Mixing Temptation

by Sara Jane Stone

  But Noah . . .

  He’d gained five pounds of pure muscle. His tight black T-­shirt clung to his biceps. Dark green cargo pants hung low on his hips. And his face . . .

  On the drive, she’d tried to trick herself into believing he was just a friend she’d slept with one wild night. She’d made a fool of herself, losing her heart to him then.

  Never again.

  She’d made a promise to her broken, battered heart and she planned to keep it. She would not fall for Noah this time.

  But oh, the temptation . . .

  His short blond hair still looked as if he’d just run his hands through it. Stubble, the same color as his hair, covered his jaw. He’d forgotten to shave, or just didn’t give a damn. But his familiar blue eyes left her ready to pass out at his feet from lack of oxygen.

  He stared at her, wariness radiating from those blue depths. Five years ago, he’d smiled at her and it had touched his eyes. Not now.

  “Josie?” His brow knitted as if he’d had to search his memory for her name. His grip tightened on the door. Was he debating whether to slam it in her face and pretend his mind had been playing tricks on him?

  “Hi, Noah.” She placed her right boot in the doorway, determined to follow him inside if he tried to shut her out.

  “You’re back,” he said as if putting together the pieces of a puzzle. But still no hint of the warm, welcoming smile he’d worn with an easygoing grace five years ago.

  “I guess you didn’t get the carrier pigeon,” she said, forcing a smile. Please let him remember. “But I need your help.”

  NOAH STARED AT the dark-­haired beauty. Her white T-­shirt hugged her curves, and her cutoff jean shorts sent him on a trip down memory lane. And those boots . . .

  The memory of Josephine Fairmore had followed him to hell and back. He’d tried to escape the feel of her full lips, the taste of her mouth, her body pressed up against his . . . and he’d failed. He’d carried every detail of that night in the barn with him to basic training. Right down to her cowgirl boots. He’d dreamed about Josie in a bikini, Josie on the mechanical bull, Josie damn near anywhere, while hiking through the Afghan desert. He’d spent years lying in makeshift barracks wanting and wishing for a chance to talk to her while staring into her large green eyes.

  And yeah, who was he kidding? His gaze would head south and he’d let himself drink in the sight of her breasts.

  He closed his eyes. He’d spent two long deployments hoping for an email, a letter—­something from her. He’d wanted confirmation that she was all right. But she never wrote. Not once. She’d reduced him to begging for tidbits from Dominic. Not that her brother had volunteered much more than a She’s fine. Stay the hell away from her.

  But she wasn’t fine.

  He opened his eyes.

  “You needed help and you sent a pigeon?” He released his grip on the door and rested his forearm against it. “You could have called.”

  “I thought it would be better to apply for a job in person,” she said, her voice low and so damn sultry that his dick was on the verge of responding.

  Not going to happen.

  There were a helluva lot of things beyond his control. His dad’s health. His grandmother’s heart failure while he was stationed in Bumblefuck, Afghanistan, fighting two enemies—­and one of them should have been on his side. And the fact that the only time he felt calm, in control, and something bordering on happiness, was at the damn shooting range.

  Still, he could control his own dick.

  But why the hell should I?

  He let his gaze drift to her chest, down her hips, and down her slim legs. He’d wanted her for five long years and here she was on his doorstep. What was stopping him from pulling her close and starting where they’d left off five years ago? He wasn’t the good guy worried about her big brother’s reactions or her reputation. Not anymore. Nothing he’d done in the past five years had left him feeling heroic. So why start now?

  She crossed her arms in front of her chest. And while he appreciated the way her breasts lifted, he raised his gaze to meet hers.

  “I’m not hiring,” he lied. Big Buck’s needed a waitress or two, another bartender, and a dishwasher to keep up with the crowds pouring in from the nearby university, desperate to bump and grind to house music. But if she worked here, well hell, then he’d have another reason he shouldn’t touch her. He had a rule about messing around with his female employees. It was bad business. He’d worked too hard to turn Big Buck’s into something to fool around with a waitress or a bartender.

  She raised an eyebrow and nodded to the Help Wanted sign he’d put up in the window. “Someone put that up without asking you?”

  Shit.

  “I recently filled the position,” he said, searching for an excuse that didn’t touch on the truth.

  “I’m too late.” She shook her head. “Perfect. I guess I should have gotten up the nerve to come home a few days ago.”

  He glanced over her shoulder and saw a red Mini parked beside his truck. It looked like a toy next to his F–250. And apart from the driver’s side, every cubic inch appeared stuffed with bags.

  “I thought you liked Portland. Greg from the station said you haven’t been back here in a few years,” he said, knowing he should close the door and end the conversation. If he let her in, if he handed her an application followed by a Big Buck’s apron, he couldn’t touch her. That wasn’t much different from the past five years, or the ones before the going away party, but she hadn’t spent the past decade or so within arm’s reach.

  “It didn’t work out,” she said.

  “They don’t have jobs up there for someone with a fancy degree? I bet you could do a lot better than serving drinks.”

  She blinked and for a second he thought she might turn around and walk away, abandoning her plea for help. “I took a break from school, lost my scholarship, and then dropped out,” she said.

  “What?” He stared at her. “Dominic never said—­”

  “My dad didn’t know I’d quit school until recently. And I don’t think he told Dom,” she said quickly. “My brother has enough to worry about over there. Like not getting killed or . . .”

  “Worse,” he supplied. Like losing a limb or a fellow soldier. Yeah, Noah knew plenty of guys who’d lost both. But he’d worried about losing respect for the band of brothers serving with him because they’d flat out refused to treat the woman busting her ass alongside them with an ounce of decency . . .

  Except Dominic would probably have stepped in and saved the woman before she was attacked. Josie’s brother wouldn’t let the situation get beyond his control and then try to pick up the pieces.

  “There are worse things than dying out there,” he added, trying to focus on the here and now, not the past he couldn’t change.

  “Yes.”

  He kept his gaze locked on her face as he stepped back and placed his hand on the door again. He was ready and willing to slam it closed. She could tempt and tease him, but he refused to take his eyes off her face. Hell, he knew better than to play chicken with her breasts. Right now, with the way he wanted her, he’d lose that game.

  First, he needed some time to process. He wanted space to think about the fact that things hadn’t worked out for her in Portland. He needed her to leave before he pulled her close, wrapped his arms around her, and offered comfort. Before he begged to know every damn detail about what had happened.

  No, he needed her gone. Because he’d learned one big life lesson from his time with the Marines: he wasn’t a hero. He couldn’t let old habits take over, pushing him to save her. He wanted Josie’s hands on him, her lips pressed against him . . . not her problems dumped at his feet. And if Josie was back in the town that had insisted on labeling her wild, holding her solely accountable for losing her panties in a hay wagon ride, then something had gone horr
ibly wrong in Portland.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t—­”

  “I need a job, Noah.” She wasn’t begging, merely stating a fact. But desperation and determination clung to her words. Never a good combination.

  Noah sighed. “Do you have any waitressing or bartending experience?”

  “Not exactly.” She forced a smile as she uncrossed her arms and riffled through the worn black leather shoulder bag. She withdrew a manila folder and handed it to him. “But I brought my resume.”

  Propping the door open with his foot, he took the folder and opened it. He read over the resume and tried to figure out how a series of babysitting gigs related to serving the twenty-­one-­and-­older crowd.

  “You took a year off between working for these two families.” He glanced up. “To focus on school?”

  “No.” Her smile faded. “I can serve drinks, Noah. I’m smart and I’m good with ­people. Especially strangers. And now that you’ve taken the “country” out of Big Buck’s, I’m guessing the locals don’t camp out at the bar anymore.”

  “Some still do.” And they gave him hell for telling his dad to remove the mechanical bull. Five years and the ­people born and bred in this town still missed the machine that had put the “country” in Big Buck’s Country Bar. Some dropped by to visit the damn thing in his dad’s barn. But he’d bet no one had ridden it like Josie in the last five years.

  He closed the folder and held it out to her. “Why are you so desperate to serve drinks?”

  “I owe a lot of money.”

  Another fact. But this one led to a bucket of questions. “Your father won’t help you?”

  She shook her head. “This is my responsibility. He’s giving me a place to stay until I get back on my feet.”

  The don’t-­mess-­with-­me veneer he wore like body armor cracked. If someone had hurt Josie . . . No, she wasn’t his responsibility. Whatever trouble she’d found—­credit card debt, bad loans—­it wasn’t his mess to clean up. He’d spent most of his life playing superhero, first on the football field, later for his family, and then for his fellow Marines. But his last deployment—­and the fallout—­had made it pretty damn clear that he wasn’t cut out for the role.

  He couldn’t help Josie Fairmore. Not this time. And he sure as hell couldn’t give her a job that would keep her underfoot. He couldn’t pay her to work for him and want her at the same time. It wasn’t right. Maybe he was a failed hero. But he still knew right from wrong.

  “Look, I need experienced waitresses and bartenders.” He stepped away, ready to head back to the peace and quiet of his empty bar.

  “So you haven’t filled the positions?” she asked.

  “I—­”

  “Please think about it.” She removed her foot, offering him the space to slam the door. “If you can’t help me, I’ll have to take Daphne up on her offer to serve topless drinks at The Lost Kitten. And I’d rather keep my shirt on while I work. But one way or another, I’m going to pay back what I owe.”

  She turned and headed for the red Mini. He stared at her back and pictured her bending over tables. One look at her bare chest and the guys at The Lost Kitten would forget what they planned to order. He hated that mental image, but jealousy didn’t dominate his senses right now.

  He’d witnessed a woman sacrifice her pride and her dignity for her job. He’d fought like hell for her and he’d failed her. He couldn’t change the past. What happened to Caroline was out of his hands now. Even if he wanted to help, he couldn’t. She’d disappeared. If and when Caroline resurfaced, she’d be the one charged with a crime. Unauthorized absence. And his testimony? The things he’d witnessed? It wouldn’t matter.

  But Josie was standing in his freaking parking lot.

  “I’ll give you one shot,” he called. She stopped and turned to face him. Her full lips formed a smile and her eyes shone with triumph.

  “A trial shift,” he added. “If you can keep up with a Thursday-­night crowd, I’ll consider giving you a job.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “Come back around four. And don’t get too excited. Your babysitting experience won’t help with a room full of college kids counting down the days until spring break.”

  He closed the door and turned to face the dark interior of his father’s bar. Giving her a shot didn’t make him a hero. But it would give him a chance to figure out why she needed the money.

  Click here to buy!

  And keep reading for an excerpt from Sara Jane Stone’s second book in the series,

  STIRRING ATTRACTION

  When Dominic Fairmore left Oregon to be all he could be as an Army Ranger, he always knew he’d come back to claim Lily Greene. But after six years away and three career-­ending bullets, Dominic is battered, broken, and nobody’s hero—­so he stays away. Until he learns Lily has been the victim of a seemingly random attack. He’ll do anything to keep her safe . . . even go home.

  Lily is starting to find a life without Dominic when suddenly her wounded warrior is home and playing bodyguard—­though all she really wants is for him to take her. But she refuses to play the part of a damsel in distress, no matter how much she misses his tempting touch. He’ll leave as soon as she’s safe and Lily knows her heart will never heal.

  But as attraction stirs to so much more, danger closes in. With more than Lily’s heart at stake, Dominic can no longer draw a line between protecting Lily and loving her . . .

  An Excerpt from

  STIRRING ATTRACTION

  IF IT WASN’T for Taylor Swift and chocolate brownies, I would be at home wearing size six jeans and enjoying the first Monday of summer break.

  Instead, the potent combination drove Lily to add an extra mile to her morning run. She turned up the volume on Swift’s not-­so-­country album and jogged down Forever’s familiar Main Street, trying to shake off the extra calories clinging to her thighs. If she kept going for another ten, maybe fifteen minutes, she’d end up in the park beyond the university. The well-­maintained paths weaving through a manicured forest might distract from the fact that she hated running.

  But I ate three large brownies at the end-­of-­year celebration yesterday.

  Because who could say no to a six-­year-­old student with a plate of homemade double-­fudge brownies? She might have followed her heart when she’d applied to teach kindergarten in her hometown when she graduated from college. But now, at the ripe old age of twenty-­nine, this career was hell on her thighs and waistline.

  Not that the kids shouldered all the blame. She’d turned to chocolate for comfort so many times over the past few years that she’d started to wonder if she should follow her father into rehab.

  But it hadn’t worked for him. He’d been arrested for driving under the influence. And this time the court had ordered him to rehab again. Not that he’d bothered to tell her. She’d received a call from his girlfriend of the moment with the news.

  No, she doubted a twelve-­step program to abandon chocolate would work for her. Plus, there were some times when she loved her curves. On those days, she welcomed the sugar rush, always promising to run the next day.

  And other times . . . well, after struggling to care for her mother toward the end, the handful of reunions with Dominic, followed by the breakups—­she’d kissed him goodbye more times than she wanted to count—­hadn’t she earned a treat? She’d rather have Dominic . . .

  But he hadn’t returned to Forever. And she’d buried her hope that he ever would after he took two bullets to the chest and one through his hand. He’d almost died in a war-­torn country, then again in Germany while on the operating table. But it was the shot that had ripped apart his right hand that might bury him alive. He couldn’t go back to the army. The rangers had kicked him out of the only group he’d ever wanted to join.

  And he still hadn’t come home.

  Not
to her.

  He’d taken a break from his outpatient rehab to meet his niece after she was born. But he’d only stayed for a few days. Lily had been so caught up in school that she hadn’t realized he was in town until he’d left again.

  The traffic light turned green and she ran across the street, heading for the quiet park. The university students had mostly left for summer vacation. Plus, it was after nine in the morning on a Monday. Most of Forever’s locals were at work. She ran past a mother pushing a stroller toward the park’s swing set. In the distance, she could see another jogger.

  Alone with Taylor Swift. . .

  She picked up the pace, determined to push the extra calories clinging to her legs into exile. She had a date tonight with a man who wanted the same things out of life. Marriage. Children. A fellow teacher who wished to settle in Forever, not run away. Ted was the definition of “good man” even if he never tried to back her up against the wall and take her . . .

  Stop comparing him to Dominic. Stop waiting for someone who has made it clear he is not coming back.

  The playground disappeared from view. She followed the path through the trees. Glimpses of the university’s buildings were visible through the bright green leaves, but nothing more. Rounding the bend, she saw a flash of red.

  A man. Tall. Broad. Wearing a sweatshirt in June. Who did that? It was hot today even for a summer day.

  He drew closer. Running toward her as if he knew her and wanted to say hello. He was moving fast. He was wearing a ski mask. In June . . .

  And then he was on top of her.

  She hit the pavement and fell back. He came with her. And oh God, he was hitting her. Over and over. She heard screams and hoped the sounds came from someone who would help her. A hit to the jaw. A punch to the gut, this one stinging. And then . . .

  Silence.

  She’d been the one screaming, her voice high-­pitched and terrified. She’d been the one begging for help until the reality sank in. She was alone. In the trees. Out of sight.