by RC Boldt
And then I slip past him with the biggest shit-eating grin on my face. Because checkmate, Foster Kavanaugh. You’ve just been played.
Before I can take another step, a large hand grasps my upper arm bringing my evasion to a sudden halt. I’m steered so that my back is pressed against the wall of the dimly lit hallway. Foster releases my arm, but he’s standing close enough to impede my escape. Standing toe to toe, I feel the electricity—the simmering attraction—between us which is always present. The same attraction that’s becoming more and more difficult for me to ignore.
His eyes hold mine. “Nice try, Davis. Now why don’t you tell me the truth about why you were holed up in there?” His voice has a dark, dangerous feel to it, but when he leans in closer to whisper, it changes to something far more intimate. “Especially since I watched you pack your bag and know you’re not wearing anything remotely close to loose, raggedy, or granny-like.”
I stare at him, trying my best to hold out, and just when I feel myself begin to weaken, about to blurt out the truth, I’m saved.
“Ooooeeeee! Lookie here y’all.” My eyes fall closed on a half sigh of relief, half laugh at Kane’s interruption. “I love me some clandestine meetings in dim hallways. Especially with a gorgeous woman.” Looking over to see my coworker’s cheeky grin, I glance back at Foster and am taken aback by the dark scowl on his face.
“Now, the scowl just won’t do, Fos.” Kane tsk’s, shaking his head in faux sadness.
“Windham,” Foster warns.
Kane grins wider. “Yeah, I know. I love you, too, Fos.” Turning to leave he tosses over his shoulder, “Now go ahead and lay some sugar on her already.”
A smile is threatening to break free, and I’m doing all I can to press my lips together to try and restrain it.
“So.” I pause. “You planning on setting me free, Kavanaugh?”
He finally turns to me and the expression on his face is one I can’t begin to decipher. There’s a beat of silence before he answers.
“Maybe.” But then he takes a step back from me—just enough for me to slip past him—his gaze burning with such intensity causing me to feel a mix of heat and unease.
And each step I take, returning to the others in the living room, I feel the weight of his gaze.
Chapter Thirty-One
Foster
Something’s bothering Noelle and it’s likely the same asshole who’s been terrorizing her. The way she looked when she opened the bathroom door, all pale and visibly shaken, struck me deep. Even though we have the kind of relationship where we tend to give each other shit every chance we get, that doesn’t mean I don’t care.
You just care a little too much, an inner voice taunts me. The fucker.
I noticed the quick silencing of her cell phone, the quick flash of worry across her face before she’d wipe it clean, pretending as though everything is fine. I caught Kane’s gaze earlier, both of us silently acknowledging that something was up. It screamed trouble. I just wish she’d be more open about what was happening and not feel like she was burdening me. Because I want to help.
And I’ll be honest, there’s always going to be a part of me getting a hard-on when there’s a sign of trouble, making me ready and willing to take it on. I might not be an active duty SEAL any longer, but you can’t take the ingrained need to protect and fight on behalf of others out of me. Which makes it hard to restrain my urge to demand that Noelle tell me what the hell’s going on.
It’s hard to restrain other urges around her, too, but that’s not the point.
Scrubbing a hand over my face, letting out a sigh of frustration, I follow the path she took leading to the living room where the others are sitting around chatting. As soon as I enter, what do I see? Fucking Kane Windham sitting right next to Noelle on one of the loveseats, his arm draped atop the back behind her. His eyes meet mine the instant I set foot in the room. Like he wants me to see this, like he’s taunting me.
Who the hell am I kidding? He’s blatantly taunting me. The sparkle in his eyes kills my fucking soul. He knows exactly what he’s doing. No matter how much I’ve tried to hide my attraction to her, there are just some things that can’t be hidden from guys who are specifically trained to pick up on little nuances.
Doesn’t mean I have to like it, however.
Propping myself against the door frame as casually as possible, considering I’m barely resisting stomping over to that damn love seat and ripping Kane’s large form away from Noelle, I hear the sound of a throat clearing beside me.
As if it couldn’t get worse. Lawson Briggs—the man engaged to Lee, my other employee. This damn guy—tall, blond with a goatee, whose physique leans toward thin, yet extremely fit due to his CrossFit obsession—loves pushing my buttons like no other. If I were to go by the wide grin on his face, he’s ready to engage.
With a glare, I tell him, “Not now, Briggs. Not. Now,” before turning back to ensure Kane’s arm stays on the back of the love seat and doesn’t veer off to lie on Noelle’s shoulders.
When Lawson speaks, I swear I can not only hear it, but practically see the smugness dripping from his words. “It’s progressed to you not being able to keep your eyes off her, huh? Watching her like you’re her bodyguard?”
He pauses and—I shit you not—starts belting out one of the Whitney Houston songs from the movie The Bodyguard. Everyone pauses briefly to toss curious glances our way before resuming their conversations because they’re used to this—used to Laws being a damn fruitcake. Somehow, he gets away with it, though. Because, deep down, he’s just a good guy with an equally good heart.
Who just so happens to be a joking fool, too.
I wait until he’s finished with his little serenade. “That was touching.”
His lips stretch even wider. “I knew you’d like it.” Then he leans in closer to whisper conspiratorially, “You’re ready to challenge Lee to win my heart now, right? It’s okay to confess, Fos.”
See what I mean? He never quits. But the thing is, he reminds me a lot of Hendy and right now I’m missing the big SOB something fierce. So I do something I don’t normally do. Turning away to let my eyes scan the room casually, still keeping Kane’s damn arm in my sights, I mutter, “Yeah, yeah. Maybe.”
Instead of getting a rapid, quirky response from Laws, all I get is silence. Which is not normal from him. Our conversation is weird enough to have me turning back to him to make sure he’s actually all right.
I promptly find him staring at me with an intensity I’ve not seen in him before. At least not whenever he looks at me. It’s actually quite unnerving the way he’s eyeing me, as if he can see into my head, see my thoughts.
Suddenly, his face transforms, and he’s got the brightest smile I think I’ve ever seen him have for me before he pulls me into a quick bear hug. A hug I’m not returning because, well … I just don’t do hugs.
Thank God it’s a quick one because as soon as he releases me, his voice is lowered so he’s not overheard. “You let me know when you need some advice on how to win her over. Because I’ve got lots of winning methods. The love fern, serenading her, sonnets, flowers, quoting Yoda from Star Wars, and many more.” He slaps my shoulder with a nod and walks off to likely find Lee. And for the millionth time I’m wondering how in the hell he managed to land the former combat pararescue jumper, his fiancée, who is decidedly very normal.
Just as my mother calls out that it’s time to eat dinner, it dawns on me what just happened, and I realize how much trouble I’m in. Because if Lawson Briggs can tell how I feel about Noelle and he isn’t a highly trained former Special Ops guy, then that means two things.
One, I’ve been way too damn obvious about my attraction to her. And two, I’m screwed because if Lawson knows, that means everyone knows.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Noelle
As we’re eating dinner, Foster reaches for his phone and reads what appears to be a text message. When he raises his head, his eyes find mine. “Ty ju
st said they managed to get prints and they’re running them through the system.”
“Prince?” Lawson instantly pipes up. “Oooh, was he singing about a ‘Raspberry Beret’?”
Collective groans sound—per the usual when it comes to Lawson—but I know, deep down, everyone adores him. This group of friends are all unique in their personalities, that’s for sure. But it’s evident they would do anything for one another. There is such dedication, respect, and love blanketing these friends—like nothing I have ever experienced.
Oh, and did I mention the harassment? Because that’s also a huge component when it comes to this bunch. As becomes evident within mere minutes of being in their presence.
“Hey, Kane,” Lawson asks casually—far too casually, actually—as he spoons more pasta aglio e olio onto his plate. “I don’t know if you knew this or not, but Foster’s favorite Christmas song is actually ‘The First Noel.’” His cocky grin is wide and toothy as he eyes Foster. He loves to push his buttons, that’s for certain.
My eyes volley from Laws to Kane to Foster. Foster’s jaw is clenched tight, so tight I notice the slight tic in it. Turning my eyes to my plate, I fork some pasta into my mouth in an attempt to resist smiling.
The First Noel, huh? Nice touch, Laws.
“Now that we’re on the topic of his favorite things, I know for a fact that he absolutely loves the actress, Geena Davis.” Kane’s evidently enjoying jumping on the let’s harass Foster bandwagon.
“His favorite song is ‘Bette Davis eyes,’” Lawson offers proudly before I hear him exclaim, “Ow!” My head jerks up in time to see Lawson wiping his left eye with his napkin, the trail of aglio e olio sauce dripping down his cheek. Glancing over in Foster’s direction, I see him eyeing Laws.
Hard.
“My bad. Must’ve gotten away from me, man.” Forking pasta into his mouth, he begins chewing, eyes flashing dangerously.
“Foster Bryant,” Momma K. warns, shaking her head. Yet, there’s no mistaking the slight twitch of the corners of her lips as she tries to stifle a smile.
“So, Noelle,” Laney begins and her tone combined with the sparkle in her eyes and the way she’s leaning on the table are strong indicators I’m not going to be a fan of whatever she’s about to say. “I’ve been thinking. I know a few cute guys who would be perfect for you. I could easily set you up with—”
“She’s not interested.”
Everyone’s head swivels to stare at Foster in surprise. Including mine. Because, I’m sorry, but—what the hell?
“Huh. Well, Noelle, that was certainly interesting,” Kane remarks with raised eyebrows and a look of concern—an utterly fake look of concern. “Your voice was really deep when you just spoke, darlin’.”
Before I can respond, Lawson peers over at me. “Are you feeling okay? Coming down with a case of laryngitis perhaps?”
“Wait,” Kane’s serious tone gets everyone’s attention. “Maybe she’s going through the necessary changes to become Noah Davis?”
“Oh, for fu—” Foster starts.
“Foster Bryant!” Momma K. gives her son a sharp look. He clamps his mouth shut, his eyes dangerously squinty in the direction of where Lawson and Kane are sitting.
First off, whoever decided it was okay for those two to sit beside one another was clearly smoking something. Those two are like the two students everyone had in their grade school class who had to be separated. You know, the ones who would always feed off each other? Lawson and Kane are like that. To the nth degree.
Kane smiles wide. “Fos, darlin’, if you’re not on board with Laney fixing up Noelle with some guy we don’t know, I’ve got a solution.”
I already know Kane’s solution is going to be something Foster won’t like. And I’m pretty sure everyone else at the table knows it, too.
Foster raises a brow. “And what solution would that be?”
Grin widening, Kane puffs out his chest. “Why, she can date me, of course.”
Someone instantly lets out a choked laugh, a few others snort in amusement while I remain quiet, merely an innocent bystander in all of this. Because no way am I getting pulled into this one. No way, Jose. Nope. Not even—
A heavy arm drapes across the back of my shoulders and Kane leans in, his aquamarine eyes dancing with mischief. “What do you say, darlin’?” Speaking in a loud whisper, his southern drawl thickens. “Not only can I woo you with my southern cuisine, but I can sing. And we all know he,” tipping his head, he gestures across the table from us to where Foster’s sitting, “can’t carry a tune in a bucket if he had a lid on it.”
“Foster’s actually a decent cook.” The words are out before I think. If I were a cartoon character, my hands would be reaching out to grab the words, frantically stuffing them back into my mouth.
Silence. More silence than I’ve ever witnessed in Momma K.’s house at any given time. I feel the weight of everyone’s eyes. Lawson’s the first to speak.
What am I saying? Of course, Lawson speaks first. The part I’m not quite expecting is his attempt to mimic Kane’s southern Texas drawl.
“Why, I betcha that just dills your pickle, now doesn’t it?”
Covering my face with my hands, my groaning laugh is the entirety of my response. I hear the blatant pride in Kane’s voice when he speaks.
“Why, Laws. Color me impressed with your use of that saying.”
“Why thanks, darlin’,” Lawson shoots back in his horrible southern drawl imitation before returning to speaking normally. “I have to give Google credit for that one, though.”
“So, Noelle.” Laney’s voice makes me come out from behind my hands, turning my attention to her. “Tell us more about how my brother cooked for you.”
“And did he cook for you in the kitchen and then later maybe you both were ‘cooking’?” Laws offers, using finger quotes on the last word.
“Lawson Briggs,” Momma K. warns. “Not at my dinner table.”
He hangs his head dejectedly. “Yes, ma’am.”
Never a dull moment with this bunch. That much is certain.
“Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit,” grumbles Lawson good-naturedly.
Yep, never a dull moment. But I can honestly say that I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Foster
Dinner at my mother’s was a colossal clusterfuck of Hey, why don’t we screw with Foster over Noelle? Worst part is, I wouldn’t normally care that much about their shit-talking. When it pertains to Noelle, however, it veers off into dangerous territory for me. Now more than ever before because I’m having a harder time controlling my reactions, my emotions, my … well, everything when it comes to this woman.
Locking up the house and setting the alarm, we’ve already changed clothes and are sitting in my living room watching a movie. And due to the movie choice, I’d had to make her promise not to disclose this moment to anyone.
All right, so I may have used my threatening tone. Not that it did much good because I saw her weak attempts at schooling her expression to mask her smile. Because we are watching—wait for it—Disney’s Aladdin.
Yeah. There’s a reason I keep that Blu-ray disc in the enclosed section of my entertainment center and not on display for everyone to see. Hell, I know I should own up to it, but there’s still a part of me that’s like, What’s a former Navy SEAL doing with the special edition Blu-ray of an animated kids movie? Kinda screams “pussy.” The thing that changed my mind about denying it was mine was when Noelle asked if she could pick out a movie to watch and the way her face lit up the moment she discovered it in my collection.
Her eyes flew to mine, wide and sparkling with excitement. “You have Aladdin?” Before I could think to deflect, the smile she had given me was so sweet and earnest. “Can we please watch it? It’s one of my all-time favorites!”
There was no way in hell I could say no. Not when she looked at me like that. Her expression, so open with nearly child-like excitem
ent struck something deep within me, making me wish I could be the reason for bringing that kind of happiness to her.
“All this for a loaf of bread?”
The sound of Noelle softly quoting the movie currently playing on my television draws me from my thoughts, my eyes coming to rest on her. She’s so relaxed right now, curled up on my couch, knees drawn up, head resting on the thick, cushioned part of the couch arm. My eyes drift over her form and end up resting on her feet, her toes painted a shade of light lavender. I’ve never been a feet guy, but I have to admit, hers are actually pretty cute. Makes me wonder if she’s ticklish.
“Don’t even think about it.” The warning draws my attention to find Noelle watching me suspiciously.
“What?”
“You had that look. And you were staring at my feet. I don’t like anyone touching my feet.”
She should know better than to say that to me. There’s no way to stifle my wicked grin. “Oh? So you’re saying I shouldn’t do, oh, say something like this?” My hand snakes out, lightning fast, grabbing her ankle and tugging her across the space separating us on the couch. Taking both ankles, locking them together in a hold with my arm, I use my other hand to brush the pads of my fingers against the bottoms of her feet.
She goes wild. Squirming, bucking, squealing and just all around making a huge fuss to the point where I had to let Harley know we were only playing when I noticed him getting agitated.
“It’s okay … boy.” My words are staggered because, shit, Noelle is far stronger than I expected and it’s taking some effort to restrain her legs so I don’t end up getting kicked in the face. “We’re … just … playing.”
The fact that I have to say this is telling since he’s never protective of anyone except me—and with good reason, of course. That’s the way he was trained. But, with Noelle, it’s like he senses that not only do I feel protective of her, but that she needs to be protected.
God, the way her laughter is intermixed with protests, her head thrown back against the couch cushions, her expression a combination of tortuous and just plain unadulterated delight is addictive.
