Jermy, Marie - Animal Instincts [The Andersons 2] (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Marie Jermy

  “Why didn’t we think of that?”

  He shrugged. “Sometimes all it takes is the input from an interested third party. I’ll be happy to contribute in any way I can.”

  She smiled then. “Thanks, Rex, but… Well, I hope you don’t mind, but this is our idea, mine and Sammy’s. We don’t want anybody else to get involved. I only pulled the plans out again ’cause I thought it would take Sammy’s mind off remembering Mark’s hands around her throat…”

  Her voice cracked and a tear escaped. She quickly dashed it away. “I’m usually stronger than this. But we’re so close, I can feel everything. I knew last night something terrible had happened. She was terrified, and I felt it…”

  “Ramona,” Rex murmured when another tear fell, “come here.” Holding his arms out, she came willingly and he settled her onto his lap, guiding her head to his shoulder. “It’s okay. Let it out. Let it all out.”

  The dam of tears broke. For a long time, Rex held Ramona as she cried, and he blanked his mind to how snugly she fitted into the cradle of his thighs. She needed comfort, not a come-on. When she finally lifted her head, the front of his shirt was soaked.

  Ramona sniffed and accepted the handkerchief he’d fished out of his pocket. “Sorry about the shirt,” she said, wiping her face dry and blowing her nose.

  “Ah, don’t worry about it. It needed laundering anyway.” Their eyes met and locked. Two things happened. One, he began to drown. Two, his once blank mind registered her well-rounded ass in his lap.

  It was time for some light relief, for both of them.

  He said the first thing that entered his head. “What’s your favorite movie? Mine’s King Kong.” Those striking green eyes of hers widened with surprise, whether through his topic of conversation or his choice of movie, Rex couldn’t tell. “The original 1933 version, that is.”

  Much to his relief, Ramona shifted off his lap and sat cross-legged further up the bed, her attention fixed on the bedspread as her fingers doodled around the flowery patterns. She then looked up. “1933? That must be black and white.”

  “It is. All the best movies are in black and white. The Day The Earth Stood Still. Invasion of the Body Snatchers. A Night to Remember. It’s based on Walter Lord’s book about the sinking of the Titanic,” he explained at her puzzled expression. “Which I know is about as far away from science fiction as you can get, but another brilliant black and white movie all the same.” His mouth hitched at her “you’re-yanking-my-chain” look. “What can I say? My former college roommate was a Titanic buff. I took notice.”

  “Even so, Rex, you’ve gotta admit color and special effects—CGIs—have a place in making brilliant movies, too. James Cameron’s Titanic. Or what about the Peter Jackson remake of King Kong?”

  “Ah. I’m afraid remakes don’t do it for me. Particularly that one.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well,” he explained, injecting a seriousness to his tone, “the story builds on that the girl realizes the ape saves her life, and her gratitude reflects in her feeling less frightened of him. Which is wrong. She should fear him. I mean, he’s a fifty-foot ape.” His lips twitched and his poker face slipped. “Can you imagine how big his bananas are?”

  Ramona giggled. Rex stiffened. Then she leaned closer, her breath on his face warm and distracting. He cleared his throat and moved from the bed before the urge to lay her back against the pillows and finish what they’d started earlier that morning became too strong to control.

  “Er, it’s getting late.” He paused in the doorway when a thought occurred to him. “Would you like me to give you a lift to your parents’?”

  “No, it’s okay. I’ll take my truck. But thanks for offering.”

  “Anytime. I’ll see you sometime tomorrow. And, Ramona, I meant what I said before. If I can help with Samantha—anything at all—then just ask and I’ll do it.”

  “Rex?”

  He turned back around. She held his snotty handkerchief out to him. He pulled a face. “Keep it. I’ve got plenty.”

  Chapter 7

  “Rex, is that offer of help you made last night still standing?”

  Rex folded the corner of the page to mark his place, placed the book down, and stared at Ramona as she plopped into the chair across the kitchen table from him. He took in the under eye shadows and the pinched mouth. He didn’t need to ask to know that her night had been hell.

  Something in his heart thawed, the part which he’d thought would remain forever frozen. She was hurting, and he wanted to be the man to make this woman happy. “Of course. What do you want me to do? Hang Raven by his balls from the nearest tree? Oh, I forgot, he hasn’t got any balls.”

  It was faint, but it was there, and it was a smile. “Can you help Ross with moving Sammy’s things back home? Sammy has an appointment at the Medical Center, you know, just on the corner as you turn into Beaverhead Street? I’d like to go with her. Mom and Dad have gone to Butte, I think to the police station. And Matt’s on duty.”

  “Sure.” He drank the remainder of his coffee and pushed to his feet. “I’ll go now.”

  “Oh, there’s no hurry. Ross is still in bed.” She yawned loudly. “Wish I was. Didn’t get too much sleep. Sammy kept having nightmares about that bastard.”

  Rex hunched down beside Ramona and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I don’t know what to say to make it better. Really I don’t. So I’m going to say nothing. Well, apart from would you like a coffee and some breakfast? I think I’ve enough culinary skills to rustle up scrambled eggs on toast.” This time, the smile was broader and there was a spark of life in those striking green eyes of hers.

  “That would be nice. I’ll just go grab a shower.”

  While the water in the kettle boiled and the bread in the toaster toasted, Rex scrambled eggs and listened to the running water above his head. He soon tuned out. The graphic images he conjured up were a culinary disaster in the making. And being a vegetarian, Ramona would not want burnt sausage to go with her equally burnt eggs. Come to think of it, neither would he. He was rather attached to his “sausage,” thanks very much.

  He turned when he heard soft footsteps behind him. She had swapped her velour jog suit for a pair of denim shorts and a white T-shirt with “I © NY” printed down the middle. He handed her the plate and tried not to stare at the way her breasts jiggled as she plopped down at the table to eat. Was she wearing a bra? No, he couldn’t—wouldn’t—think about that.

  She wolfed down a few bites then said, “Hopefully, what with it being Saturday, we won’t get too many emergency calls, but what—”

  “Don’t you worry about that,” he interrupted, taking a real interest in her Nikes as he placed a mug of coffee in front of her. It was safer than looking at her breasts. “I’ll deal with any we get. You just look after Samantha.”

  “Rex?” She placed the knife and fork down and tugged on his shirt sleeve. “Talk to me.”

  “About what?”

  “Anything. If only for a few minutes, I just wanna feel normal again.”

  Rex snagged the nearest chair and pulled it around to sit beside her. He ignored the rush of heat that ripped through him as he inhaled her freshly showered scented skin. It was some kind of fruit, but he couldn’t discern what. Unless, of course, he took his time sniffing every naked inch of her, every curve, every dip, every recess, which, under the circumstances, was highly inappropriate. Of course, he could ask what shower gel she’d used, but even that didn’t seem right. “Hmm, let’s see. Oh, Watson is going to call his new foal ‘Sundance.’ No, forget I said that.” His short laugh was humorless. “You want me to talk about something that’ll help you forget, not remember.”

  Ramona gave a thin smile. “No, it’s okay.” She picked up her knife and fork again and took another mouthful of toast and egg, chewing slowly and thoughtfully. “‘Sundance’? I like it.”

  “Yeah, I think it’s fitting, what with its sandy-colored coat. When Watson first asked me at the pa
rty whether I wanted to buy him, I said no. But now I must admit I’m tempted. He’s a handsome-looking foal.”

  “Yeah, Watson maybe a pain in the ass, but he sure knows how to breed.”

  Rex felt certain the remark wasn’t said as a joke, but he laughed all the same, which, in turn, made Ramona giggle. And for the first time that morning, his suspicion that she was braless was the last thing on his mind.

  * * * *

  An hour later, Rex parked his brand-new SUV behind another outside an address on Second Street where Ramona once resided with Samantha and Matt. He had wanted a Mustang, preferably identical to the one he’d crashed, but a couple of noteworthy factors had made him change his mind.

  One. They were not entirely appropriate for the terrain as some clients had mere dirt tracks leading to their properties, and repairing a busted fuel or brake line, or anything else for that matter, wasn’t exactly how he’d envisaged spending his free time.

  Two. He’d heard the area was prone to harsh winters with months of heavy snowfall, blizzards, and biting winds. So getting stuck in a snowdrift, freezing his ass off, didn’t exactly fill him with joy, either.

  The red-bricked house itself was much the same as every other house in the street. But it was the garden that stood out. The small, circular, lush, green lawn was perfectly clipped, as were the two conical-shaped box trees on either side of the front door. In every color imaginable, the explosion of bedded and potted petunias, pansies, marigolds, and other summer flowering annuals, and without a weed in sight, signaled somebody in the household was an expert gardener.

  Somehow Rex didn’t think it was Matt. He wielded a badge and a gun, not a packet of seeds and a trowel. Nor did he think it was Ramona. He’d never once seen her watering the plants at the practice, let alone in the garden. That left shy, kind-hearted Samantha, who preferred old-fashioned romance to science fiction and vampires.

  Rex cursed that Raven had no balls and slid the key that Ramona had given him into the lock, but the door swung open and he found himself almost toe-to-toe with a much younger version of Ross Anderson Senior, but with a full head of blue-black hair, and almost a carbon copy of Matt Anderson.

  He introduced himself. “Rex Latimer. I’m Ramona’s partner. Business partner,” he clarified, though he didn’t know why he needed to point that out. It wasn’t as if he was going to say, “Oh, she also stirs my cock, so I wouldn’t mind being her partner in the bedroom, as well.”

  “Ross.” He rocked back on his heels and grinned as he appraised Rex. “So you’re the smug SOB.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Smug SOB. That’s what Mona called you. But don’t get pissed. I think it’s meant as a compliment.”

  “Some compliment,” Rex grumbled, following Ross into the house. On the floor in the living room were a variety of cardboard boxes, some empty, others half-filled with books. He picked up the nearest one—a book on pruning.

  “Sammy’s the green-fingered member of the family,” Ross explained. “I had no idea she had this many books, though. I haven’t even made a dent.”

  Rex followed the thumb, which Ross jerked toward the alcoves either side of the stone fireplace. Both were crammed full of gardening books, punctuated with romance novels. He gave a low whistle. “Surely she doesn’t need all of them. I mean, is the move back to your parents’ temporary or permanent?”

  “I’ve no idea. Did Mona tell you what happened?”

  “Not much. Just that Samantha was raped. I didn’t press for details.”

  “Actually, Matt and I got to Raven before he got that far.”

  Rex flicked his eyes over Ross, noticing the slight bruising to the knuckles of his right hand. Interesting. He remembered both of Ramona’s brothers were police officers, and for some reason, Ross struck him as upstanding, even more so than Matt. Though dedicated, he felt Matt was a bit of a hothead. Still, he wasn’t exactly in the right position to pass judgment. After all, they were talking about Raven here. “Like your brother, Matt, are you also a police officer?”

  Ross nodded. “Detective. NYPD. 19th Precinct. Why?”

  “Just curious.” Rex went to the left hand alcove and began perusing the book titles. “I’m going to make an executive decision and say that Samantha’s move is temporary. I’ll just choose a couple more books.”

  “You hurt Mona, and Matt and I will feed you your balls.”

  The hardback romance novel he’d just selected from the shelf thumped to the floor. “Excuse me?” Rex asked, startled by the comment.

  “You heard. Whatever Sammy experiences, Mona does, too. She’s hurting like you wouldn’t believe.”

  “Don’t you think I don’t know that? If I wasn’t so damned sure you’d arrest me, I’d kick Raven’s ass well into the next century. And since I’m opposed to violence, that’s really saying something.” He planted both hands on his hips, his expression grim as he traded defiant scowls with Ross. “I like Ramona, and I would never hurt her.”

  Actually “like” was too tame a word. With a growing certainty, Rex realized his feelings for Ramona ran deeper than that, and had done for a while. The moment he’d tripped and fallen into her striking green eyes a month ago to be exact.

  Furthermore, the day before, in the treatment room, on the table, the out-of-control sex, even if it did last all of five seconds, told him she’d wanted him as much as he’d wanted her. Of course, sleeping with Ramona didn’t mean marriage, but with the way his heart had thawed that morning, the image of a wife no longer put the fear of God into him. Pause for thought, maybe.

  “Yes, I would arrest you, but then I’d let you off with a warning. You live with Mona. That’s punishment enough.”

  Rex returned Ross’s grin, and the tension disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. “It’s not all that bad. Well, apart from the state she leaves the bathroom in. Honestly, the first time, I thought a bomb had been dropped.” His cell phone vibrated in his jeans pocket. He didn’t recognize the number calling when he flipped it open. “Hello?”

  “Latimer, Watson here. I’ve got a problem with Storm, one of my mares. I was going to call Ramona, but—”

  “You what?” Rex swallowed the curse. “Mr. Watson, I don’t know whether you know or not, but at this moment in time Ramona has more pressing matters to attend to.”

  “Yes, I know. That’s why I didn’t call her. But you’ll come out and see to Storm, yes?”

  Rex passed his free hand over his face. “Yes. I’ll be with you in five minutes.”

  “Bud ‘Pain in the ass’ Watson, right?” Ross asked as Rex flipped his cell shut and pocketed it.

  “In one. Look, I’m sorry, but I’ll have to go. Mr. Watson may be a pain in the ass, but he’s also a client.”

  “You bring a medical bag or whatever you use with you?”

  “Yes. I always carry it. Why?”

  “You like fresh air? Walking?”

  “Why?”

  Again, Ross answered a question with a question. “Interested in taking a shortcut?”

  Catching the sly glint, Rex had no doubt that Ross’s shortcut was going to be anything but short. He didn’t mind in the least.

  * * * *

  Seated in the Medical Center’s small waiting area, Samantha’s hand in hers, Ramona stared at the haphazard pile of magazines on the low table and wondered, not for the first time since their arrival, if anybody had noticed they were ten years old, then wondered why she was bothered. It wasn’t as if she was planning on reading any of them.

  She switched her attention to Samantha. Despite the heat, she wore a thick turtleneck sweater and jeans that were tucked into calf-length boots. Totally covered. Totally inaccessible. Her face bore a blend of strain and serenity. She squeezed her hand. “What’re you thinking about?” she asked when Samantha’s mouth curled softly at the corners.

  “I’m remembering how I felt last night before you came home.”

  Ramona’s brows knitted into a frown. “How you felt?�
�

  “Yeah. For twenty minutes or so, I felt safe. As if somebody had put their arms around me and told me everything was going to be all right.”

  Before Ramona could question Samantha further, Dr. Susan Parks poked her head around the door of her office.

  “Samantha Anderson? Sorry to keep you. If you’d like to come in.”

  “Do you want me to come in with you?” Ramona asked Samantha.

  “No. I’ll be all right.”

  Ramona nodded and settled back in the seat. While waiting, she deliberately made a point of not picking up one of the ten-year-old magazines. Instead, her thoughts went to Rex, and in particular how he had held her the night before. It had been slushy and tender, but for a long, long moment, she had liked it. It had made her feel safe…

  Safe? She was instantly reminded of Samantha’s comment. Rex had held her while she cried for approximately twenty minutes. Just like Ramona could feel Samantha’s feelings, Samantha could feel hers, too. In some telepathic way, she had transported the comfort which Rex had given her onto her sister.

  She then grimaced. She was going to have to ask what happened next because at twenty-one minutes, she’d become aware of Rex’s hard-on and her thoughts had been far from comforting.

  In fact, for the past month, she’d thought about nothing other than indulging in kinky sex with Rex. He may have blown her out at the party and she may have obtained a degree of payback by leaving Bud Watson to him, but the man, still a smug SOB, mind you, was quintessentially sex-on-legs. The number of times she’d imagined kissing that smug smile from his rugged and, which she’d noticed only occurred at weekends, unshaven face, almost equaled that of asking him to sell his share of the house to her.