Forever Oregon #2

by Sara Jane Stone

  His expression hardened. Add in his new beard and longer hair and Dominic now appeared downright menacing. “You know, I’m not very accurate,” he said slowly. “But I can still get off a round or two with a pistol. Where did you say Tom lives?”

  “Ted. And I didn’t.” She raised her glass to her lips. After all this time, all the anger she’d steered his way for not coming back, why did his jealousy feel so welcome?

  “One more question,” he said.

  She nodded, hoping he’d tack on another after that. She wasn’t ready for him to leave her alone in the house surrounded by dark corners. His presence filled her space. It stole her concentration away from the what-­ifs that usually followed her around. What if someone jumped out at her again? What if there was someone hiding in her closet? Or behind her shower curtain?

  “Why the hell did you paint your nails for him?” Dominic demanded.

  Maybe it was the wine, or the possessive gleam in his green eyes, or his familiar presence, but she decided to give him the honest answer. Though she knew it might lead them down a path she wasn’t sure she wanted to travel again. But one that just might keep him in her home awhile longer.

  “Well,” she murmured. “They had to match my panties.”

  GODDAMN IT, I’VE missed her mouth.

  Dominic cocked his head, hoping like hell she planned to down the entire bottle of wine. Not because he wanted to take advantage. No, he wanted an excuse to look at her a little longer. Her blond ringlets danced over her shoulders, teasing her dress’s modest scoop neckline. The garment he’d labeled “sinful” hugged her curves in a way that confirmed Good Guy Ted was an idiot. Add in her smart mouth and how the hell could Ted walk away from her?

  How dare Mr. Good Guy leave her knowing she’s afraid of the dark and every corner of the house she grew up in? I should hunt him down and hurt him for that alone.

  “Prove it,” he said, his tone level and even, as if he wouldn’t trade the use of his good hand to see her panties right now. “Show me what you wearing beneath that dress. Not because I brought you flowers—­”

  “You didn’t. And you ran the ones I had down the disposal.”

  “Show me,” he ordered, a smile playing on his lips at her sharp retort.

  Dominic waited for her anger to rise up and surpass her fears. Any second now, she’d send him back to his rental car. Probably after she demanded to know where he got off asking for a view he’d refused to come home to for so long. If he was lucky, she’d let him keep the coffee.

  She drained her glass and set it on the coffee table. “I’ll show you my underwear if you lose your shirt.”

  Chapter Six

  DOMINIC REACHED BEHIND his head and tugged on his T-­shirt. The rising fabric revealed his abdomen. And yeah, he liked the way her gaze followed the hemline. But his arm stilled, his bicep taut and his T-­shirt covering his hair. If he kept going, she’d see the damaged skin on his chest from where the bullet had entered.

  “Are you sure about this?” he asked. “My scars aren’t pretty.”

  “I promise to focus on your abs,” she murmured without looking up. “And lower.”

  He laughed as he pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it aside. Lily had never offered pity before. Why should she start now? No, the curve of her lips and excitement in her blue eyes suggested she’d take what she wanted from him. She wouldn’t hold back.

  She never holds back. That’s me. I’m the one fighting this pull with everything I have in me.

  He’d walked away from her over and over. He’d told himself it was the right thing to do. Be brave. Fight for freedom. Make your mark on this world while you still can. He’d buffered his heartbreak with good and noble intentions. Only to be sidelined by bullets. It was as if the enemy had won, taking him out before he’d done enough. And now he didn’t have a clue how to find his way forward.

  Lily.

  No, he was pretty damn certain he wouldn’t find his future staring at Lily’s panties. Plus, she was living day to day right now. She didn’t need his bullshit heaped on top of her struggles.

  He shouldn’t look. Hell, he should stand up and walk out of here now. He’d done what he came to do—­check on her. He’d come home to keep her safe. And he had to draw the line there. After all she’d been through he couldn’t drag her back into heartbreak.

  He was leaving. That was a fact. He refused to stay in Forever and lick his wounds.

  “My turn now,” she said.

  Her red nails toyed with the hem of her skirt. One manicured hand held the fabric down while the other drew a small section of her dress up to her thighs. She reached the thin band of burgundy circling her hips.

  “See,” she said, holding her fingers over the splash of color against her pale skin. “They match.”

  Dominic stared at the elastic band as if he’d been ordered to memorize the details. But this wasn’t a reconnaissance mission. He wouldn’t be returning to see how her underwear looked from the back, her skirt pulled up to her hips . . .

  I bet it’s a thong.

  Desire raged like a spreading flame. But on its heels? A big green monster. He thought of the flowers in the disposal and the selfish bastard who’d left them behind.

  “I don’t think Ted deserves panties like those,” he growled.

  “And you do?” she asked coyly.

  “Probably not.”

  “If I let go with my right hand, my dress will probably rise up higher. Maybe to my waist.”

  “It might.” He lifted his gaze to her face. Her blue eyes shone with daring, but also a hint of desperation. Was that why she was sitting there, teasing him? Was she trying to stave off emotions she’d rather not feel? Trying to keep him here just so she wouldn’t be alone?

  “Don’t do it,” he added. “Not now. Not tonight.”

  The red-­tipped fingers holding her dress up at her hip let go and the fabric slipped back into place. He watched it trail over her thighs, leaving him so damn jealous of her fucking clothes. He wanted to touch her. But that was nothing new. He’d spent years waking up in foreign countries and dreaming about her soft skin against his.

  He reached for his coffee and tried to find the right words.

  I want to fuck you on your coffee table.

  While that had a ring of truth to it, he couldn’t put that out there. Not when he knew she needed a helluva lot more than a quickie in her living room. Sure, they could both lose themselves in the pleasure for a while. He’d dreamed about doing just that, finding some random chick for a night, to ease the pain as he came to terms with his future and his fears.

  But he refused to be Lily’s escape. Not when he could be her way through this mess.

  “Tell me how you feel, Lily.”

  “Like someone just stole away my chance for an orgasm tonight,” she said.

  “Look at me.” He waited for her eyes to meet his. Her lips parted as she obeyed. And he studied her expression. But dammit, he couldn’t pinpoint what drove her to offer a view of her underwear, to let him in, to wake up and try to get through the day. He could guess, but . . .

  Once upon a time, before the sharp edge of reality stripped away the fairy tale, he’d been able to read her. He’d soothed her sadness. He’d held her while she wept after her mother’s diagnosis. But now?

  “Talk to me,” he said. “You used to tell me everything. About your mom. Your dad . . .”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I did. You’re the only one who knew what it cost me to watch my mother suffer and know there was nothing I could do to save her. You know how hard it was to see my dad slip deeper and deeper into addiction. I turned to you when I realized I couldn’t save him. I shared everything I was feeling. And then you walked away, taking pieces of me with you.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. And damn, he hoped she could see the truth in his face,
because the words felt inadequate. Apologies didn’t fix the past. He couldn’t make amends with words.

  “I hated you for a while.” She glanced down at her hands clasped tight in her lap. “But it doesn’t feel good to hold a grudge against the man who left to hunt down terrorists. It’s like wishing rainstorms on the ­people standing on the shores to welcome the refugees.”

  “You have every right to hate me for not coming home after they released me from the hospital.”

  “True.” She looked up, but didn’t return her gaze to his face. She stared out the sliding doors and into the night. “But I’m starting to realize . . . fear isn’t easy. It’s not something you can set aside at bedtime. I wish I could most nights.”

  “I wasn’t afraid,” he said. “I was stupid.”

  Now, she turned to face him and raised an eyebrow.

  “OK, maybe a bit of both,” he admitted. “To tell you the truth, I’m still scared.”

  “Of the dark?” she asked in a tone that called BS to his claim.

  “No, honey. I don’t mind the dark.” It was his turn to look away. He hadn’t shared his feelings with anyone in a long time. The military shrink he’d tried to convince that he was fine and ready to serve again—­that guy didn’t count.

  “I’m afraid I’ll never be of much use to anyone,” he continued. Why hide the truth from her? She deserved to know why he couldn’t stay here staring at the pieces of his previous life. “I feel too damn broken. I thought I knew what my future held. I walked away from this place, from you, determined to make that sacrifice matter. And to suddenly be out of the game? I feel like a fucking failure, Lil. And I don’t think that will change if I stay here.”

  He waited for her to envelop him in a hug and shower him with comforting words. And hell, if Lily shoveled on the pity now . . . it sure as shit would erase the last trace of his desire.

  “Well, I’m scared of the dark,” she said as if he hadn’t just poured out his heart and soul. “I’m afraid to close my eyes. Even when I’m in the shower, I’m terrified to wash my hair because I’ll have to close my eyes for a split second. And that’s all it takes. He could get into my house and . . . I know he’s out there. It wasn’t a random attack.”

  Oh, Lily. His heart broke for her.

  “I’m afraid to go out alone. And I’m terrified to stay in by myself,” she said, the words pouring out one after the other, faster and faster. “You want to know how I feel? Paralyzed by fear. And I hate him. Whoever he is, I hate him for doing this to me.”

  I’m going to kill him. When I get my hands on the man who did this. . .

  She let out a bark of laughter. “Hate and fear. That’s my life. Is it any wonder that I want to add an orgasm to the mix?”

  “No, it’s not surprising. But I’m not your guy.”

  She shook her head. “There’s never been anyone else. Not for me. And that scares me too.”

  Reach for her. Pull her close. Kiss her.

  His mind issued the commands in rapid-­fire succession. His body responded to those words. And his hands moved. He set the coffee mug on the table and . . .

  No, he couldn’t touch her. She was hurting and broken—­and so was he.

  “Sounds like Ted’s a good guy,” he mumbled as he lowered his hands to his lap.

  “He is.”

  Shit, those two little words reawakened the monster. Big. With green eyes. Hell, it was the stuff of her nightmares. And his too, when he thought about it long and hard. The idea of Lily with another man would leave him screaming with rage in his sleep. If he ever bothered to close his eyes long enough to dream . . .

  “But he failed the ‘keep me safe from the dark’ test when he didn’t think to camp outside in his car,” she added.

  “Sometimes all those fancy teaching degrees don’t translate to real-­life applications.”

  “No.” She cocked her head. “You’re not laughing at me. Or telling me there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  “I told you. I believe you.” He reached out his left hand and clasped her right, the one still resting in her lap after holding her dress down to tease him—­or just plain drive him crazy. “And, Lil, don’t ever let anyone tell you what you should or shouldn’t fear.”

  He gave her hand a squeeze. Then he released her and pushed to his feet. “I’m going back to my post in the car.”

  “Dominic—­”

  “Thanks for the coffee.” He lifted the mug off the table and held it up in the air as if toasting her. “I’m going to grab a refill on the way out. That way you don’t need to worry about the dark tonight. I’m going to watch over you. And after two cups of this brew, nothing will get past me. I promise.”

  “YOU RUINED EVERYTHING!”

  The voice echoed in her ears. The hot breath touched her neck.

  Someone screamed. The high-­pitched sound reverberated against the walls.

  Walls?

  She was outside, her body pressed up against pavement. He was on top of her. Breathing . . . touching . . . cutting . . . screaming . . .

  No, she was screaming.

  But someone had spoken. And she knew that voice. She’d heard it before. Somewhere. Outside of her nightmares. A room filled with desks . . .

  No, that was her classroom. She was outside.

  Bang. Bang. Bang!

  The knocking pulled her back. She wasn’t outside. But this couldn’t be her classroom.

  Her hand reached out. The surface was soft. Familiar. She opened her eyes.

  My bedroom.

  Another nightmare.

  “Lily?”

  She pushed herself into an upright position on her queen bed. She’d kept the wallpaper, her old dresser, but she’d upgraded from her twin mattress and metal frame after her mother passed away. Not that it mattered now. She slept alone. And half the time, she closed her eyes and returned to that familiar stretch of pavement in the park.

  “Coming.” Her voice sounded hoarse. She stumbled toward the bedroom door and made her way down the hall. She paused in the entryway and glanced down at her dress. She’d fallen asleep in her clothes again. It was as if pajamas offered a one-­way ticket to an attack she couldn’t escape. But in her clothes, she could run.

  “Lily, I need you to open the door now or I’m breaking it down,” her ex-­boyfriend turned bodyguard growled.

  She released the chain and flipped the deadbolt. Then she opened the door a crack. “You’re up early.”

  “I never went to sleep.” He turned his head as if trying to peer into her house and scan for bad guys. “I thought I heard a scream.”

  “Oh?” Her grip tightened on the door. “It must have been your sleep-­deprived imagination. I didn’t . . . I didn’t hear it.”

  He studied her and for a second she wondered if he could see into her thoughts.

  “My mistake,” he said. “Thought maybe you were calling me in for a morning cup of coffee.”

  “I was sound asleep.”

  His brow furrowed. “Did you—­”

  “I slept great. Thanks for asking,” she said before he uttered the word “nightmare.” “But I haven’t started the coffee yet. Give me ten minutes and I’ll invite you in.”

  She slammed the door and turned the bolt. Then she closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the painted white door.

  “Take your time, Lil,” he murmured from the other side. “I’ll be right here.”

  She stepped back and headed down the hallway. In her room, she stripped off her dress and tossed it aside. She pulled out the top dresser drawer and rummaged through until she found a pair of flannel pajamas.

  Two minutes later, she returned to the front door, turned the lock, and held it open. “On second thought,” she said, “I’ll let you brew your own.”

  “Thanks.” He walked into th
e entryway and paused, scanning her up and down. “Cold last night?”

  She looked down at the fabric covered with dancing penguins and polar bears. “No. But I love the pattern.”

  He nodded as if storing that fact for another day, maybe another life when he’d need to pick out a gift for her . . . and settle on clothes covered in arctic animals.

  “What time do you need to be at Big Buck’s?” he asked as he headed for her kitchen.

  “Not until eight tonight. Noah’s covering the first shift at the bar.” She followed him and opened the fridge as he reached for the coffeepot. “I’m mostly helping out when it gets busy.”

  “I called my dad last night.” He poured the grounds into the reusable filter. And she pulled a carton of orange juice from the middle shelf. The actions felt ordinary and comfortable.

  Almost as if I wake up screaming every day and he rushes in for breakfast. After spending the night in his car. . .

  “And how is our police chief?” she asked as she poured the juice.

  “Fine.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him press the start button.

  “My dad offered to make us breakfast,” he continued. “While he cooks, I can take a look at the file from your attack.”

  She set the carton and glass down on the counter. “I thought they closed the case.”

  “Not exactly. The case is still open. They don’t have any leads, but my dad agreed that a fresh set of eyes might help.” He turned and opened the cabinet containing the mugs with his left hand. “Plus, my father makes a mean omelet.”

  “I remember.”

  He glanced over his shoulder. “Honey, if you remembered his eggs you’d be racing to change out of your penguins and polar bears. My father’s a damn good policeman. But his omelets are out of this world. Go change. Shower if you want. I’ll make myself at home on your couch and wait.”

  “Do you expect to find something in the file?” she asked. “Do you think your dad missed something?”