the turn of events.
She inches forward a bit more, I exhale, and brush my lips across hers. She smiles and blushes pink all the way to her chest.
“I uh, well, thanks for breakfast.”
Okay then. I didn’t see that coming.
Before I can take her in my arms to explore the kiss further, she turns, grabs the plastic container, and bolts down the stairs.
Feet glued to the deck, fierce desire surges through my veins. Good she didn’t see how my fingers gripped the rail or how my lower appendage swelled.
Jack’s warning comes to mind.
Mess with her, me and you, we got issues.
What the fuck am I doing?
Chapter 8
Lilac
Dumb, dumb, dumb….
At the bottom of the deck stairs and not in view of Slate, I bang my palm against my forehead. What was I thinking?
This is exactly how I ended up in bed with a stranger, roofied, and raped. I kiss without thinking. I give men the wrong idea.
My clit twinges and boom, I think I am in love.
Slate is different.
Oh sure. How many times have I thought that?
Never.
Without any warning,
I’m back to the night of ‘The Incident.’ I’d been drinking with a few guys from the fraternity. We’re all joking around in this crowded bar and it’s all good.
I brace for what comes next. I wake in bed, sore and sticky, unable to remember how I got there.
Dammit. Not again. I don’t need to remember this!
It takes a huge amount of will power to drag an image of a safe to the forefront of my mind and place ‘The Incident’ inside. I slam the door, tug on the handle, and spin the tumbler. Lately, it’s been harder and harder to keep the thoughts locked up. This time, I add a chain link fence around the imagery along with a Doberman guard dog.
That ought to keep me clear of the very dangerous thought-space. I’ve read of women who’ve had similar incidents and remained broken for life. I can’t afford that. My way is much better. I probably should patent it.
Feeling better yet still needing a shower, I wave up at Slate, and walk home. I grab a clean t-shirt, my undies drying over the sink, and a pair of cutoffs. Too bad I don’t own a bathing suit.
The entrance to the pool is at the side of the house next to a picnic table on a stone patio. Sliding glass doors are unlocked and a security camera points toward the entrance. I wonder how many he has? Does he spy on me as well? Did he see the dead hand?
Lights turn on automatically when I enter the chlorine-smelling room. Soft music plays as waves reflect onto the aqua walls. The pool is so inviting I can’t help but do a few laps in the nude after my shower.
In a way, I hope he catches me.
The repetitive motion of reaching arm over arm, kicking, and turning my head puts me into a trance-like state. The almost-panic-attack is gone by the time I rinse off, grab a guest towel, and wrap it around me. Happy and relaxed, I meander across the long lawn to where he’s waiting by my front door, dressed in a gray tank top and low hanging shorts.
My heart quickens. Surely, this man with a tool box is too sexy to be true.
He’s a bodyguard with a bullet hole, Lilac. The first time you saw him, he was butt naked with a revolver pointed at you. That’s the real Slate, not Mr. Home Improvement, here.
“I figured you might want your shower fixed ASAP.” The way he grins, I’m no doubt drooling
Slate Page 4
