by Lora Leigh
They nodded in reply.
“We get her over the attack first, take care of the attacker, then see where we go from there,” Rowdy said. “She’s not ignorant of the rumors, she suspects what’s coming. But”—he swallowed tightly—“she’s going to be scared now. And for that alone, I’ll kill the bastard.”
FIVE
Ray stepped into the bar the next evening, several hours after Rowdy called to say he wouldn’t be home for dinner after all, with the excuse that he had to take care of business. Ray feared that somehow Rowdy felt he couldn’t come home. And he wasn’t having that. That was Rowdy’s home, no matter what was going on, and he needed the boy to know that.
Ray hadn’t been in a bar in over ten years. Not since he started dating Maria. He had known her forever. She and her husband had been regulars at the marina, their boat docked close to the office. Hell, during their younger days, when pleasure had been all that mattered, he and James, Maria’s husband, had shared Maria at one time. Once, long ago, Maria should have belonged to him, but his own ignorance had been Ray’s downfall.
That was how Ray knew his son had come by his darker passions naturally, how he knew what awaited Kelly if she became his son’s lover. And yeah, he knew Rowdy would never hurt her, but he also had seen the horror the girl had been through. Kelly was a warm, vibrant girl, just as her mother was, with a capacity to love that would humble any man. The thought of Rowdy tarnishing that love with his games, as Ray had once tarnished Maria’s love for him, scared the hell out of him.
Ray’s first wife, Layne, had been an aloof woman. He’d cared for her though, loved her in a lot of ways, and the child they had together was a fine man. Ray knew that. But he was a man, in every sense of the word.
Ray stared around the smoky establishment, looking for the boy. Rowdy was sitting alone at a far corner, a beer bottle between his hands, his head lowered. The weight of the world was settled on his son’s shoulders, and Ray understood why. Rowdy came home expecting open arms and found a mess instead.
Ray stopped by the bar and purchased a bottle of Jack Daniels, snagged two glasses, and made his way across the room. It was time to talk man-to-man, with no shame. That called for an iron backbone. Or plenty of whisky.
He slammed the bottle on the table as Rowdy lifted his gaze. Deep green eyes spat with fury, blazing from a sun-darkened, roughly hewn face. Yep, the boy was pissed off, clear down to his bones, and Ray didn’t blame him.
He pulled out a chair and sat down.
“Some things just call for a good drunk,” he said heavily, uncapping the whisky and pouring two small glasses full. “Childbirth. Your son’s first date. Your daughter’s near rape.” His throat tightened with the pain as he tossed back the dark liquid and poured another shot of courage. “And when a man screws up because he feels helpless, and hurts the people he loves the most.”
He stared straight into Rowdy’s dark eyes, feeling his son’s pain as though it were his own.
Ray sighed. “I swore to her I wouldn’t tell you. And it’s weighed bad on me ever since. While she was all doped up on the pain medication, and hysterical, she told her mom about what happened at the airport with you before you left that last year. She loves you. Always has. We’ve known that.” He swallowed tightly. “And I knew how bad you wanted her.” He paused, glancing away for a long second before pulling his gaze back to his son’s. “I never told you how much pride I had in you when you walked away, did I?”
He saw his son’s surprise.
“I didn’t figure you knew why I’d left.” Rowdy leaned back in his chair before picking up the whisky and throwing it back. He grimaced but held the burn of it.
“I knew.” Ray sighed heavily. “I knew when you were twenty-two and as though overnight, she turned from a clumsy little urchin into a woman-child. I saw your face the day you realized it.”
He watched the flush that rose over Rowdy’s face, the discomfort.
“She was a kid.” He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “She’s not a kid anymore, Dad. She’s twenty-four, and a grown woman.”
“And you were and still are a man.” Ray shook his head wearily before sipping at the whisky. “A good man. One any father could be proud of. You didn’t touch her, you did what you had to do and didn’t make any excuses or cast any blame. Though you could have. You left your home because of the girl—many men would have resented her. You would have been well within your rights to have protested how much Maria and I spoiled her.”
“You should have told me that then,” Rowdy grunted. “She kept stealing my damned shirts. She still does it. I should have made you throw both Kelly and Maria out.”
A grin tugged at his son’s lips. Ray shook his head. Rowdy was willing to forgive, no questions asked. And Ray didn’t know if he could have been as gracious if someone had hid something so important from him.
Ray cleared his throat again.
“I should have told you.” He rolled the glass between his fingers, staring at it rather than his son. “But I knew you’d get home one way or the other and I wasn’t sure Kelly could face that. She needed time to put the attack into perspective before she faced what was between the two of you.” Damn, he needed another drink.
He poured another, aware of the way his son watched him, his eyes narrowed, his expression thoughtful.
“Hunger like that goes beyond lust, Dad,” Rowdy finally sighed. “I’ve fought it for too long. I don’t know what it is yet. I don’t know how deep it goes. I know I came back for her.” He shook his head when Ray started to speak. “Hear me out. I had no intentions of living in that house, of breaking so much as one of your rules, but that bastard’s still out there.” Ray’s gut clenched. “I’ll camp outside her bedroom window if I have to, but you won’t keep me away from her.”
Rowdy leaned forward, his arms braced on the table, his fists clenched. Ray looked away from his son for long moments, wondering what he was supposed to say. Hell, he felt tired and helpless and not sure how to defend those he loved.
“You’ve been checking into it?” Ray knew he had. Rowdy had spent the afternoon at the police department before he met up with his cousins.
“I’ve been checking into it.” Rowdy poured himself another shot. “I talked Betty Cline into letting me see the hospital records, and the sheriff gave me everything they had on the other girls. He’s calling them. He doesn’t call Kelly. He’s local, Dad.”
For a second, fear sliced through Ray. If the bastard was local, then he wouldn’t have to call Kelly. He could watch her. Anytime, anywhere.
Then pride suffused Ray. Hell, that was his boy. Hard-eyed, determined, and ready to fight. He was more man than Ray had ever imagined. Rowdy wasn’t drinking himself silly because Kelly had been attacked, but instead, he was plotting and planning justice. It was enough to make a father proud.
Ray breathed in hard. He had discussed this with Maria earlier, knew what he was about to do was hard on her; it would be harder on Kelly.
“Come back home, boy,” he muttered. “I’m a damned fool when I get riled and we both know it. That’s your home. As much as it is mine. And you’re my kid. I want you there.”
Rowdy’s lips quirked. “The duffel bag is still on the bike. I was coming back tonight anyway.”
Ray cleared his throat again. “I trust you, Son.”
Rowdy’s face changed then. If Ray thought it was hard before, it was more so now. Rowdy leaned forward, his eyes meeting Ray’s straight on.
“She’s mine, Dad.” He kept his voice low, fierce. “Any other time I would have never disrespected your rules or your home. But I won’t pull back now. I won’t lose her because some bastard tried to destroy her. And I won’t play footsie under the table because of your sensibilities. Do you understand that?”
Anger flared in Ray. He rubbed his hand over his lower face before breathing out roughly. “Hell. Fine. Whatever. But”—he glared back at the boy—“you don’t play with that girl, Rowdy. You better be
damned serious before you end up having sex with her. Son or no son, I taught you respect. She’s not one of those little tramps you, Natches, and Dawg screwed with when you were younger.”
It was a warning he’d made when he first realized how sexual his son was. Good girls were solid gold. A good girl understood responsibility, values, and herself. A woman like that wasn’t a toy, she was a partner.
“I know how to treat a woman, Dad,” Rowdy grunted. “All women. Not just Kelly.”
Unlike Ray’s generation, Rowdy didn’t differ how he treated women in regards to their sexuality. One didn’t deserve less respect, or more, for the amount of experience they had in bed. Rowdy had argued that with his father many times. But love…that made a difference, and Ray knew it. And he knew his son was learning it.
“So you’ll come home?” Ray’s throat was tight with emotion. Damn, he hated that. Hated knowing there was more he should say and not knowing how to say it.
Rowdy looked over at him, his expression somber, his eyes, that deep sea green, serious and thoughtful. “I missed you too, Dad,” he murmured.
If that knot in his throat could have gotten tighter, it would have. Ray swallowed, then tried again. “I love you, boy.” His voice was so rasping he was ashamed of it. “And I’m damned proud of you. Damned proud.”
“I love you too, Dad.” That was his boy. Equal parts hellion and warrior but never afraid to say the words. “And I’m proud of you, too.”
He poured the glasses full again; they toasted each other and settled down for a serious drunk. Hell, Ray had been waiting on this day for nearly thirty years. There just wasn’t anything like having that first good drunk with your son, and knowing it meant something. Meant something damned fine.
Kelly heard the Harley coming up the drive with her stepfather’s truck as the clock flipped over to two in the morning. Her mother had been pacing the house, muttering to herself, worry creasing her brow.
Maria turned to Kelly, her eyes dark as she watched her.
“Are you sure?” Maria asked, her voice soft, uncertain.
“For God’s sake.” Kelly felt like snarling the words. “Mom, have you and Ray lost your minds?” Sometimes Kelly thought the attack had been more traumatic on them in a lot of ways. Kelly was never really certain how she felt about it. Frightened, yes. Terrified sometimes. Knowing her attacker was still out there kept her nerves on edge.
“He’s always wanted you.” Maria had never been comfortable with that. Kelly had known it, though they never talked about it. Just as her mother knew Kelly had always wanted Rowdy. It was like some odd fact of life.
“I’m not a little girl anymore,” she sighed, curling up on the sofa, watching her mother pace the living room as the vehicles shut off. “You know they’re both drunk, don’t you?”
One of Rowdy’s friends had called from the bar. He hadn’t been too sober himself, warning them that the two men were heading home, thankfully being driven by friends rather than driving themselves.
“Ray hasn’t been drunk since before we got married.” A smile curved her mother’s lips, and Kelly swore she looked a little too sensual to suit her. A daughter shouldn’t see things like that, she thought with a burst of humor.
“Well, he’s drunk now.” She winced as it sounded like a load of bricks fell on the porch.
“Hell boy, I thought you were holding me up.” Ray’s voice drifted into the house.
“Thought you were holding me up.” Rowdy’s laughter was muffled.
Maria moved for the doorway and pulled it open with a quick jerk as Kelly rose from the couch to stand just inside the living room.
The two men were attempting to hold each other up as they paused in the doorway to get their bearings. Rowdy’s expression was relaxed, his gaze a little heavy lidded and so darned sexy he took her breath.
As her eyes met his, a slow, sexy smile curved his lips and made her knees weak. He gripped his dad’s arm tighter and led him inside the house. Neither of them were too steady on their feet.
“Maria, he’s a lousy drunk,” Rowdy grunted as his father threw his arm over Maria’s shoulder and planted a loud, smacking kiss on her cheek. “He didn’t even make it through the first bottle.”
Kelly wrapped her arms across her chest, a smile tugging at her lips as Rowdy winked at her.
“He never did, Douglas, you just keep forgetting,” her mother chastised him firmly.
Rowdy winced. “That’s not my name.”
“That’s what your birth record has. I didn’t see a Rowdy there anywhere, Douglas.”
Rowdy gave her a mock glare. “You’re not being nice to me, Maria.”
“That’s not my job,” she pointed out calmly. “Now move your big feet out of the way so I can get him upstairs. You two should be ashamed of yourselves.”
“I can be ashamed later,” Ray piped in as she led him to the stairs. “Hell. We had fun, sweetheart.”
“I can tell.” Maria laughed softly.
Their voices lowered as they moved away, and finally disappeared. A few minutes later the door at the back of the hallway closed and everything was silent.
Kelly watched Rowdy. His hair was still too short. The spiked military cut suited him, but she had loved his long hair when he was younger. The way it framed his face, emphasized his green eyes. He looked like a fallen angel come to tempt mortal women when his hair was long. Short, he looked like the warrior she knew he had to be. A fighter, a Marine. Tall and tough and hard.
He turned to her, placing his hand over his chest, the dark blue material of his cotton shirt stretching across his shoulders.
“Kelly, darlin’, you look like an angel standing there.” His smile was a tad goofy and too damned sexy.
Unfortunately, she knew better. She was wearing another of his shirts, one she had stolen the last time he was home. A pair of loose sweatpants and socks that bunched at her ankles. She looked messy and frightened, and she knew it.
She licked her lips nervously. Facing him after what had happened at the boat earlier wasn’t easy. She wasn’t ashamed, but neither was she comfortable with some of the feelings Rowdy caused to burn inside her. “I missed you, Rowdy,” she whispered, trying to still the trembling of her lips. “I’m glad you’re home.”
His expression sobered as he moved toward her slowly. She forced herself to stay still, not to retreat. But he was so big, and powerful. Strong. The memory of hard hands holding her down, a rough voice muttering in her ear as her face was pressed into the pillow, haunted her.
“So where’s my hug?” He stood in front of her, his arms at his sides, his eyes dark and glittering with hunger.
He still wanted her. She could see the memories of the heated exchange they’d had earlier in his eyes.
“I…” She swallowed tightly, glancing away as her hands tightened on her arms. God, what was wrong with her. She had nearly bared her breasts for him, but now she felt as uncertain, as frightened as she had the moment she stepped into the houseboat.
“Just a hug, Kelly-baby?” He whispered the words, his lips quirking gently. “I dream of your hugs, darlin’, just as much as I dream of your kiss.”
She stared back at him in surprise.
“You don’t believe me?” He reached out, his arm lifting slowly, his fingers reaching out to lift a strand of curls from her shoulder.
She glanced quickly at where he held her hair, biting at her lower lip as she tried to still the pounding of her heart. She had dreamed of his touch for so long, waited for him, longed for him. Oh God, this isn’t fair, she wailed silently. She had waited for this for so long, now her own insecurities were eating her alive. It didn’t matter that her therapist had warned her to expect this. She felt as frightened, as off balance as she had the first months after the attack.
“Rowdy…” Her throat tightened as she fought herself, the fear and need warring inside her.
“It’s real easy, baby,” he crooned, his dark velvet voice washing over her. “Yo
u just lift your arms and put them around my neck.” He let go of her hair, fingers curling around her wrists as he lifted her arms, urging them up until they curled around his neck. “Then you come up real close to me, so I can hug you back.” His arms went around her, slowly, so slowly, pulling her against him until her head rested on his chest.
“There we go.”
She was shaking, but was it fear or something more? She didn’t know what she was feeling, didn’t know how to assimilate the sensations and emotions washing through her.
“I came home for you, Kelly,” he reminded her, his breath caressing her ear as she jerked against him. “I came home to touch you, to taste you, to claim you. Do you know what I would have done if I had known you were home when I pulled in yesterday morning?”
She shook her head, a jerky movement as a small whimper left her lips. He felt so good. A man shouldn’t feel this good, powerful yet protective, hot and so blessed sexy.
“I would have come to your room and kissed you awake. I would have seen your pretty eyes opening, knowing it’s me beside you, my lips touching yours. I want that real bad, Kelly. Even though I know if Dad caught me he’d skin me alive.” He breathed in roughly; the feel of his chest rasping against her breasts sent a shudder racing through her. “Now,” he whispered, “I really don’t care if he does skin me.”
She stiffened against him, needing to draw away, needing to get closer to him. God, she hated this. Hated the fear holding her back, hated not knowing, not understanding the emotions raging through her mind and body.
“Rowdy—”
“Shh.” He stilled her protest as he rubbed his head against hers. “Just settle here against me, baby. Let me hold you for a minute; let me know you’re okay. Just that.”
“But I’m not okay.” Her hands clenched in the fabric of his shirt as she finally admitted it to herself. “I’m scared, Rowdy. I’m so scared.” She pressed her head against his chest, the words slipping free after nearly a year of burying them. She was terrified.
“I know, baby.” He kissed her head, his hands running over her back. “But I won’t let you be scared of me.”
