Secret surrender, p.14
Secret Surrender, page 14
Still, at some point I’ll have to set her straight…
But Ally had her own special charm. An innocence he didn’t want to shatter. Innocence being a luxury he’d been denied at far too young an age.
Harsh reality could wait.
He’d let this woman, with her positive outlook and her heart on her sleeve, have her moment.
“Well, thank you for this.” He gestured to the collection of food, and she grinned at him, her attention dropping to his lips and holding seconds too long.
His heart did a dampened thud and a distinct coldness washed over him. He dropped his attention to the coffee table. Sarah’s warning wailed in his ears. How did the saying go? The road to hell is paved with good intentions.
As much as he wanted to put this visit down to country kindness, his hope shifted to something else. To their encounter not ending with him shoving her out his door. To her not clinging to him or storming away in a fit of tears.
He lifted his focus to her sitting in the armchair perpendicular to him, her gaze bouncing around his face like she’d been staring at him the entire time he’d been thinking.
“I’m embarrassing myself here, aren’t I?” Her eyes took on a soft sheen while a wide chasm imploded just beneath his sternum.
“No.” He sat taller, clearing his throat and scrubbing his hand over his mouth to buy an extra few seconds. “But I get the impression my feelings don’t match yours.”
Her stare held a long and silent moment longer before she nodded, the strain over her cheekbones dropping as though she acknowledged what he’d said. Perhaps even accepted his sentiments a little.
“I don’t really know what I’m doing here, either.” She huffed out a tight laugh, her gaze falling to her lap. “It’s just… I had hope, you know?”
He took a moment to absorb her words—or more so, the meaning in them—then gave a slow nod. He did know. About hope. About pursuing what he wanted despite the odds. At least, he’d come to know, after years of just accepting his lot. For that. For Ally’s ability to put action to her ambition, even though she was a good ten years his junior.
“Listen, I’m sorry.” She shot to her feet, quick to swipe things off his coffee table and shove them back into her basket while more words rushed out. “I won’t take up anymore of your time.”
“No. No.” He lashed out a hand and grabbed hers, halting her packing, while her wide and overwrought stare hit his. “It’s okay, you don’t need to—”
“It’s just hard, you know?” She ripped her hand from his and turned away, continuing her hurried exit. “Being my age in this town. There’s no one around, and you have no choice but to hope… to hope that the next guy to stick around is your guy.”
She paused, turned her attention to him, eyes still wide, though this time the pointedness in her stare said she hadn’t planned on being so candid.
He shrugged, trying to let her see that her honesty didn’t faze him. “Maybe the answer to your problem isn’t in this town?”
She gave a taut chuckle and gestured to the world at large. “But what would I do anywhere else? Everything I know is here. How do I leave without hurting everyone who loves me?”
He didn’t know.
Not because he lacked a list of alternative things Ally could do anywhere but here, but because he didn’t know what it was like to have anyone want him to stay.
Ally drew back her shoulders and tilted her head to one side, her eased posture suggesting she’d figured he had no answer either.
“It’s about time for me to head out too.” He launched himself out of his seat and helped her place a few final items into her basket, last being the wild flowers.
Ally held a hand in front of him. “No, keep those.”
The pinched edges of her stare told him to just accept the peace offering and say nothing more. So, he nodded and replied, “Thanks. That’s kind of you.”
She let out a sigh, her expression cheerier, and she snapped the basket closed before leading him to the front door. He stood with her on the landing, his green lawn sending a mild glare into his eyes, the familiar thud of fast foot falls drawing closer from his right.
He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the inevitable. Sarah usually ran past his house right about this time most days. He shot his gaze to Ally, just as she spoke again.
“Thanks for the talk.” She rose to her tippy toes and grabbed his face, landing a lip gloss–heavy, wet kiss to his cheek.
The nearing footfalls came to an abrupt stop. He jolted back and turned to Sarah, her hands on her hips, brows raised, and a bemused look on her face. He could only imagine what this looked like—him on his landing, disheveled and half in his pajamas, with Ally’s lips attached to his face.
And as usual, Sarah didn’t give away her feelings. She merely shook her head and kept running.
Twenty-Four
Night came and Sarah leaned against her open front door. She made a show of eyeing Dean slowly up and down as he took the few steps up to her porch. Her TV blared in the background, announcing the football game he’d come here to see, though football would likely be the last thing on her mind.
“I’m surprised you made it.” She turned for the living room, leaving space for him to enter, trusting he would close the door. She battled an internal debate over why she’d agreed to watch a game, rather than just sticking to the easy limits of this being a purely physical relationship.
“Why’s that?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She peered at him from over her shoulder, not even bothering to hide her smirk. “I figured Ally would have you tied to a bed by now, all while she had her wicked way with you.”
He gave a slow shake of his head, even though he smiled. “Your mind is even more sordid than I thought. Ally hasn’t got it for me as bad as you think.”
He kicked off his shoes.
“She’s paying you personal visits, kissing you on your landing…” She stood over him while he sank back into her couch, both arms outstretched across the back and near spanning the entire length. She tried to sit too, only finding enough space to perch on the edge farthest from him, a dull pull in her gut indicating she didn’t quite know how to feel about his clear comfort in her home. “Sounds like a done deal to me. You might just have to marry her now.”
The deflection seemed right, given her thoughts on “comfort,” not just his, but hers too.
He reached for the remote and cranked the volume, yet another sign of his ease around her. “It’s a crush. Ally will get over it.”
She grabbed a cushion and swatted at him lightly, her silent way of telling him to make room for her on her own damn couch.
He moved to the right a little, and she huddled in beside him. “You’re right. She just needs to see you hoard all the curly crisps and couch space once, and she’ll know any future between you two is sunk.”
“Is that why we’re having popcorn tonight?” He tipped his chin toward the white ceramic bowl on her small wooden coffee table.
She shrugged. “I figured you needed some variation in your diet.”
A slow smile grew on his face, those scintillating dimples making a welcome appearance. “So considerate of you.”
That hot look in his eyes, that analyzing stare paired with his deliciously wicked smirk, spun a warmth within her belly that turned her everyday thoughts about kissing him into a burning need to actually do so.
Because of that need. Because of the cold fear setting roots within her, she turned away from him and feigned a sudden urge to open the two beers also on her coffee table. “Seriously though, be careful with Ally, okay?”
An overly long silence dragged out before he tossed the remote to the table and spoke again. “Like I said, I’ll do my best.”
I killed the spark bringing Ally up again. He knows I’m holding back.
She nodded to herself and handed him the bowl of popcorn as a peace offering.
“Thanks.”
More silence, so she peered up at him looking her over a little too closely. “You didn’t have to dress up for my sake.”
She focused down at her loose, pink-and-black striped pajama pants with the tattered hem because they were just a bit too long for her. She’d paired those pants with a pale orange, baggy t-shirt.
A laugh shot past her lips. “Hey, I’ve been pouring beers all day, and this is comfortable. Shoot me.”
The smoldering look returned to his stare, and his gaze paused at her chest. “Oh, I’m not complaining.”
She should have taken the hint and had her wicked way with him, should have launched herself into his lap. But she groaned and played up her fatigue, flopping back against an armrest and propping her bare feet onto his lap.
Way to kill the mood again…
With every encounter, something changed between them, and even her evasion spoke of that change. The natural ease, despite all her prickly edges, those prickly edges mostly about everything but him.
He let her wriggle out of anything too deep. Never pestered her into being more than she was. The fact that he did only deepened the needling guilt taking up space in her body.
Her gloomy thoughts disintegrated at the heat of his large hands engulfing her feet, feet that hadn’t stopped all day. His strong thumbs pressed and ran over her tired arches, his strength channeled to nurturing.
She closed her eyes and groaned, the sensation soothing, the man providing the soothing somehow aware of what she needed without being asked.
What have I gotten myself into?
“Thank you.” His voice was a soft murmur, and his palm warmed the top of her foot.
She took a deep breath, reveling in the massage. “Shouldn’t I be thanking you? This feels amazing.”
“Oh no. I’m definitely thanking you.” He paused, the silence purposeful. “For not wearing a bra.”
She kicked out a foot and sat bolt upright, that foot connecting with the solid wall of his stomach. He laughed, heartier than before, and grabbed her foot again, his fingertips brushing her sensitive sole.
Laughter and panic twisted her voice. “Please. Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” He ran a finger down her foot’s center. A sharp tingling shot through her body, and she kicked but to no avail. “Is this Sarah Overton’s weakness? She’s ticklish?”
More strokes, which made her wriggle and laugh harder, both of which forced her into a slow slide off the couch. Well, except for the foot Dean held hostage and the arm she outstretched to keep her propped above the floor.
She fought, despite her chuckles. “If you don’t stop, I swear, I’ll pee myself.”
The tickling stopped. She caught his eye.
“Revenge peeing, huh?” His grin held strong and even grew a little, wrinkling the tops of his cheek bones.
She shook her head, and he moved to tickle her again. “No!”
She thrashed even harder than before, uncontrolled, as her free foot slammed into the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table.
The white, salty snack exploded everywhere like a miniature snowstorm. She flailed and swatted at rogue pieces falling about her face, unrestrained laughter billowing out of her.
Another wriggle and she freed her foot from Dean’s hold, an ill-thought-out move as a high-pitched squeal escaped her lungs and her supporting arm buckled, sending her to the floor with an ungraceful thud.
“Well”—Dean chuckled and reached out, helping her back onto the couch—“at least you didn’t pee yourself.”
She gave him a side glare, albeit a half-hearted one, through her laughter.
“Yeah, and I didn’t crack my skull on the floor, either. So today is all about winning for me.” Dean leaned in to pick out popcorn bits from her hair while she spoke. “I’m surprised you’re not the one peeing yourself. I’m sure watching me fall on my ass was hilarious.”
“Only a little hilarious.” He finished removing popcorn and gave her a light kiss on the lips. “I didn’t want to see you fall, though.”
She blinked at him, stunned and silent. The man was so close his breath lapped at her skin while his spicy, warm scent wound its way through her nostrils and spread a sensual heat throughout her body. His lower lip sat fuller than his top, and the outer corners held their natural upward curve, calling for her kiss.
His piercing blue eyes held her too—held her from looking away and prodded an internal battle that had her wanting to run to him and run away, all at once.
“I should probably vacuum this mess.” The weak excuse rasped past the tension in her throat. She tried to move again, but his iron-strong hand wrapped around her waist and rested over her hip, refusing to budge.
“The mess isn’t important.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but even she could see the futility and weakness in that. Dean wasn’t the sort to let anyone weasel out of an honest conversation, so she offered her version of honesty instead. “Whatever’s happening here, it’s going to end in disaster.”
“That’s what you said the first time we met, remember?” He drew in and she didn’t move, allowing him to brush his lips over hers. “And look at us. Still getting along.”
His hand stayed at her hip, his thumb drawing tantalizing circles against her t-shirt’s super thin material. Something within her melted, and heat pooled between her legs. What she wouldn’t give to give in. Not to the sex. Sex with Dean was the easy bit. The other stuff though… the unspoken demand for promises. That required something else entirely.
“I know you’re not sure about any of this.” His gentle, rumbling tone made her heart jolt and squeeze. “But don’t run, okay?”
Her mind blanked, and he lifted his free hand, his fingertips making contact with her collarbone and sweeping a delicate line over her skin. A sharp breath pulled at her lungs. His rapt focus stayed on her, as if each minor reaction fed his need—those reactions betraying her feelings about him. Feelings she wasn’t all that clear on.
“I just… I don’t know what this is.” She pressed her lips together, holding onto her next words just a moment longer. “Are you my rebound guy?”
What if she was beginning to like him, as in, really like him? Was that even possible, so close to being engaged to another man and having her heart stomped all over?
“What do you think?” His attention shifted over her face, suggesting the vulnerability in his question, like her answer truly meant something to him.
“I don’t know.” She frowned, pausing to gnaw on her lower lip. “I don’t trust anything I feel anymore.”
His gaze landed on her chin, and he gave a small nod. He read the subtext in her statement, that she’d trusted her feelings before only to find she’d been wrong.
Equal parts of her were happy and sad. Despite his tough exterior, Dean wasn’t the knuckle-dragging Neanderthal that she’d first assumed. He understood her, at least to some extent, but that understanding further exposed her limitations.
But she was human after all, and like any human, solitude came with drawbacks. And because of her humanity, she also didn’t want Dean to believe he was just her rebound guy, which was why she undertook her next move—a move with the extra benefit of pulling her away from having to overthink her connection to this man.
“But if it makes any difference—” She launched herself at him, and he released a surprised hmph sound.
She unleashed a fevered kiss on him, and before long, his hands swept her body, and she tugged at his clothes. Through all that followed next, the same disingenuous chant tumbled over and over in her mind. “We’re just friends. We’re just friends.”
Twenty-Five
“What makes you think we hire just any clown off the street?”
Luciano bit into the end of his cigar and scowled at the schmuck sitting in the black leather chair across from his desk, this guy somewhere in his early thirties with dark hair and dark eyes. Not Italian, though. Latino, maybe. And he’d literally walked into the building demanding a meeting with Luciano.
“Word on the street is you’re down a man, and I need work.”
A harsh laugh burst past Luciano’s lips. Was there anyone in LA who didn’t know about his missing guy?
“You need a job?” Luciano dropped his cigar to the crystal ashtray on his right and ran his gaze over the fucker ahead. Granted, the guy looked tough. Tall, broad shoulders, and solid build. He was either appropriately confident about his worth to the syndicate, or a total ignorant asshole, given his insistence and relaxed stance despite where he sat and who he sat before. “Why the fuck would I care what you need?”
“Because you’re going to need me more than I need you.”
Luciano threw his head back and barked out another laugh. “Arrogant fucker, aren’t you?”
The guy shrugged, his black leather jacket shifting above his fitted black t-shirt and jeans. “Maybe. Or maybe I know who you lost, Mr. Conti, and I know for a fact I’d be an upgrade.”
“Oh, yeah?” Luciano pitched forth a tight smile, allowing a moment to warm to the guy’s arrogance.
Four days had passed since his talk with Mark, and he still lacked a location for his missing man. Either this schmuck would make good on his “upgrade” claim, or Luciano would have a new candidate to inflict his frustrations on. “Wanna tell me how you’re an upgrade? Besides, what makes you think I’d trust you?”
“We both know you have people everywhere, even in the force. Run a background check on me. And as to my worth to you, just like your missing man, I have military experience—two extra years of it. Plus, five years in private investigations.” The guy leaned back in his seat, somehow appearing even more easy about this meeting than before. “Hell, if you’re having trouble finding Dean Holloway, I might be able to help there, too.”
Luciano took a slow puff at his cigar, the tobacco smoke hot in his lungs and soon swirling around his face, in contrast to his office’s dark furnishings. He narrowed a stare at the man before him. A man who had not only found his way to this building but knew the name Dean Holloway.
