Inescapable (Men of Mercy Novel, A)

by Joss Wood

  Kai felt a spurt of excitement. “You think it would fly?”

  “Hey, if they want your focus and time then they should pay for it. And they will.” Sawyer sounded convincing. “You might not be able to do all the training here in Mercy but you could do most of it here. That’s if, you know, you could see yourself living in this hellhole of cute.”

  Kai knew that he didn’t have a leg to stand on, so he kept quiet.

  “You leaning toward coming back, bro?”

  “Yeah,” he admitted.

  “Thank the good Lord and all his angels,” Sawyer drawled. “Can I buy this damned building now?”

  Shit, he’d forgotten all about that. “Yeah, make the offer. Buy the premises.”

  “I’ll courier you the documents you need to sign.”

  Kai shook his head as Mark walked into the room, coffee in his hand. “No, don’t bother. I’ll be back within a day or so.”

  Sawyer grinned. “Excellent news. Oh, and, Kai?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Remind me to hit you for making Flick cry.”

  Kai sighed. Nobody, in his book, was allowed to hurt Flick, and that included him. “Fair enough.” He disconnected, took his coffee from Mark, and walked toward the door. “Carry on without me, Mark. I’m heading home.”

  ***

  Tally had left a voice message on her phone, Pippa had called her at the crack of dawn, Moses had dropped the bomb two seconds after he’d stepped into the bakery, and Sawyer had sent her an email. Plus, someone tagged her on Facebook and it was being discussed on Mercy OnLine.

  She got it. Kai was back. So what?

  Flick slammed her fist into her bread dough on the table in front of her and imagined that it was Kai’s face. What did he think he was doing, sauntering back into town after two weeks? Did he really think he could just stroll back in and pretend nothing had happened?

  Nothing had happened, she told herself. They’d slept together, it ended. It wasn’t his fault that she’d fallen in love with him. She scowled at the bread dough. Well, he could take a little of the blame. He was a bit too sexy, a little too smart, a lot too messed up.

  Did she really want to help him carry that cargo ship of baggage that accompanied him everywhere he went? No, she did not! A man like that was delightful to play with but he was a stubborn, screwed-up wreck, and really, she was better off without him.

  Flick tipped her head up and looked at the ceiling. No, she wasn’t. She was miserable without him. She missed him and longed for him and dreamed about him and . . . God, enough! Seriously, she wasn’t an Austen heroine whose world had come to a grinding halt because the hero didn’t return her affections.

  What she and Kai had had was a mutually beneficial arrangement, and he couldn’t be blamed for not wanting what she did.

  Stupid, asshole man.

  But, God, how was she supposed to live and work in the same town, seeing him occasionally, watching him interact with her friends, drinking at the Fox, running on her trail? How would she cope with watching him flirt with other women, hearing that he’d hooked up with them? And why was he home anyway? He’d only visited Mercy a handful of times over the past few years, so why was he back so soon? That wasn’t, in any shape or form, fair. He kept coming back when it was better for everyone—okay, just for her—for him to stay away.

  “You’ve overworked that dough,” Moses said from across the table, his blue eyes glinting. “You’re going to have to bin it.”

  Flick looked down at the mess on the table in front of her and cursed under her breath. What a waste! Now the jerkface was affecting her bottom line. She should send him a bill, for the wasted dough and for the amount of time she spent thinking about him when she should have been working.

  Flick scooped up the dough, walked over to the trash, and dropped it inside, placing her hands on her hips. This was utterly ridiculous. She had to get a grip and stop this nonsense.

  Enough, now.

  The door from the bakery banged open and she turned to see her brother—why was he up and around at eight thirty? Since he closed the bar in the wee hours of the morning, he rarely woke before ten unless there was an emergency.

  “Is Dad okay?” she demanded, suddenly scared.

  “He’s fine.”

  Flick let out a long breath. “So what’s the bad news?”

  Jack frowned. “What bad news?”

  Flick felt like she was about to burst out of her skin, she was that irritated. “If you don’t have news then why are you here?”

  “I came to tell you that Kai—”

  Flick felt a hot, intense wave of anger engulf her and instead of pushing it away she embraced it, sank into it. Oh, this anger felt so much better than tears. “I don’t freaking care!” Flick shouted.

  Jack just smiled. “But—”

  She was done. She was over this. Over being talked about, gossiped about, feeling like her love life was a slide for the residents of Mercy to dissect under their collective microscope. She’d had more than enough.

  Flick stomped over to a knife block and yanked out a thin, wicked-looking boning knife and gripped it in a tight fist. “I’m done.”

  “Where the hell are you going with that knife?” Jack demanded. “Stop waving it around; you’ll hurt yourself.”

  “I’m a chef, idiot! I know more about knives than you do, so unless you want to get hurt, get the hell out of my way.” Sure, she was being dramatic, but if her customers wanted drama, they were going to get it. She’d give them something to talk about in their old age. . . .

  Remember the time that Aunt Flick—you know, she’s the batty spinster with all the animals—went nuts in the bakery? Oh, it must’ve been forty, fifty years ago . . .

  Flick pushed her hair off her face with her free hand and walked to the swing door, banging it open with the palm of her hand. The tables were all full and, thanks to the red mist in front of her eyes, her vision was blurry.

  “Listen up!” she shouted and the noise dropped. The rumble of voices faded away until the silence was absolute.

  Apparently she stood just there, hair a mess, no makeup, waving this wicked knife around . . .

  “What’s going on?” Pippa asked as she walked down the stairs from her office.

  “My sister is losing her shit,” Jack said from somewhere behind her. No doubt Moses was there too and the rest of her staff. Well, in for a pound and all that.

  Flick spun around and pointed the knife at her brother. He was still a few yards from her so she waved it around to make her point. “Shut up! And listen up!”

  Jack just smirked at her and folded his arms across his chest. The bastard was enjoying this. Maybe she should stab him, just a little prick . . .

  Rumor has it that she tried to stab her brother. I think his name was Jack. He married that showgirl. Or was she a stripper?

  Whoa, stabbing him was a step too far, even for someone as incandescently furious as she was. Besides, with Jack’s training he’d have the knife off her before it came anywhere near his skin and that would be embarrassing. Best not to try.

  “You got something to say, princess? Because you have our attention.” Jack’s amusement was thick and she felt her temper bubble up again.

  “Right! Yeah, I have something to say.”

  “Can’t wait,” Jack said.

  It was difficult but she ignored him. She turned back to her audience and looked past their heads. She couldn’t make eye contact—if she saw pity in their eyes she’d dissolve.

  “I know that Manning is back and I swear, the next person who tells me that he is, I swear I will fillet them with this knife. Slowly. And painfully.”

  “That sounds like a threat, Felicity. Can’t have that.”

  Flick recognized that voice and looked toward a table at the window, and the rugged face of Mercy
’s chief of police came into focus. “Shut up, Kelly, I’m not scared of you! I used to beat you up when we were kids.”

  Snickers of laughter drifted toward her and she scowled. Nobody should be laughing. This was serious, dammit!

  “Manning and I had a thing and, apparently, he’s back. But whatever we had is over, and I don’t care! Get a life, people! Mine is not up for dissection!”

  Under the anger she felt tears gather in her throat so she rapidly blinked them away before closing her eyes. “Sometimes I really hate this town,” she said.

  From the back of the room Flick heard the scraping of a chair as it skidded back on the tiled floor. “That’s a pity, because I always hated this town, but I’ve come to sort of love it. Could do without the gossip though.”

  His voice was like drinking hot chocolate after a snowball fight, or cool lemonade on a stinking-hot day. Tart, deep with flavor, and exactly what she needed. Flick opened her eyes and there he stood, dressed in a pair of battered jeans that were frayed at the hem and held up by a leather belt, and a gray Henley that fell over his broad chest and across his flat stomach. A leather jacket hung on the back of his chair. He was sitting with Sawyer, who had a shit-eating grin on his face. Her anger drained away and humiliation, just as hot and intense, rolled in. Oh, God, she’d berated her customers in front of her ex-lover.

  Her ex-lover who was back, standing in her bakery, looking hot and completely unavailable. Wait, what had he said? That he liked Mercy now? Crap, did that mean he would be spending more time here, or possibly even moving back? She thought that she could, maybe, possibly—with difficulty—handle his occasional visits home, but him moving here, permanently, would mean that she’d have to leave. She could not, would not, spend the rest of her life watching the man she loved from a distance.

  Not going to happen. Ever.

  Flick bit her lip and forced herself to meet Kai’s spectacular eyes. They were beautifully gold. “Does that cryptic comment mean that you’re moving back to Mercy?”

  Kai lifted one powerful shoulder. “Maybe.”

  Maybe? That sounded more like a yes to her. Flick gave one sharp nod, and, conscious that every eye in the joint was watching them, turned to look at Pippa. “If that happens I’ll sell you my share of the bakery. Moses will bake the product.”

  Titters skittered through their audience but Flick ignored them. She carefully placed the knife on the counter, untied the strings on her apron, and handed it to Tiffany.

  Forcing her feet to move, she walked across the bakery to the front door, her head held up high. She would not let anyone see her cry. She was better, stronger, and had more pride than that.

  “You just gonna let her walk?” Jack’s words bounced off her back.

  “I was thinking that I might let her walk off her temper before I tackle her,” Kai replied as she reached the door. She pulled it open as he spoke again. “Then again, maybe not. Wait up, Sturgiss.”

  Flick ignored him and allowed the door to bang close behind her. As she walked down the road, she heard the muted roar of voices discussing her, as they would be doing for a long while . . .

  Yeah, Old Flick, she’s still nuts, you know. That day was the day that tipped her over the edge. Never been the same since.

  ***

  Flick huffed her way up her favorite trail and dropped onto the rock at her lookout spot, the same one where she and Kai had sat and talked. Everything she did, everywhere she went reminded her of him and she hated it. Flick pulled her long-sleeved cotton shirt away from her sweaty chest. Autumn might be rolling into winter but jeans and a warm T-shirt and cowboy boots were not suitable gear for hiking. She was upset enough—she didn’t need to add hot and sweaty to her current levels of discomfort.

  God, she’d made such a fool of herself by allowing her temper to boil over. She could imagine the gossip flying around town, the speculation, the laughter. Would Kai be laughing along with them, thinking that he’d dodged a bullet, had a narrow escape from the crazy person?

  Flick pushed the heels of her hands into her burning eyes. God, her life was so screwed up.

  “You okay?”

  Flick’s head snapped up and she blinked as she saw Kai standing on the path, his hands in the pockets of his jeans, sunglasses covering his eyes. He didn’t look sweaty or hot or even ill at ease, the bastard.

  She’d had more than enough, more than she could cope with. She just wanted to sit here alone and lick her wounds. “Go away, Kai.”

  Kai walked over to her and bumped her shoulder with his hip, a silent order for her to shift. She glared at him but she moved sideways. He sat down, stretching his long legs in front of him. He looked around and shoved his sunglasses up on his head. “Appropriate.”

  “What is?” Flick demanded.

  “We’ve had some pretty good conversations on this rock.”

  Figures that he’d think that the conversation that would follow—something along the lines of how they were going to deal with each other going forward—would be important. He wouldn’t want her making any more scenes, drawing him into her drama. Kai didn’t do drama. It wasn’t her favorite thing either—she’d just had a really bad morning. And it wasn’t over yet.

  “Can you just say whatever it is you want to say? Let’s get this over with.”

  “You sure you want to hear what I’m going to say? You ready for that?”

  His tone was solemn and loaded with an emotion she couldn’t identify. Intensity was there, and determination, but that wasn’t it . . . There was something else and it wasn’t good. Rip the Band-Aid off, Kai. Quick and clean, wasn’t that his style?

  “Just get on with it, Manning.”

  “Okay.” Kai nodded. He sucked in a breath and then his words rushed out. “I love you, and I want to live with you and spend the bulk of my time in Mercy. With you.”

  Flick’s jaw hit the ground and when she pulled it back up she sent him a laser-sharp glare. “That’s not even remotely funny, Kai.”

  “Yeah, I happen to agree with you. I don’t think it’s at all funny that I think about you all the time, that I dream about you, that I feel like I’m suffering from a bullet to my heart when I’m apart from you. It’s not funny. It fucking sucks.”

  Flick’s chin nearly hit the ground again. She placed her elbows on her knees, pressed her fingertips into her forehead, and closed her eyes. Hope and excitement swirled in her stomach, her throat tightened, and pure undiluted joy threatened to melt her joints. She couldn’t give in to it, couldn’t believe it. If this was a joke . . .

  “If you’re messing with me—”

  Kai’s hand, big and broad, rested on her back. “Nobody is allowed to mess with you or hurt you, babe, and that includes me.” Kai’s hand drifted up her back and into her hair. “I’ve hated every second of being away from you. I really missed you, and I never miss anyone.”

  She couldn’t open her eyes because she was petrified that if she did he’d disappear as fast as he arrived, that she’d realize that he was a miasma, the first of her psychotic episodes. She’d lost her mind back in the bakery, remember? But his hand felt so real, and she could smell his cologne, could feel his heat.

  “Are you ever going to look at me, Fee?”

  It was the gentle tone that got to her, the insecurity she heard in his voice. She dropped her hands and slowly, ever so slowly turned to look at him, waiting for him to evaporate before her eyes. Yet, there he sat, strong, tall, and, unless she was having auditory hallucinations as well, telling her that he loved her, that he’d missed her.

  “Say that again?” She just wanted to make sure.

  Kai’s hand came up to cup her face, his thumb skimming her cheekbone. He swallowed and the corners of his eyes crinkled. “I love you. So damn much.”

  Flick placed her hand on his chest and felt his rapid heartbeat, heard his shallow breathing
. Yeah, he wasn’t half as sanguine as he wanted to appear. He loved her. Thank God.

  Flick scooted over to him, draped her arms around his neck and burrowed her face into his neck, inhaling him. She wanted to climb inside him and rest awhile, allowing the sunbeams of happiness to dance over her skin.

  Kai gathered her close, pulling her thighs over his to cradle her on his lap. His lips tasted her ear, her temple, dropped kisses on her cheekbone before finding her lips. It was a soft kiss, exploratory, tasting her all over again. Tasting her with love, with hope for the future, with the knowledge that being with her was where he needed to be. Deeper, hotter, wetter . . . fantastic.

  She was away with the fairies, dancing on lust and love and happiness when Kai pulled back and rested his forehead against hers. “Same old, same old,” he said, his fingertips digging into her thigh and her side. “I could take you right here.”

  “I hope we never lose this passion for each other,” Flick murmured.

  “Does that mean you’re going to take me on?” Kai asked, his question uncharacteristically hesitant.

  Flick pulled back and frowned at him. “Why would you even doubt that?”

  Kai lifted his shoulders and, under her hands, she felt the tension in his muscles. Why? “Maybe it’s because you haven’t, actually, told me that you love me. I said it at least three times—more than I’ve said it in my whole life—and you haven’t said it once.”

  Oh, Lord, if he’d never said the words then that probably meant that he’d never heard them either. How could anyone survive without hearing an occasional “I love you”?

  “Oh, Kai, of course I love you. You are the beat of my heart, the reason the sun comes up every day. You’re everything I thought that I didn’t want but everything I need. The last two weeks have been . . .”

  “Crap? Shit? Hell?”

  “Yeah . . . and sad. And lonely. And horrible.” Flick placed her fingertips on his jaw. “Mercy is my home and as much as I love it, I’d move tomorrow. I’d go wherever you took me, live out of a suitcase if it meant I could be with you. You are where I want to be.”