Chapter Twelve
Shaun left his Jeep in the circular driveway of his childhood home, next to Justin’s Mustang, and walked into the empty hall. The silence suggested Tom and Brandi weren’t around and Justin was probably bunkered in his room. Fine with him. He had a few minutes to spare before he picked Ginny up at her place, given she’d asked him not to arrive before Ms. Van Hendler left for Bingo night at the senior center. But he wasn’t itching to spend them with any members of his family. That wasn’t why he was here.
The cloak-and-dagger measures Ginny asked of him were beginning to chafe. He wanted to write it off as impatience with the inconvenience, but the truth tipped more toward discontent with her treating their association like some kind of back-alley booty call. Totally out of line, because she’d been upfront about her concerns from the start, and he’d signed up for this, but logic didn’t change the fact that he wanted…hell…he didn’t know. More. Which scared the shit out of him on a number of levels, the most obvious being he didn’t have more to offer. An unemployed ex-SEAL with the wrong last name and no solid plan for his future? Yeah, that would really tempt her.
He held no illusions about what tempted her where he was concerned. Mind-blowing sex, and plenty of it. He might be drifting in a lot of areas of his life, but this was one purpose he could actually fulfill, so he’d maintain the veil of secrecy. You don’t much want to be a topic of conversation in Bluelick either, he reminded himself. Waiting to pick her up until after her neighbor went to Bingo didn’t cost them much in terms of time, and served both their goals.
The delay worked to his benefit, as it turned out, since it gave him enough time to swing by the homestead and select a beverage for their picnic. She liked white wine, and Tom had a nicer selection in his cellar than Boone’s Market offered. He’d left his dad a voicemail assuring him he’d replace whatever he helped himself to on his next trip to Lexington.
He cut through the kitchen, did a quick check of the bottles chilling in the under-cabinet wine fridge and grimaced. Somebody liked lower-shelf Asti Spumanti, and he had no problem picturing Brandi sucking it down while watching TMZ or whatever passed for news in her world.
Back in the hall, he took the door to the basement. Down the stairs, past the main room with the carved, antique pool table his father had taught him to play on, an air-hockey table he didn’t recognize, and a new U-shaped sectional positioned in front of a huge, wall-mounted flat-screen. A bunch of video equipment and gaming consoles blinked from a glass-fronted cabinet beneath the TV. In a far corner sat the old poker table around which Tom had hosted weekly games when Shaun was a kid.
Something suspiciously close to sadness settled in his chest. Tom had financed the perfect family room, and some no-doubt overpriced designer had brought the fantasy to life, but here it sat, dead as a tomb on a Friday night. Back in the day, Tom would have ordered pizza, his mom would have fired up the popcorn machine, and they all would have come down here to watch a movie. No way did the current version of the Buchanan family gather on the pristine, untouched sectional to talk, laugh, and play Xbox. Even sadder, if they did, he’d want no part of it.
He rolled his shoulders to shrug off the depressing thought and headed into the wine cellar. Just a fancy, temperature-controlled closet really, but along with the reds racked against the walls, it boasted a cabinet of hard stuff, and, in a small alcove behind the door, his target. A full-sized wine refrigerator.
He’d just poked his head into the fridge when the door opened behind him. He watched, undetected, as Justin strolled over to the far wall. The teenager produced a set of keys from his jeans pocket and opened the liquor cabinet.
Fucking awesome. Yes, pilfering the parental liquor was a time-honored teenager tradition, but why did it have to happen right at the moment he was pilfering the parental liquor? Shaun waited until the kid had a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black in each hand, and then stepped out from the alcove.
“Can I see some ID?”
Justin bobbled one of the bottles, lost his grip, and jumped back as it shattered on the sealed concrete floor.
“Motherfucker!” He put the other bottle on the cabinet and turned to fume at Shaun. “You scared the shit out of me. Look what you made me do.”
“It gets even worse, ’cause I’m going to make you put the other bottle back, hand over the keys, and clean up the mess.”
Justin’s chin came out. “Or what? You’ll tell on me?”
“I’m going to tell on you anyway. The only uncertain outcome involves whether my foot goes up your ass or not. If you prefer not, then”—he held out his hand for the keys—“hand those over and find a mop.”
The teenager tossed the keys on the ground and stomped off. Shaun prayed for patience, picked up the keys, and locked the cabinet. Then he turned back to the fridge and made his choice—a nice Napa Valley chardonnay. He tucked it under his arm and waited. A minute later Justin clomped back into the room, carrying a broom with a dustpan clipped on the end and a kitchen towel. He shot Shaun a nasty look, but got to work sweeping up the broken bottle. Silence, it turned out, was too much to hope for.
“You are a total, thieving hypocrite, coming down on me when you’re doing the exact same thing. If you tell Dad about this, don’t think I’m not going to tell him you stole his precious wine.”
“Go ahead and tell him. There are two major differences between your situation and mine. First, I don’t have to sneak around because Tom already knows I’m here, second—and this is crucial—I happen to be of legal drinking age.”
“You happen to be an asshole,” Justin muttered and dumped the broken glass into the trash bin tucked between the liquor cabinet and the wine racks. “And you drink like a pussy. White wine is for chicks.”
Shaun leaned against the wine fridge, crossed his ankles and got comfortable as Justin started mopping up scotch with the towel. “Thank you, Robert Parker.”
To his surprise, Justin connected the dots. “Jesus.” The teen faked a shudder. “It is for a chick. You have a date. My mind is blown. Mr. Social is going to take a break from whatever the hell you do out there in the woods—clutch your Medal of Honor and jack off.”
He laughed. Little brother definitely had a mouth on him. He could spew venom like a viper.
The kid smirked and wrung the towel out in the trash can. “First the haircut, now a date. Should have known.” He went back to wiping the floor. “Who would date you?”
“None of your business.”
“This can’t be too hard to figure out. You don’t know anybody. All you’ve done since you’ve been back is hang around the cabin, show up in my life at the worst possible moments, and…oh fuck…haircut.” He dropped the towel and looked up. “It’s the redhead, isn’t it?”
Wonderful. Justin could be Sherlock-fucking-Holmes when he put his mind to it. “Hmm. Last time we discussed this—about five seconds ago—I believe I said it was none of your business. Nothing’s changed.”
Justin picked up the towel and gave the cement a few more swipes. “Man, Dad is going to shit a brick. She’s like, enemy number one around this house. But I’d do her. She’s so freaking hot, running around town in her tight little jogging shorts. You can tell she wants it, and one of these days I’m going to give that firecrotch a—hey!”
His hand found the collar of Justin’s polo shirt and he hauled the kid to his feet before he fully realized what he was doing. When two wide, alarmed eyes locked on his, he transferred his grasp to the front of Justin’s shirt and dragged him in until their faces were inches apart. Then he slammed him against the door and wedged his knee into Justin’s balls forcefully enough that the kid turned white.
“You stay the hell away from her. Got it? You come near her, or her salon, or anything having to do with her, and you are going to be in a world of hurt. World. Of. Hurt.” With each word, he increased the pressure of his knee in Justin’s groin. When those wide, panicked eyes started to roll, Shaun released him.
&nbs
p; Justin stumbled, caught himself on the liquor cabinet, and scrambled to his feet. “Get the hell off me, you pervert.” He side-stepped toward the door, staying out of Shaun’s reach. “Are you threatening me?”
“I’m advising you. If you’re smart, you’ll listen. Don’t fool yourself into thinking you got away with something the other night, because—”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t. Shaun would never be able to prove anything based on one offensive word, but he could do his best to scare the kid from trying anything else. “I mean it, Justin. Don’t go near her, or her salon. It won’t end well for you.”
“You’re out of your friggin’ mind. Section eight or whatever the hell they call it.”
And with that brotherly parting sentiment, he slipped out the door.
…
Ginny adjusted her sunglasses and admired Shaun’s profile while green hills divided by white wooden fences zipped past. He had the top off the Jeep and the windows down. She watched the breeze blow his hair over his forehead and made a mental note to give him a trim the next time she had her scissors handy. The warm summer evening couldn’t have been more pleasant, but he seemed agitated, in his typically battened-down, utterly controlled way. A muscle ticked in his jaw, confirming her impression.
“What’s wrong?”
He glanced at her, and she experienced a little flutter in her chest at the impact of him in dark, silver-rimmed aviators. Then his lips twisted into a small smile and the flutter turned into a thousand busy butterfly wings.
“What makes you think something’s wrong?”
“You.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you. Your poker-faced, show-no-emotion default setting may fool other people, but even you have your tells. And I happen to be very astute.”
“I have no tells.” He lifted one hand from the wheel and rubbed the back of his neck.
“There’s one now. Face it, I can read you like a billboard. What’s bothering you?”
He dropped his hand and glanced at her again, this time over his sunglasses.
“Oooh. That’s your exasperated look. This is fun. I can play all night. Or you could just tell me what’s weighing on you.”
He sighed. “You might have been right about Justin spray-painting your shop.”
She didn’t know what she’d expected him to say, but this wasn’t it. “I know I’m right, but what makes you think so now?”
He ran down the exchange he’d had with his brother. Her first impulse was to hug him for going to the trouble to get a nice bottle of wine for her, which only highlighted how screwed up her priorities were when it came to this man, but she forced herself to focus on the pertinent information. She blew out a breath and shook her head. “I guess there’s nothing worth reporting to the sheriffs? It’s not like he confessed. He just happened to use the same word—circumstantial evidence.”
“Not even circumstantial evidence, and nothing the sheriff’s department can do anything with. But my gut says he did it. Anyway, I hope threatening to rip his balls off scared him straight, but if not…”
“If not, my handy-dandy spy cam will catch him in the act next time.”
Shaun steered into the long, winding, and deeply rutted drive leading to the Browning spread. “Yeah. Next time. In the meantime, however, he might tell Tom we’re involved, just to stir up trouble. I didn’t confirm, nor will I, because it’s nobody’s damn business, but if rumors start circulating he’s the most likely source.”
She couldn’t pretend she didn’t care. She did, and she hated the idea of her personal life torpedoing her campaign. She could practically hear Tom calling her a manipulative Mata Hari, sleeping with his son in a ruthless attempt to get the inside details of his campaign. Nothing could be further from the truth, and she could use the “I refuse to dignify that with an answer” tactic without compromising her honesty.
“As long as nobody credible catches us together, it’s Justin’s word against mine, and his word carries very little weight around town.”
Her smile felt stiff on her lips, and Shaun looked far from happy with her reply, but she shook her head. “Let’s change the subject. Tonight is all ours. I refuse to let Justin ruin it.”
Shaun drove between the main house and the horse stalls, both of which bore the telltale signs of construction, and parked on the far side of the barn. “I thought we could spread our blanket out by the pond. It’s down that way.”
She grabbed the blanket from the backseat, jumped out of the Jeep, and winked at him. “Sugar, I know my way to the pond. Been there plenty of times.” Those visits had involved skinny dipping more often than not. How long had it been since she’d indulged in an illicit swim? Too long.
He raised his sunglasses to the top of his head. “Sweet Virginia, you’ve never been to the pond with me.”
The laugh bubbled out of her before she could stop it. Lord save her from cocky men. Or maybe not, she corrected when he hefted an insulated backpack out of the backseat, rounded the car, and took her hand.
At the bottom of the hill, she spread the blanket and then crouched down to straighten the edges. Shaun put the backpack down, sat, took his sunglasses off and hung them from the neck of his T-shirt. She leaned past him to straighten the opposite edge.
“Stop fiddling. I had no idea you were so OCD.”
She shook her head and continued smoothing the blanket. “I cut hair for a living. I’m very particular about my edges.”
“You realize the only real purpose of this blanket is to prevent you from getting grass stains in some personal places once I strip off that pretty red dress and do all the things I have a mind to do to you tonight?”
His words sped up her pulse, but she stood and slowly smiled at him. “You’ll have to catch me first.” She toed off one boot.
He remained seated, but narrowed his eyes as she kicked off the other boot. “I’m a fast runner.”
She grabbed the hem of her dress and lifted it over her head. “The question you need to be asking yourself is, ‘Am I a fast swimmer?’”
His eyebrows shot up. “Sweet Virginia, you think you can outswim a Navy SEAL in that little pond?”
In answer, she tossed her dress behind her. It landed in a low-hanging branch, like a haphazard red flag. Her bra soon followed, and then her panties. Then she turned and raced toward the water, feeling the heat of his gaze on her the entire time. “I think I’ve got a damn good head start.”
Chapter Thirteen
Shaun took a moment to appreciate the view of Ginny sprinting naked into the water, and the idea of all that bare skin sleek, wet, and pressed up against his. When she’d gone out a few feet, she dove under, as fluid and graceful as a mermaid, disappeared for almost a minute, and then resurfaced in the waist-deep water and smoothed her hair back from her face. She turned to him.
Water ran down her body, dripping from her bent elbows, the tips of her high, tight breasts, and sheeted over her flat stomach. The late afternoon sun kissed her wet skin, turning her into a glistening, golden version of perfection.
“You coming, sugar, or did you forget to pack your water wings?”
He got to his feet and pulled his boots off. Jeans and briefs came next, in a tangle of fabric, and then he tugged his shirt over his head. A second later he hit the water, and was nearly to her before he realized she’d gone under again. He opened his mouth to call her name, and the next thing he knew, took a tidal wave straight in the face.
He spat out pond water. “Sweet Virginia, you’re going to pay.”
Her laugh came from behind him. “Did I forget to mention I learned to swim in this pond?”
He turned and watched her do a leisurely breaststroke over to him. She stood and wrapped her arms around him. “I know all the ins and outs.”
He caught her lower lip between his teeth and bit down. “I know a few ins and outs, too.” Not with regard to the pond, no, but he suspected
she’d appreciate his skills in the long run. She pressed herself against his chest. Or maybe in the short run.
“You think you could teach me some?”
“I’m certain,” he replied. “But you’d have to get into position.”
“How’s this?” She wrapped her legs around his waist.
“Getting there.” He gripped her ass and waded a little deeper. “I think you’re ready for your first lesson.” Then, without warning, he dunked them both under the water.
She came up sputtering.
“Learn anything?”
She wiped the water out of her eyes, drew her arm back to splash him, and then froze. “Someone’s coming.”
“Yeah, right. Nice try, but I’m not so easily distracted.”
“I’m serious.” This time the panic in her voice couldn’t be missed. “Crap. Crap. Crap. I think it’s Junior. If he sees us, he’ll tell everyone. LouAnn can keep a secret, but once Junior gets to drinking, he’s a loose cannon.”
Shaun turned, and, sure enough, through the trees spotted Junior’s red F150 pulling up behind his jeep. As he watched, Junior climbed down from the cab. The solid thud of a car door closing followed. “Just…hide behind me. I’ll get rid of him.”
She splashed past him, scrambling toward the bank. “My clothes…he’ll see—”
He hooked her arm and pulled her back into the water. “I’ll put them under the blanket. Stay here.”
But by the time he retrieved her clothes from the branch, he was about halfway between the picnic blanket and the pond, with Junior closing in fast. There was no way he’d make it to the blanket and back to the water in time to shield Ginny.
“Hey Shaun, that you, buddy?”
Shit. He bundled her clothes up like a football and ran into the water. As he splashed to waist-deep, he scanned the pond for Ginny, who was suddenly gone. Behind him, the sound of footfalls grew louder and then came to a stop. He shoved Ginny’s clothes under the water, caught them between his knees, and turned to face Junior.
Falling for the Enemy Page 12
