Bend

by K. Bromberg

  "Losing My Religion" - R.E.M.

  "Waiting on the World to Change" - John Mayer

  "Something To Talk About" - Bonnie Raitt

  "Who Says You Can't Go Home" - Bon Jovi

  "Dreams" - The Cranberries

  "We Belong" - Pat Benatar

  "I'll Stand By You" - The Pretenders

  prologue

  I'd been on the road for three days and, to be honest, I was tired of seeing green and white signs along the side of the road, charting my progress, or lack thereof, as the case might be, and staying in flea bag motels because of my strained budget. Traveling across the country sounded awesome until around the end of day two. Now, it was simply a matter of my being impatient to reach my destination.

  Here I was, Paige Elizabeth Matthews, 22 years-old, leaving my parents' home in Napa, California to carve out a career and an appropriate life for myself—that was how my father had put it to me. In other words, I was being shoved from the nest for my own good.

  It wasn't as if I hadn't been raised or educated properly, because I had. I'd graduated in January from Cal State with a degree that was of little use to me in Napa, but which would serve me well with some government agency such as say, the FBI? Yep, according to my father, that would be a perfect fit for me and my degree.

  Yeah, I knew he'd been on the phone several times with my older brother, Trace, who was moving his way up the bureau ladder in D.C. I had relented and filled out the application for an administrative internship at my parents' urging. I assumed my brother had pulled the appropriate strings to get me selected for the program.

  Sweet.

  I was okay with it; I mean there was nothing to keep me in Napa. No love connections, no attachments with close friends. I'd never been much of the girly-girl who had a flock of BFFs that I shared everything with while we shopped or had our nails done.

  In that respect, I was kind of a loner. Truth be told, I related much better with the male species than the female. It was probably because I'd been raised around vineyards, and the fact that vineyards employed a lot of guys made it just that much more convenient. And, to be honest? I enjoyed the attention of men. Actually, craved the attention of men might be more accurate.

  Maybe too much.

  I knew that was yet another reason my parents were kind of eager to send me off. They weren't always comfortable with my "appreciation" of the opposite sex. The fact that I had been dating several different guys simultaneously had seemed to cause them a fair amount of angst over the last several months, especially when they had gotten their names mixed up time and time again.

  They would go on and on about how proud they were that my oldest brother, Easton - who I barely knew - had settled down in the U.S. with his new wife, Darcy, and their baby boy, Weston.

  From there, the conversation moved onto Trace, and about how he too, had settled down…and how much they loved his wife, Lindsey, and how proud they were of their beautiful grand-babies Harper and Jackson.

  They wanted the same for me—that was obvious. I just wasn't really sure if I wanted that; I couldn’t picture myself living that kind of a life—at least not for a very long time. I hadn't really had any serious relationships and my instinct told me that was because I hadn't found my demographic yet—if that makes any sense at all.

  I pulled off at the next exit to fill my gas tank and give Trace a quick call on my cell, to let him know that I'd be reaching their place in another few hours.

  I pulled my jacket tighter around me as I fumbled with the gas cap and got the pump going. It was damp and chilly; the remnants of winter were still in the air for the first of March in eastern Pennsylvania.

  He answered his cell, recognizing my number. "Where are you?" he asked, as if he were worried.

  "Somewhere in Pennsylvania," I answered, chewing on a nail. "I should be at your place before dark."

  "Okay, Paige, we'll be here. Drive carefully, you hear?"

  "Yes, Trace," I sighed, rolling my eyes. He could be caring I suppose, but I also knew he was doing this more for Mom and Dad than for me. We just were too far apart in age to be that close.

  "We're looking forward to having you stay with us," he lied, "Lindsey's got your room waiting for you. I think you're really going to like the internship, Paige. I think it just might be what you need."

  I sighed. "Thanks for letting me stay with you guys. I'll try to stay out of your way, I promise."

  Silence.

  "See you soon," he said.

  chapter 1

  I fumbled with the lock on the front door, trying to shift the bags of groceries I had in my arms to one side in order to turn the knob. I was kind of worn out and it was just past noon.

  My lovely sister-in-law, Lindsey, had left me with a full shopping/errand list this morning, rousing my ass out of bed at seven-thirty. On a Saturday no less.

  I'd been up fairly late, getting a lecture from big brother Trace, right before he left on some covert FBI mission. His lecture was all about earning my keep around here, acting responsibly, setting a better example for the babies. He felt that I could be a bigger help to Lindsey, when she had clients to visit with the little decorating business she and her mother Samantha had going, yadda, yadda, yadda.

  "Paige," Trace had said, his voice carrying that serious, authoritative and slightly-tyrannical tone that he almost never used with Lindsey. "Lindsey and I talked about you doing a little more pitching in around here. It's not like you pay rent or anything, so how's about taking on some responsibilities and maybe curtailing some of the partying?"

  "I don't mind helping out," I shrugged, "but what's the deal with my partying?" I questioned, eying my older brother warily.

  "Hey, what you do and who you do it with is your business—don't get me wrong. I know you're only twenty-two and just now getting out from under Mom and Dad's roof, but we've got kids here—babies, and well…"

  He was obviously uncomfortable with the subject matter, so I took the opportunity to interrupt. "Look, Trace, if it's a problem that I brought a couple of guys here for the night, I just won't do it anymore. But Christ, it's not like Harper and Jackson are old enough to know what's going on. I mean, seriously?"

  "It's not just the fact that you brought a couple of random dudes home over the past few weeks, it's that you've shown a total disregard for the rest of us, you know?"

  "No, I'm not following you, big brother," I semi-snapped. "It's not as if I fucked them on the spotless floor of your family room, while you and Lindsey were watching 'Criminal Minds.'"

  His green eyes blazed an ultra shade of pissed.

  "You're loud and disruptive when you…entertain, Paige. It makes Lindsey uncomfortable, and uh…me too. Lindsey and I would prefer that you not do that anymore. It'd be better if you stay over at your boyfriend's places in the future."

  "Boyfriends?" I snorted with a laugh. "They weren't boyfriends, they were hook-ups. And are you seriously gonna sit there and act like you never had casual sex? That every chick you've ever laid was a girlfriend? Because if you say yes, then I'm calling you out on it."

  I started to get up to leave the room, but Trace wasn't finished with the lecture just yet.

  "Hold up, Paige. Look, I'm not one to lecture you on the moral fine points of 'hooking up' or having fuck buddies. And for the record, my sexual history is none of your goddamn business, and it's not part of this conversation, because I'm not gonna preach like that. What I am gonna tell you is that this is our home and you will respect the ground rules, or you'll have to move out. Got it?"

  Fuck, he's pissed.

  I shrugged, clasping my hands together. "Sure. I apologize, Trace. It won't happen again."

  Right then and there I knew that my living arrangement wasn't going to work. Somewhere along the way, Trace had been domesticated.

  Huh, who'd have thought?

  It wasn't like I’d seen him a lot over the past say, twelve or thirteen years, but Holy Mother of Christ, I could see that my good ol�
� big brother was indeed pussy-whipped. Certainly not the same guy that left Napa all of those years ago with a bevy of blondes mourning his departure.

  My other older brother, Easton, was even more of a stranger to me than Trace. Probably because he hadn't been born to my mother. I had only brief, scattered memories of him growing up. He would stay with us during the summers back then. I had been in pigtails and braces at the time, but I had seen more of him over the past few weeks since I'd been here, than over the twenty-two years that I'd been on this planet.

  His wife, Darcy, seemed like a pretty cool chick. She and Lindsey were tight, both being the same age and having been friends before they became sisters-in-law, but for whatever reason, I could relate to Darcy more than I could to Lindsey.

  Yeah, they were like a little over a year older than me, but with having kids and all that, I guess it put them in a different maturity category; though, if I were a betting person, I'd say that Darcy had done her share of dudes, more so than Lindsey for sure.

  I filed that away for future reference. If Trace and Lindsey were going to be so fucking uptight, maybe Easton and Darcy would open their huge house to little sister. I doubted that my craving for…male attention would be as off-putting over there as it apparently was over here.

  Pfft!! Was Lindsey up-tight or what?

  I was overjoyed that she'd taken the rug rats with her today. I don't think I could've accomplished everything she had put on my 'to-do' list while having to drag those two along with me. Harper was at least somewhat manageable at two and a half, but Jackson was another fucking story. I mean, I don't do diapers.

  At all.

  I knew that someday I would, because having a little rug rat of my own was in the plan—eventually. But that was a long ways off.

  I'd been at Trace and Lindsey's for about six weeks now. I had started going through my P.T. at Quantico a few weeks ago. (P.T. means Physical Training for those of you not familiar with military lingo.) And let me add that physical training is a bitch under any circumstances, but for someone who hadn't bothered to condition before starting the program (like me) it was damn near suicide.

  I gathered up the groceries, taking them into the kitchen and setting them on the countertop.

  Fuck!

  Lindsey had added yet another one of her pink post-it notes to the fridge.

  What now?

  She must've stopped home while I was out.

  (Beotch.)

  Paige - Forgot to tell you that I have a plumber stopping by this afternoon between one and two. He's to fix the shower in the master bath and leave the bill with you. - L

  Okay, whatevs.

  At least I didn't have to go back out. Trying to navigate around the metropolitan D.C. area was a bitch. Hell, I don't know how many times I ended up in Maryland instead of freakin' Virginia!

  I had just finished putting the groceries away when there was a knock on the door. I opened it to a dark-haired, brown-eyed dude that had a fucking tool belt on.

  Damned if he wasn't built, too.

  "Hey," he said, and I noticed right off that his voice was deep and sexy. "I'm scheduled to check out a leaking shower faucet in the master bath. Are you Mrs. Matthews?"

  "Hi," I said, flashing him a smile as I opened the door wider to let him in. "Actually, I'm the sister-in-law from hell," I joked. "But Lindsey did leave a note saying you'd be here. Come on in."

  Now it was his turn to flash a smile at me, showing perfectly even white teeth. The name embroidered on his blue work shirt read "Jason."

  "Well, Jason," I said, with just a hint of flirtation, "Let me show you the way."

  Fuck, his hair was thick and curly. His arms and shoulders were muscular; belly flat. I was guessing he was late twenties, possibly thirty.

  Did I mention he was wearing a tool belt?

  Yep—definitely loved the tool belt, especially the way that it was slung low on his hips. It even made a sexy jingling sound when he walked.

  He followed me upstairs and then down the hallway towards the master suite. I gestured my arm towards the bathroom door that was just off of their bedroom.

  I couldn't help but notice his sexy swagger as he walked past me into the bathroom, bending over just a bit to place his toolbox on the tiled floor. This guy exuded sexual energy from every fucking pore. Trust me, that's something I pick up on within seconds of meeting someone.

  "I'll just leave you to it," I called out, going back downstairs. "I'll be in the kitchen if you have any questions."

  "Yep," he called back, already starting to assess the plumbing situation in the bathroom.

  He returned downstairs no more than ten minutes later, wiping his hands on a rag. "Just needed a washer replaced and I had one in my toolbox. I went ahead and checked the fitting and it was fine, so I went ahead and re-greased it. Tested the shower head out and it's working fine. No more dripping."

  "That was fast," I said throwing a bit of a double entendre into the remark. "I guess that's a good thing sometimes, huh?"

  He gave me a good-natured laugh, his eyes glancing down to my legs in a subtle, but obviously not too-subtle way. I bit back a girlish grin as I watched him swiftly pull out the bill slip from his back pocket and jot some numbers down on it. Ripping the top copy from the pad, I caught the sexy-ass grin he tossed my way as he handed it to me.

  Oh yeah. Game friggin’ on.

  And before you go and get all judgy on me? I’m a woman who has an affinity for hotties with a Y-chromosome.

  Sue me.

  And I could tell that this guy wasn’t interested in anything serious.

  The good news? Neither was I.

  “You’re good to go,” he said with his grin still in place, wiping his brow with the back of his hand.

  “Replacing that washer must've given you quite a workout, huh?” I asked him, feigning innocence.

  He looked back over at me, the smile stretching even further across his face. “Why do you ask?”

  “Well, you just look like you could use some ice-cold water,” I shrugged. “That’s all.”

  “I’ll take some water,” he replied quietly, leaning up against the counter.

  I broke the minor eye-fucking thing we had going there for a second, and made my way over to the cupboard and grabbed a glass. After it was filled, I hopped up on the same counter top that he was still leaning against and handed it over.

  Jason’s eyes made their way down my tanned legs again as he raised the icy glass up to his full lips, drinking the offered beverage.

  I rubbed my palms over my thighs for bonus points, masquerading it as a nervous gesture.

  He replied with a loud swallow, breaking the glass-and-lips contact to give me an almost sheepish look.

  “No worries, I’m a loud swallower too.”

  That’s when he nearly dropped the glass. And before our flirtatious dialogue turned into something from a porn video, I decided it was time for a little action.

  Hopping off of the counter, I made the entire two foot distance between us and took the glass of water out of his hand. Keeping eye contact with him the entire time, I took a long swallow from it.

  I think this is what I loved about everything sexual: the control of it.

  The power.

  I thought of myself as someone who was comfy with my overall sexuality, and I also loved to tease a little bit. But with the way good ol’ Jason was looking at me now, he was ready to move past the teasing stage.

  He stood up to his full height, his chest brushing the backs of my fingers as they maintained their hold on the glass. My eyes widened a bit as I watched him lean in, thinking that he was going for the kiss. I promptly closed them, and waited.

  But his lips never did touch mine.

  My eyes were still shut when I felt a hard suck on the side of my neck. Gasping and reacting, I took a step back and found my back up against Lindsey’s granite counter. Jason’s arms were now on either side of me, trapping me and turning me the hell on.

>   His mouth was now apologizing, as his tongue soothed the now-tender spot that was just below my ear. He then made his way to the underside of my jaw, nipping and licking.

  I arched my neck to give him easier access, but apparently he was done with my neck, for now, because his hand reached back and very softly gripped my hair and tilted my head back down to eye-level.

  Licking my bottom lip when he leaned back in, I fully expected an actual kiss this time. And still, he didn’t deliver. Instead, he kissed the corner of my lips.

  I seriously loved the way his stubble felt on my skin, I’d decided. That was when I tried to take the moment into my own hands and went in for the kill.

  I was almost to his mouth when his hand fisted even tighter in my hair, preventing me from closing the mere centimeters I had left. He pulled back, letting go of my hair, and looked at me with raised eyebrows and a confident smirk.

  “Is this what you had in mind?” he asked.

  I matched his smirk with one of my own and upped the wattage. “Well actually, what I had in mind was some lip-to-lip action. Know what I mean? So, if you don’t mind…”

  “Well, had I known that,” he confessed mischievously, “I would have brought my tip jar.”

  That’s when we both cracked up, letting the humor of it all wash over us. Finally, when we both managed to collect our wits again, I sighed. Clearly, the moment of sexual tension had come to a close and it was my cue to send this guy on his merry little way.

  I turned away from him and fished out a pen from one of the drawers and signed my name at the bottom of the forgotten bill. Handing the slip back to him, Jason met my gaze with a heated one of his own.

  “So, I’m officially off the clock, eh?” he asked.

  I felt my eyebrows nearly reach my hairline. “Umm…yeah?”

  “That’s good.”

  Yeah, I wasn’t following. Until I watched his eyes travel to the button of my denim cut-offs and back up to my face, regarding me with a look that was asking me a question.

  “Lip-to-lip action, you said?” The mischief was back. “May I?”

  Sweet baby Jesus. He doesn’t mean…what I think he means?