“We don’t have to—not while you’re feeling so—”
“Vulnerable? Raw?”
She nodded.
His eyes implored her to let him have his way in this. The man needed to get something off his chest.
“I suppose I should apologize for surprising the hell out of you and telling your dad how I felt before I told you. Officially, that is. And it would probably be in the best interests of everyone—but especially this crazy fucking smoke-damaged heart of mine—if we just pretended this thing that happened between us didn’t actually happen. Go back to before, or try to, because what we had before was pretty awesome. After all, you’re Evie Ventimiglia, my best girl.”
Her heart should have danced at his words. Instead, it sank like a stone. “Right. Back to being besties.”
He held her gaze, full of a fierceness she was only starting to recognize was his trademark.
“I suppose I should apologize, but I won’t. And I suppose I should pretend we’re better as friends, but I won’t do that, either. You are my best friend, but you’re all these other things, too. You’re the woman I’ve watched from afar, who never seemed to understand all she had to offer, who accepted what those assholes doled out because her heart is the biggest, best thing about her. You’re the person I think of the first moment I wake and the last second before I sleep. You’re in here, city girl.” He covered her hand with his, pressing it to his chest.
She sniffed. “You sure this isn’t the adrenaline talking? Or that head injury? Or the relief that you didn’t, you know, die?”
“That’s not what this is about. I loved you before I got hit on the head and my lungs filled with smoke. And I’ll love you long after I leave this hospital room. I know this is scary for you. You’re worried things will change—well, you’re right.”
“For the better,” Evie whispered, accepting the truth into her heart at last. “Forever.”
Light and unmistakable love lit up Tyler’s eyes. “Now she gets it.”
She nodded and, taking his hand, she placed a kiss over his palm. “I need the Tyler who’s always been here for me. The one who held me tight whenever some jerk broke my heart. The one who answers a Skype call whenever I have a meltdown and can’t calculate the time difference between Rome and Chicago.”
“You have him. You’ll always have him.”
“And I also need the Tyler who treats me like a queen, in and out of bed. Who knows what I need and isn’t afraid to give it to me. Hard.”
“Evie,” he whispered, but it was tinged with want.
“The man who trusted the most precious gift he had to me and let me have my wicked way with his gorgeous cock.”
His eyes flickered closed briefly. “Oh, man, that mouth of yours is gonna be the death of me.”
“Maybe you should shut me up.”
He pulled her forward, curling a strong hand around her neck, and shut her right the hell up with a deep, wet, all-in kiss.
“I love you, Ty. In every possible way.” Tears fell now, of relief and joy and love. But mostly of recognition of the soul calling out and urging her to connect, fully and totally.
“Glad to hear you’ve come to your senses, piccola,” she heard her father say behind her. “Might have been pretty awkward with him living under my roof for a while.”
“What?” She locked eyes with Tyler—sexy, alive, all hers Tyler—and got bafflement in return. Mostly, she was praying her father hadn’t heard the word “cock” come out of her mouth.
“He needs to stay somewhere while they rebuild his apartment,” her dad explained.
Tyler cupped her jaw. “That was our call out tonight. Mrs. Novak and her candlelit shrine to John Paul II set the whole place on fire.”
“You mean Saint John Paul,” Evie corrected before she grasped the situation fully. “Oh my God, is Mrs. N. okay?”
“She is. Not a scratch on her. She’s staying with her sister, but Evie…I lost your photos. Other stuff, too, but the photos meant the most to me.”
“I can take more. We’ll make a whole cache of memories together.” She kissed him softly. “What’s important is that we have each other and now we get to do it under my dad’s roof and he can’t stop us because he invited you to stay. It would be rude.”
Her dad coughed. “Brooks stays in the basement. I’ll be creating a broken glass perimeter around your bedroom door the minute I get home.”
“Aw, so sweet, Dad.”
“Thanks, Chief,” Tyler said with a quick wink for her eyes only. “I promise to follow your house rules to the letter.” He dropped a life-affirming smile on her, and Evie knew that this man would have her dad on his side in a flash. Good guys recognized other good guys, after all.
As for bad girls—or this bad girl—it seemed sex dreams do come true. She’d finally landed herself one of the good ones and she had no plans to let him slip through her greedy little fingers.
Acknowledgments
Thanks to my Facebook readers’ group, Kate’s Kittens, for cheering me on when I mentioned I had an idea for a virgin hero firefighter. I hope you love Tyler! And thanks also to my editor, Alethea Spiridon, for shepherding this fun short story though the process and laughing in all the right places.
About the Author
Originally from Ireland, Kate cut her romance reader teeth on Maeve Binchy and Jilly Cooper novels, with some Mills & Boon thrown in for variety. Give her tales about brooding mill owners, oversexed equestrians, and men who can rock an apron or a fire hose, and she is so there. Now based in Chicago, she writes sexy contemporary romance with alpha heroes and strong heroines who can match their men quip for quip.
Also by Kate Meader
EVEN THE SCORE
TAKING THE SCORE
ONE WEEK TO SCORE
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. References to actual persons, living or dead, is not intended or inferred.
Copyright © 2019 by Kate Meader. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
2614 South Timberline Road
Suite 105, PMB 159
Fort Collins, CO 80525
[email protected]
www.entangledpublishing.com
Edited by Alethea Spiridon
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition March 2019
ALONG CAME A SPIDER
DELILAH DEVLIN
Chapter One
Spider Longren knew his reaction was way out of context with the situation, but looking down at the crushed metal tackle box gave him grim satisfaction. The solid punch had left his knuckles tingling, which reminded him he was among the living.
So the lock probably hadn’t been stuck in the first place. Maybe it had only needed a jiggle to free it. He’d buy his buddy Tank a shiny new one to replace the dented old box. At least now he could see the hook he needed. It was on the ground along with the scattered, colorful flies and shiny weights.
Selecting a hook, he settled back into his folding chair and reached for the box of worms he’d bought at the bait shop at O-dark-thirty that morning. He grimaced as he impaled a large wriggling worm. The moment had arrived. The moment Tank had described as one of pure bliss as he gently flung back his pole then jerked it forward to cast, the sweet sound of the reel whirring a sure path to inner peace.
Spider’s line landed limply about ten feet from his chair. Well, hell. That’s what the weights were for. He turned the handle on the reel, and the hook whizzed closer. A mindless task. Annoying as hell.
He riffled through the spilled contents of the tackle box, looking for one of the small brass weights. Pain stung the end of his index finger, and he jerked back his hand to find a large drop of blood bubbling up from a pun
cture. An ISL bullet hadn’t managed to sideline him for more than a month, but now he wondered whether some flesh-eating bacteria might find its way inside the small wound, so he riffled some more to find a tube of antibacterial cream. Wound treated, he returned to the task of finding a weight and tying it next to the hook, trimmed the excess line with the K-bar knife from his web belt, then stuck another worm onto the hook and prepared to cast his line, again.
But first, he needed a few deep breaths to calm the anger that had him itching to get up from his seat on this small rocky outcrop that jutted into a fast-moving river, the outcrop forming an eddy Tank had promised would yield a fish or two.
Ever since they’d returned from their last rotation in the sandbox, Spider had been edgy, unable to relax, terse with his friends—to the point they’d told him he needed to get laid or go a round with someone who’d kick his ass good in a boxing ring. Tank had cleared his throat after that last suggestion and recommended his own favorite stress break: a weekend of fishing, alone in the wilderness. No voices. No sounds other than the swishing of the trees as the wind filtered through their branches, the gentle burbling of the water, the occasional warble of a bird…
The thought of isolating himself in the forest, on purpose, as a way to let go of the tension that kept him wound tight, had sounded like a slice of pure heaven. After getting the GPS location of Tank’s favorite watering hole, he’d left Little Creek last night, arriving in the North Carolina national forest in the early morning hours at a roadside motel Tank promised didn’t have bed bugs. He’d dropped his gear in his room, which turned out to be exactly as his buddy had promised—old, but clean. The slight smell of mildew in the bathroom was kind of comforting in its own way.
He’d headed out on foot, following his GPS into the woods, just a flashlight to guide him, a fishing pole and his folding chair over his shoulder, the tackle box under his arm and a cooler carried at his side. Watching the sun rise from the rock outcropping that stretched nearly to the center of the river had further heartened him that he’d chosen well, because during that last hundred miles of driving he’d wondered if he shouldn’t have chosen door number one and simply gotten laid.
Well, he was here now. It was Saturday morning, and he had until Monday to return to base. All he had to do was follow Tank’s simple instructions—hook a worm, cast, wait until something happened, pop the tab on a beer, wait some more, reel in the line, and then hook another worm. Rinse and repeat. The path to nirvana. Catching a fish wasn’t the actual goal.
He reached back and cast his line again then watched it sail far out toward the center of the river, but a sudden gust of wind pushed it back to the bank on the other side of the eddy. He jerked his pole, but the hook had caught on vegetation. Huffing a breath, he pushed up from his chair and jerked harder on the line.
A metallic tinkling sounded. “What the hell?” he whispered under his breath. He tugged again, this time more gently. The sound repeated, but more muted this time.
Since fishing wasn’t nearly as interesting as exploring the source of the sound, he walked back across the rocks, climbing down to the river bank, then cut through the woods in the direction he’d heard the tinkling sound.
He pushed through a thicket of bushes then happened to glance downward. A nearly invisible filament, thicker than a spider’s web, was stretched ankle-high. A booby trap. His heart thudded, pounding more solidly inside his chest—a comforting feeling, really. He crouched and followed the direction of the filament with his gaze. Just as he decided to step out to explore, he heard rustling in the bushes and froze.
Dead ahead, he saw two figures moving through the forest, dressed in camo, holsters strapped to their thighs.
Moving quietly, he backed out of the thicket then moved along a path parallel to the men. Maybe they were simply hunters, stalking prey. If so, he’d leave them to their weird little survivalists’ play. However, the hand signals used by the first in line, a raised fist to halt, spread fingers pointing at his eyes, a single digit, indicating one target… Those were military signals. What the hell was going on?
And then he saw it—a small blue pup tent. A smoking campfire. He tensed, realizing he had only his K-bar as a weapon in case shit went sideways, and these guys weren’t just sneaking up on a buddy to scare the shit out of him.
Another signal was given, and the second man moved away, stealthily circling the camp, until he met a trip wire and a jangle of tin cans pushed both to give up their advantage and charge into the camp. One man grabbed the tent and pulled it up, stakes and all, to reveal an empty bedroll.
Whoever they hunted had given them the slip, maybe forewarned by Spider’s rattling of tin with his fishing line. In any case, it was time for him to leave.
He stepped backward but halted when one of the men called out, “There!”
The slim figure of a woman jumped up from behind a bush and headed deeper into the thicket. The man crashed after her, his accomplice right behind him.
Spider didn’t hesitate. Although armed only with his K-bar, no way was he letting these two harm the woman. He followed, moving as quietly as he could to keep from alerting them someone else was in the forest.
A cry sounded from ahead, and he halted at the edge of a small clearing to find one of the men kneeling on the ass of the woman while he pulled zip ties from his pocket. The other man stood several feet away, his weapon drawn and pointing toward the woman.
While they laughed at her muffled curses as she tried to wriggle free, Spider slid his knife from its scabbard and left the trees, edging toward the one guarding the woman.
A branch snapped beneath his feet. The man’s head turned. His eyes widened, and he swung his pistol toward Spider.
Spider flew at him, shoving up his arm as he tried to push him to the ground. A shot rang out, whizzing past Spider’s ear. Shit just got serious.
The man kneeling on the woman pulled his weapon free, but she jerked against him, toppling him, then with her hands behind her back, she rolled and kicked out at him, striking him in the temple.
Spider hooked a boot behind the ankle of the man he battled then threw his weight against him, bringing him down.
His guy still held the weapon and was fighting Spider’s grip on his upper arm, turning his elbow and aiming. Spider kneed his opponent in the groin. Another shot fired, this one nicking the back of his upper arm.
With the sounds of the woman continuing to fight the other man, Spider knew he had no other choice; he pushed his blade through the man’s rib cage, grimacing as he shoved and jerked it upward.
The man’s eyes lost their focus, and he went limp beneath Spider.
Spider rolled off and scrambled to his feet, ready to do battle with the second man, but the woman appeared to have the upper hand—or thigh. Somehow, she’d locked her thighs around the man’s neck. His face was purple; his features slackened.
After sliding his knife into its scabbard, he walked toward the woman, whose expression was wild and fierce. Holding out his hands, palms down, he said, “It’s over. You can let him go.”
Her glance darted toward him.
“You can let him go,” he repeated, this time more slowly.
She relaxed her thighs and fell back against the ground, her body quivering.
Spider knelt and rolled away the body, freeing her. “Let me take care of that zip tie.”
She eyed him warily but turned just enough he could reach behind her and slice the tie. Then he stood and held out his hand. “Come.”
She was slow to accept his hand, her brown gaze sweeping over his body, her face going taut as though she wondered whether he, too, was a threat.
“I’m not with them. I was fishing on the river. I won’t hurt you.” When she still didn’t move, he asked, “Do you think they were acting alone?”
She sucked in a breath, reached for his hand, and let him pull her up. “I don’t know,” she said, her voice sounding strained.
“Then we need to mov
e.” He pulled his GPS from his back pocket and changed his target to his starting point, the motel. “We leave now. We can be at my truck in fifteen.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
And he wasn’t leaving her here. He shook his head. “Look, for now, we have to get out of these woods. I don’t know what’s going on here, but I deserve to know why I just killed that guy.”
She raked a hand through her dark, long hair. “And I don’t know if I can trust you. For all I know, you’re simply smarter than they were.”
Spider frowned, wondering what he’d gotten himself into. “No time. We go.”
She blew out a breath and moved toward the handgun his opponent had dropped.
“Good idea.” He moved faster, plucking it up then wrestling the holster off the man. Gripping the gun and holster in one hand, he turned and charged back through the forest, listening for sounds behind him, and hoping she made the right choice.
…
Jessie Tamberlin wanted to trust her gut. She could use a protector right about now.
But she didn’t trust her instincts when it came to men—her ex-fiancé being a huge case in point. She had no doubts the men they’d killed were his goons or hired mercenaries after a rich reward. Malcolm Cassidy hated losing. The wealthy CEO didn’t play fair when it came to getting what he wanted. And he wanted her—or more accurately, he wanted to ensure her silence.
Still, she didn’t think she had the energy to fight again. The fact she’d managed to wrestle her assailant to the ground, and then choke him to death, left her feeling shaken. Or maybe it was the adrenaline wearing off.
She hated that her rescuer had the gun and thought about stripping the other weapon from the man she’d killed, but her heart was racing fast. She was panicked at the thought of the tall blond man leaving her behind.
She rushed after him, noting he didn’t look back once, which both annoyed and pleased her. He wasn’t forcing her to follow him. He could have. Point in his favor.
Men In Uniform Anthology Page 44
