by J. S. Scott
“I don’t know, angel.” He spoke in a hush, the words flowing over her in a soft puff of breath.
His features tightened, and for the second time in recent memory, she allowed herself to soak up the masculine presence that was Elliott Alexander: the smooth dark skin, the high cheekbones, the long straight blade of his nose, and the sinfully full lips. It was a harsh face, not quite as elegantly hewn as his brothers’ faces, but one that she vastly preferred. It looked like safety.
It looked like strength.
“I’m okay now. I promise I won’t freak out on you again.” She stood reluctantly. As wonderful as it felt to be held in his arms, there was only so much she could take before she lost all sense of propriety and threw herself at him again. She already knew he wasn’t interested. When you kissed a guy and he responded by leaving town, that was plenty clear enough.
“It’s okay to be freaked out, Kay. As long as you know that I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Kay nodded and dropped the duffel bag on her bed. She didn’t have enough room to put him up in style, but at the very least she could rustle up some extra pillows and a blanket for him.
“I’m sorry I don’t have a guest room. Or an air mattress.”
Eli gave her one of his trademark are you kidding looks. “I’m not supposed to be on vacation, Kay. The couch is fine. Now, what about Hope?”
Kay gasped. Shame flooded her face. She’d told her mom that she’d pick up Hope by eight o’clock and she was already twenty minutes late. She pulled out her cell phone and hit the first speed dial.
Eli walked away to give her some privacy. Luckily, her father answered, so she was able to explain things with a minimum of fuss. As expected, her parents were thrilled to keep Hope overnight.
When she turned, Eli was watching her with an inscrutable expression. Unsure what to make of his sudden change in demeanor, Kay pushed past him and pulled open the door to the linen closet in the hallway. Several towels fell out and hit her in the face.
“Don’t worry about that now.” Eli took the towels from her arms and shoved them in the closet. “We need to talk first.”
“About what?”
“Everything. Clearly I missed something when I was digging into your life last year. It’s time to rectify that.”
“But nothing has changed. I don’t do anything interesting. So what’s there to talk about?”
Eli stopped and nailed her with an intense look. “I need to know who you’ve been with since last summer.” He moved closer and Kay inhaled, immediately assaulted by his unique scent—warm and rich and disarming. She looked up at him, her senses swirling from the intoxicating blend of reactions that only Eli could cause.
“We need to talk about your lovers.”
Start reading All I Need is You now!
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
New York Times & USA TODAY Bestselling author M. Malone lives in the Washington, D.C. metro area with her three favorite guys: her husband and their two sons. She likes dramatic opera music, staid old men wearing suspenders, claw-foot bathtubs, and unexpected surprises.
The thing she likes best is getting to make up stuff for a living.
www.MMaloneBooks.com
Rumor
A Renegade Novella
Skye Jordan and Joan Swan
Copyright © 2014 by Skye Jordan
You can reach me at:
Website: http://www.skyejordanauthor.com
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Newsletter: http://www.skyejordanauthor.com/newsletter
Chapter One
This had been an epically stupid idea.
Josh Marx propped his elbows on the picnic table, flanking his laptop, and stared out at the ocean beyond Dana Point Harbor, in California. With a storm brewing, the general public had deserted the beach, and only a small group of his friends from the Renegades Stunt Company wandered down by the water’s edge.
Josh wanted to be down there, too. Letting the cold Pacific roll over his bare feet. But he had other responsibilities—one’s that didn’t include or involve the ocean.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he muttered. This was the worst day to come to the coast, this one-year anniversary of his separation from the Navy.
With a flight back east for the holidays just hours away, Josh should be calculating the risk involved in a complicated fight scene the Renegades would be performing in the latest Jason Strathmore movie aboard one of the yachts in the neighboring harbor. But he couldn’t concentrate on what if’s and equations with the thickly-salted air brushing across the exposed skin of his face and forearms. Or the rhythmic pound of the surf pulling at his body like a magnet.
On the beach, Jax Chamberlin, the owner of Renegades, rocketed a football through the air toward Wes Lawson, Renegades’ top stunt driver. The wind hooked the ball five yards inland and Wes launched off his feet, stretching until he was horizontal to the sand, arms extending, stretching, reaching...
The ball brushed his fingertips and changed trajectory, spinning away as Wes dove—face-first—into the sand.
“Oh, shit,” Josh muttered with a half-laugh.
The others broke into hysterics. Wes pushed to hands and knees, shook sand out of his hair and spit it out of his mouth. Josh chuckled again, but the heaviness in his chest clung. He loved a broody ocean, and now, the week before Christmas, the southern California sky hung heavy with storm clouds, making the water an intense shade of steel blue. The two-hundred foot tall eucalyptus overhead rattled in the growing wind. White caps developed a mile off shore.
God, it was all so perfect. So beautiful. And made him so damned lonely.
Rubi, Wes’s girlfriend, jogged up the beach, grabbed a towel and tossed it to Wes, then wandered toward the picnic table. She took a seat across from Josh, her green eyes sparkling with happiness, her smile bright in her dark face. “Do you guys ever grow up?”
“Never,” he lied. He knew exactly how fast men matured when their world caved in around them.
“That’s not what I wanted to hear.” She darted a look at the notepad at Josh’s elbow where he’d jotted calculations. “Done yet?”
“Not even close.” Josh returned his gaze to the sea, a bittersweet knot forming beneath his ribs. “I figured if I stall long enough, you’ll have that risk assessment app all finished and I wouldn’t have to do anything but plug in numbers.”
“Can’t create it without your help.” The computer savant eyed him across the table. “When’s that going to happen, anyway?”
Josh heaved a breath and rubbed the backs of his fingers against the stubble on his jaw. He’d been so busy with different consulting gigs, he hadn’t had time to sit down with Rubi and give her the information she needed to program the application. “How about right after Christmas? I’ll have a few days free between seeing my parents and starting another job.”
“You’re on.”
Wes and Jax were tossing the ball again. Rachel, the Renegades’ secretary-turned-location-scout strolled hand-in-hand with Ryker, an Army explosives specialist who’d swept Rachel off her feet three months before. Lexi, Jax’s girlfriend, strolled along beside them.
“Want to talk about it?” Rubi asked.
Josh dragged his gaze away from the group and the ocean beyond, refocusing on the screen where risk assessment forms stared back at him. “Nah. It won’t take me long to get this written up when I’m not distracted.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“No!” Rachel’s scream drew Josh’s gaze to the waterline just as Ryker hoisted her over his shoulder and waded into the surf. “Nathan, don’t y
ou dare. That water’s freezing.”
A half-smile curled Josh’s mouth. He’d spent twelve-hour days training in that sixty-degree water during BUDS. His thoughts circled back to the loss of his career and the life he loved. Over the past twelve months, emptiness continued to haunt him, contrary to the Navy therapist’s promise that it would dissipate with time.
“I meant,” Rubi’s words pulled his gaze from the water, “whatever’s bugging you?”
To avoid her piercing gaze, Josh glanced back at the screen just as a handful of raindrops slanted across the glass. He shut his laptop and stuffed his things back into his briefcase. “Is there something bugging me?”
“You’ve definitely been out of sorts the last couple of days. Withdrawn, quiet...dare I say...moody?”
“Have I?”
“It’s Rachel and Ryker, isn’t it?”
More of Rachel’s screaming laughter floated on the wind, and he smiled. He’d missed her since she’d moved to Virginia and shacked up with Army boy. But he didn’t miss her like he’d expected to miss someone he’d been in love with. He just missed her like he missed other friends who’d come and gone from his shifting life. Which confirmed that he hadn’t been in love with Rachel at all. Just wishing he could have been, because falling for someone else could have erased the one woman he’d wanted for years from his heart and mind.
“No, it’s not them. I just still have a lot to do before I head home.”
What Rubi sensed was that nagging sense of emptiness that was simply cresting on this significant date, making him remember all he’d lost. Making him realize how deeply he craved someone permanent beside him. Someone intimately in tune with who he was, what he believed in, and how he thought. Outside his team, there was only one woman in the world who understood him that way—and it wasn’t Rachel.
Too keep his mind from straying to Grace, he let it drift to his team. To where they might be now—Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria. To what journalist they’d been dispatched to rescue. What diplomat they might be protecting. What guerrilla military group they’d been ordered to dismantle...
“Heads up!” someone yelled from the beach.
Josh looked over as the football sailed toward them. In split-second intervals, he calculated the trajectory, pushed to his feet and dove across the table, intercepting the ball inches from Rubi’s face. The ball slammed his outstretched hand, torking his shoulder. Pain knifed down his arm, up his neck and across his chest. Burning, shooting, fiery pain that stabbed.
“Motherfucker—“ He fell against the table and clenched his teeth against the pain. “That boyfriend of yours has a good arm.”
“And you’ve got some good moves,” Rubi said, standing now, her hand lying gently on his back. “Are you all right?”
Some days he felt like a fucking cripple. “Will be, thanks.”
He straightened, stemming a wince at the slice along his shoulder. Wes jogged toward the table, sand still clinging to T-shirt, a frown of concern pulling his brow. He hooked an arm around Rubi’s shoulders, wrapped a hand around the back of her neck and pulled her forehead to his. “God, I’m sorry, baby.”
“You got lucky,” she said, grinning. “Marx saved you from a dire fate.”
Wes cupped her jaw, staring into her eyes, but spoke to Josh, “Thanks for saving this beautiful face, man.”
And he kissed her. Passionately.
That was the straw for Josh. He was happy for all the love in his friends’ lives. But the constant reminder of what he didn’t have wore on his nerves.
He picked up his briefcase and slid his other hand into the pocket of his slacks to take the weight off his shoulder. “I’m gonna hit the road.”
Wes and Rubi broke from their kiss, and Wes glanced his way. “Leaving already?”
“I’m not getting anything done here.”
“Dude,” he said, pulling Rubi in front of him and slipping his arms around her waist, “it’s Sunday. Get out of those work rags and take a few laps in the waves. You need to learn how to relax.”
Agreed. He sucked at relaxing. But his younger brothers always beat Josh’s ingrained conservatism away within a day of meeting up. And it had been far too long since the three of them spent any quality time together. The thought of heading home for the holiday really turned his mood around. This was exactly what he needed.
“I’m headed that direction right now. Tell Jax I’ll email the assessment as soon as I’m done, but I don’t see any problems.”
Josh turned for the parking lot and his car with a steady sprinkle falling from the sky. He pressed the remote on his key fob, popping the locks on his Lexus. His phone rang. He fished the cell from his belt and glanced at his watch. His mind veered to the flight he needed to catch. With a two hour drive back to LA, that gave him an hour to pack and an hour to negotiate traffic on the way to the airport. He’d be in Philadelphia, celebrating his first holiday home with his family in eight years by about midnight local time.
The first sense of excitement Josh had truly experienced in a year pushed into his chest.
He pulled the driver’s door open, and answered the call, “Marx.”
“Hey, buddy. Can’t believe I got you on the first try.”
Josh didn’t immediately recognize the voice, but he did know that rough connection—
“Happy anniversary, dude,” the caller said. “How’s retired life? Do I have a lot to look forward to?”
“Beck?” Josh asked picturing his teammate—skull-cut dark hair, nearly black, laser-sharp eyes, slightly crooked nose. “Is that you?”
“It’s me,” he said, upbeat. “How the hell are you, man?”
“Good, great,” he lied, his brow tightening as he tried to work out Beck’s reason for calling—the happy anniversary bit was complete bullshit. A flash of electric current stung Josh’s gut, and his smile dropped. “Are you all right? Are the guys all right?”
“Yeah, fine. Everyone’s fine. Didn’t mean to worry you.”
Josh’s body uncoiled and he slumped into the leather surrounding him as the sprinkles outside turned to fat drops. He closed his eyes, rested his elbow on the window ledge and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Shit, you know how to give a guy a heart attack.”
Beck’s rough laugh crossed the line. “You’re goin’ soft.”
“Gone. Long gone.” Josh opened his eyes and stared out the rain-blurred windshield toward the ocean. Hearing from Beck automatically made him think of Grace. In many ways, losing her had left a bigger hole in his life than losing his career. “Where are you?”
“Same place you left us, man. Going out on out on a sneak and peek in about twenty.” Which meant the team had been deployed back to Syria. “Gonna get the chance to nail the guy who took out your shoulder.”
The pain he’d temporarily forgotten about throbbed back to life. And, with it, a flash of memory—Josh lying on a pile of rubble drenched with his own blood in Aleppo, the deadliest city in Syria. Over eighteen months later, and he could still remember the feel of Beck’s body weight hitting him as his friend provided cover against enemy fire after the IED had exploded.
“No shit.” Josh closed his eyes, forcing the memory back. “Give him an extra bullet for me, would you?”
“My pleasure, brother. Hey, could you do me a favor while I’m tracking him down?”
“Anything, anytime.”
“Could you get a hold of Grace for me?” he asked. “She’s not answering my calls.”
Grace.
The image of Beck’s ex-wife filled Josh’s mind as he’d last seen her, sitting on the edge of his hospital bed, over a year ago now. Her strawberry-honied hair had been short and sleek. Her cheeks pink. Blue eyes sparkling with excitement and affection when she’d taken his hand in hers with a shy smile and an, “I’ve been thinking...”
He pushed the hurt back. “Why? What’s going on?”
“I don’t know. We were talking pretty regularly up until about three, four months ago, but she
seemed distant, you know? Maybe a little evasive. Then she stopped answering my calls, and she’s not calling or texting or emailing me back even when I leave messages.”
“Hold on,” Josh cut in. “Beck, she doesn’t have to call or text or email you back—you’ve been divorced three years.” And, yes, dammit, Josh was counting...not that it made any difference. A hundred years could have passed, and Grace would still be off limits. “She’s probably seeing someone. And if that’s true, you’re putting her in a really awkward position. Nothing like having your ex call in the middle of the night to cause problems.”
“That’s not like Grace, but I’d let it go if...” Beck heaved a sigh, and his voice grew serious. “See, it’s like this—I’m worried about her. I heard a rumor, and I just need someone I trust to check in on her.”
“A rumor? Seriously? Dude, I’m about to leave for Christmas in Philadelphia.”
“Can you stop in San Diego on your way? You know I wouldn’t ask you to do this if it wasn’t important.” His voice lowered as if he feared being overheard. “See, I met a guy from team four on an op out of—“ He paused abruptly. “Uh, anyway, we were talking about fishing for Marlin in Mexico. I pulled up Facebook and showed him pictures of our trip, that really awesome first anniversary trip Grace and I took—“
Awesome? “The one where you made her go deep sea fishing with you?” Josh said more than asked.
“Yeah, and—“
“And she puked over the side for eight hours. Dehydrated herself so bad, she landed in a Mexican hospital. That awesome anniversary trip?”
“Dude,” Beck said in a perfect Dumb and Dumber impression. “Focus.”
The man was one of the sharpest SEALs Josh had ever known. A man Josh would always trust at his back. A true brother. But he was also an epically dense husband. Always had been.
“Right,” Josh said with an eye roll. “Sorry. Go ahead. You’re romantic trip to Mexico...”
