“Oh, sorry, yeah, I thought you might be thirsty.”
“Let me get this dirt off my hands first.”
Pete limped over to a green garden hose that lay in a heap beneath an old spigot. He opened the water valve, then reached down and picked up the nozzle lying at his feet. He then rinsed off his hands, and face, before turning the stream on his head. He came up shaking off water like a wet dog.
Cara strolled over to him. She handed him the cold beer. Condensation traveled down the long neck, wetting his fingers, just as several drops of water trickled down his bare chest. He nodded his approval, took an immediate swig, and then glanced back over to his work. “Damn, it’s so good.”
“A cold beer does hit the spot.”
He shook his head with a grin. “Not the beer, the work. There’s nothing like hard labor to get the blood pumping.” He dropped the hose.
Feeling mischievous, she eyed the dripping sprayer lying on the grass. She closed the distance between them, reached down and grabbed the cold steel.
Pete caught her movement. He froze. He glared at her, but mischief sparkled in his eyes. “Don’t do it?”
She lifted the hose higher.
“You’ll regret it,” he promised.
Never. The sight of Pete’s moist muscles well outweighed the threat of retribution. She squeezed the handle without hesitation. Water shot out, hitting Pete’s beautiful naked chest. He dropped his beer. His hands flew up, shielding his face from her attack.
“Why you little…”
“Huh-uh…who has the power, baby?” she teased. “Who has the power?” She repeated the line he used to use when they were young. When they would play and taunt each other, uncaring of the looks others would give them.
She squeezed again, almost hitting below the belt. He fought against the stream as bursts of their uncontrolled laughter filled the yard. After managing to grab a hold of her wrist, Pete was able to seize the aquatic weapon from her grip.
“Mistake number one, Cara, weapons can be turned on their owners.” He sprayed her. The blast drenched her shirt.
“Stop!” she screamed. Their merriment echoed over the grassy field, well past the distant tree line of the woods.
“Revenge is mine.” He attacked again, shooting at her held up hands, not caring for her surrender. “Get over here.”
The flow stopped. Pete had one arm wrapped around her waist. Breathless from laughing, their gazes locked tight. The only sounds were the chirp of crickets, their breathless sighs, and her pounding heart. His skin glistened, attracting the sliver of daylight, which peeked through the trees. He licked his lips and leaned closer.
“What are you doing?”
“I don’t know,” he whispered. He stared into her eyes. “God, you’re beautiful, Cara.”
“What the hell is this?”
Cara and Pete jumped.
John Sands stood by the path’s edge dressed in his navy blue cop uniform. His hand still hovered above his holstered pistol as he stalked toward them.
“Uhm…”
Pete leapt back from her as if burned. His sudden distance left her cold.
“We were just kidding around.” Cara tucked a dripping strand of hair behind her ear. “You can move your hand away from your gun now, John.”
“Kidding around…I heard her scream and I thought…What are you doing here, Pete? I went to your house and your mother started yelling at me. She slammed the door in my face. I thought Cara might know what’s going on since she picked your sorry ass up.”
“A little disagreement with Stepdaddy Dearest, nothing more.”
John raked his hand through his hair. “Little? The guy has a split lip and a broken nose.”
“He got off easy, if you ask me,” Pete said.
John shook his head with a frown before flashing a huge grin. He opened his arms wide. “Come on,” he said. “Give Daddy some sugar.”
Pete chuckled. “You’re an asshole.”
John didn’t respond. He stood there, his foot tapping the ground, arms spread wide.
Pete walked over and gave him a man hug. They patted each other’s back with loud thuds. Though he whispered, she heard John say, “I missed you, brother.”
Pete pulled back first.
“By the way, Mommy said…and I quote…I want the bastard locked up.”
Cara rolled her eyes. According to Pete’s mother, anyone who dared to stand up to Mr. and Mrs. Loser faced jail time. Too bad she never went through with her threats, because the one who’d end up behind bars would be her husband Frank.
“I doubt it, unless she wants me to counter her and file a domestic abuse charge against him. Not to mention a sexual harassment allegation sure to raise some eyebrows.”
John frowned. “Yeah, I saw her face. He’s disciplining her again, I see.”
Discipline…more like corporal punishment. He beat his wife more than a baker beat eggs.
Cara noticed the anger building in Pete’s eyes. Frank had a horrible temper, which he took out on his wife. Before Pete left for boot camp, he would try to protect her, to no avail. At six-two, he towered over his stepdad. Not that Pete’s mom ever appreciated the way he watched out for her.
“He’s lucky all I did was deck him. He grabbed Cara at her job.”
“What!” He glared at Cara. “You told me he made a rude comment. You didn’t say he touched you.”
She frowned. “I don’t have to tell my big brother every time a guy grabs my butt. I wear big girl panties now, and I haven’t worn a training bra since middle school.”
John slapped his forehead. A wave of disgust washed over his features. “Ugh…come on, I don’t want to hear about your panties or bras. You’re gonna give me nightmares.” He shivered.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Pete staring at her breasts. When she called him on his stare, he dropped his gaze to the ground. A wicked sense of justice made her sit up straighter. Why should she be the only one caught ogling body parts?
“So I guess you won’t be bunking at your mom’s. I hope you don’t have a lot of stuff. My back is killing me today.”
“Well, you’re in luck. You won’t have to carry anything, because he’s staying right here.”
John looked back and forth between them with a raised eyebrow.
“What?” she asked. She crossed her arms over her chest.
“No…I agree.”
“What?” Pete and Cara said in unison. She had at least expected an “are you serious.”
“She needs someone here with her. Pop and I have been worried sick about her being out here by herself. She doesn’t even have a dog, for crying out loud.”
Amazing, John complained when she wanted to carpool with a guy from work, but had no problem with Pete sharing a house with her.
“She needs someone to keep an eye on her,” John added.
“I said I don’t—”
“Please don’t mention your unmentionables again. I don’t want to lose my appetite, because whatever you got cooking in there smells crazy good.”
* * * *
Pete sat at the round table in the center of the kitchen, enjoying the delectable scents of roasting meat and fresh bread. He had showered and changed into a clean tee and sweatpants. Through the open window above the sink, he heard the wind shake the trees. The gusts whipped the curtains around, jingling the brass wind chime hanging from the ceiling. Cara worked by the stove, whisking the gravy. She had changed from her wet shirt and shorts, replacing them with an emerald-colored tank top and flannel pajama pants. John sat in the seat straight across from him, tinkering with his cell phone.
“My partner sent me a text. There’s a severe storm warning for Heart Falls and surrounding areas, flash flood watch for Mystic Lake. I gotta go back to the station in an hour. They want everyone ready if needed.” John growled. “I hate this damn phone. No fucking signal, ever.” John continued to toss around several obscenities.
Pete took a swig of his beer. He glanced over at
Cara as she bent down to get a dish from the lower cabinet. His gaze landed on her heart-shaped ass, and he wondered if that’s where she had gotten the tattoo she’d mentioned earlier. He licked his lips. Memories of her soft, wet body pressed against his out in the yard popped in his brain. He had been seconds away from taking her lips and surrendering to the need she erupted inside him. The danger signs flashed behind his eyes, blaring sirens echoed in his head, internal lights of red and gold flickered and spun. Yet he ignored them. Never had he been so close to losing control of his desire, and in front of John, no less. Her presence beat back the maligned spirits of circumstance haunting his existence. She extracted the stabbing sense of guilt buried in his gut. When they had stood together, dripping wet, breathless from play, she had given him a precious gift, a prize he had never expected. She had helped him to forget.
“Wow, the lightning looks like it’s coming straight down.” Cara shivered as she glanced out the back door. “Going to be a bad one.” She rushed over and closed the window. She jumped as another flash lit up the sky.
“Still scared of the lightning?” Pete asked. A crack of thunder rumbled.
“Hate it.”
Whatever came over him had little to do with common sense and more to do with an undeniable urge to comfort her. He stood, limped over to her, and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She rested her head on his chest.
“Hey, you remember what you gave me to help when I was scared of the storms.”
Yeah, I remember. It took me two weeks to find one. He shook his head.
“You handed me a four-leafed clover you found and said…”
“’As long as you have luck on your side, you have everything.’ My dad used to say that all the time.”
“I loved that clover.”
His desire argued with his reason. Men didn’t resist such temptations. They took what they wanted. Why shouldn’t he experience heaven? You know why, you bastard. Guy code, section two, rule one, never mess around with your best friend’s sister. Section three, rule one, especially if you have nothing to offer her.
He brushed her hair with his nose and nearly groaned. She smelled like an exotic cocktail, between her cherry lip balm, tropical scented shampoo, and her natural spice. Man, he’d drink her right up. Swallow down every drop. Drown in her essence and die a very happy man. He bet she tasted like heaven and hell and everything in between. Imagination took control of his body, stretching out the front of his pants, a constriction that warned him to back off.
“Hey, stop distracting her from the task at hand,” John demanded. “She’s a big girl as she mentioned outside. She can handle a couple bolts of lightning. I’m starving over here.” His phone beeped, stealing his attention.
Pete cleared his throat and stepped away. “Well, uhm, he’s got a point. It’s just a little lightning. No need to worry.”
Pete hobbled back to his chair. He needed to get away from her before he did something stupid like chase John away and drag her to the safety and warmth of his bed.
Cara shrugged. “If you say so, but you’ll never catch me out in junk like this. My feet will remain planted here for as long as those freaky flashes are burning up the sky.” She cast one more terrified glance toward the window before returning her attention to dinner.
Pete was impressed how at home she appeared preparing their feast. Nothing seemed to faze her. Cara quickly set the table. Gravy, warm and inviting, now sat beside a dish of steaming mashed potatoes. She placed a large platter of sliced beef in front of him. His stomach growled as if he hadn’t eaten in months. Cara knew how to cook, a fact unchanged by the years. She’d learned on her own, making dinner for John and her father before she turned twelve, not because she had to, but because she loved to.
“I miss your cooking, sis.” John patted his stomach. “Look, I’m thin as a rail.”
Cara shook her head. “You can learn to cook your own meals, you know.”
John laughed. “Not if I want to live. Last time I tried to microwave a bag of cheese popcorn, I had to call the fire department.”
Cara took the seat beside Pete, and her face lit up. “I forgot about the Jiffy Pop massacre.” She glanced at Pete. “This genius put the bag in for twenty minutes instead of two.”
“Hey, anyone might have made the same mistake. I was a bit off.”
“The precinct smelled like burnt, funky cheese for a month.” Cara’s laughter filled the room.
She had an infectious laugh, her smile uncorrupted by the evil infecting many parts of the world. Unfortunately, sin infested Pete. His hands were stained with the blood of hundreds, maybe thousands of people he had never met, his head branded with their agonized screams and inbred hatred.
Doctors tried to label his issues. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, survivor’s guilt, uncontrolled aggression, anger, paranoia, words used to simplify his convoluted state of mind. Life and circumstance had twisted him, altering the man who left all those years ago into a mere shell of his former self. He used to laugh without restraint. Smiles came easy all those years ago. A distant dream molded into a living nightmare. He hadn’t slept a full night in months, waking up drenched in sweat and screaming as he tried to break free from the demons, which refused to let him go. Not a second went by when he didn’t feel the dreadful glare of the enemy. He walked on American soil now. No insurgents hid in the mountains. No weapons aimed at his back. According to psychiatrists, he needed to think like a civilian. They didn’t understand. You cannot mold someone into a combatant, train a man to kill, and then expect him to revert back into a day after day, nine-to-five sort of guy. One minute you’re charging the field with bullets whizzing by your ear and then poof…you’re typing memos for more copy paper.
It ain’t gonna happen.
It was like trying to domesticate a rabid wolf. Sooner or later, your efforts were going to swing around and bite you right in the ass. Pete would rather hike across the desert with an M16A locked in his hands and a full pack strapped to his back than sit at a desk all day tapping keys and peddling papers. Not the kind of man worthy of a woman like Cara Sands, not the kind of man worthy of anyone.
John lunged toward the tray of meat. Cara smacked his hand. “We always say grace in grandmom’s house.”
John raised a brow. “It’s your house now.”
“We will always respect the rules of grandmom’s house. Whether she’s here,” Cara glanced up, “or there.”
John rolled his eyes, but Pete offered her a nod. He understood respect for tradition. Above all else, he understood the responsibility for keeping those customs alive for those who no longer have the ability to do so.
Cara had loved her grandmother Loretta like a mother. Tougher than leather and sharper than a knife, Loretta Sands became the mother Cara needed. He’d liked the old woman as well. No one fucked with grandmom. She offered fierce loyalty to those she loved and a strong hand to those she didn’t. The very same values she instilled in Cara and John.
Cara took John’s hand. She reached out to Pete. He hesitated for a moment. The scene reminded him of the prayers they would say before a mission.
“Come on, Pete.” She motioned her finger, inviting him to join her.
In the end, he surrendered, slipping his hand in hers. The heat of her palm offered him a strange comfort, a reassuring silence he had long forgotten. He tightened his grip on her fingers. A sweet blush spread over her cheeks as she flashed him a soft smile. She closed her eyes and gave thanks for the food on the table and for the return of old friends.
Pete lowered his head. Within his mind, he seconded the notion.
Chapter 3
The library air conditioning hummed a hypnotizing tune. Cara yawned, exhaustion weighing down her eyes after another sleepless night. She stacked a few new arrivals on the metal bookshelf. Dust floated in the air as she moved some paperbacks to make room. A vase of long-stemmed roses sat on the desk nearby, their aroma a sweet addition to the usual stale air. She rubbed her e
yes.
Nearly a week had passed since Pete moved in, and she had barely slept. Having a sexy single male two doors away didn’t offer the sense of security one would think. Instead, the idea of him beneath the covers, shirtless or worse, wearing nothing at all, made her hornier than a rabbit dosed with Viagra. She hadn’t masturbated this much since her senior year of high school when she discovered the joy of self-satisfaction. She might be a virgin from a man’s touch, but was definitely a tramp from her own.
No matter how much pleasure she gave herself, nothing eased the tight ache deep inside, strung tighter than a twelve-string acoustic way out of tune. His presence continued to torment her.
She stretched, trying to place some older books on the higher shelf. Without warning, the metal stool beneath her feet tilted, throwing her off balance. She tumbled down. Her screech echoed throughout the library. Her shoulder slammed into something hard and warm, knocking the wall of toned muscles down beneath her. She landed with a jolt. Dazed, Cara raised her head and stared down into a pair of slate blue eyes.
“Stan?” she asked. “Oh my God, it is you.” She pushed up off his chest and straddled his waist.
Over the years, his tall, slim figure had bulked up, expanding into a wall of muscle and strength. Stan Morrison had become a man in every sense of the word. He stared up at her.
“Don’t get up on my account. I kind of like the view.” He crossed his hands behind his head.
Cara smiled. She stood up and offered him a hand. “Sorry about crashing into you…darn stool’s been busted for months.” He slipped his fingers through hers.
“I don’t mind, happens to be one of my favorite positions.”
She gave him a playful smack in the chest. “You’re always such a horn dog.”
He winked. “Only for you, sunshine.”
Cara had always liked Stan, maybe because Pete and John hated him so much. Even after Pete attacked him at the senior party all those years ago, Stan stayed in touch with her. Whenever he came home for a visit, they’d go out and have a blast. He didn’t let her crazy over-protectors scare him away. She would have dated him if the darn kiss Pete had given her hadn’t ruined her for everyone else.
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