One to Love (One to Hold #4) (23 page)

“I hope you like sausage pizza,” she called when I stepped around the curtain hiding my bed to put on a fresh shirt. “It should be here any minute.”

I returned to her, buttoning my jeans. “I thought I might cook—”

“Nope! I’m treating you to pizza.” She skipped over and kissed my lips. I reached for her shoulders when a loud knock on the door broke us apart.

Scooping up her purse, she ran to the door before I could say anything, taking the large, brown box from the teen guy standing there and passing him a bill. “Keep the change,” she called before turning and carrying our dinner into the living room.

Every time she did something like this, I felt another chink in my walls being removed. It was a scary feeling, but at the same time, nothing was as great as being with her.

We ate our dinner, and she told me about her little boy, complete with pictures on her phone. “He’s got your eyes,” I said, checking out the blue-eyed towhead. “He’s really cute.”

Her eyes glowed when she described how he knew his numbers and colors and even could recognize words in his picture books.

“It’s because Elaine’s a teacher,” she said, leaning back against the couch. “I mean, Patrick and I are smart, but she’s probably sounding out words with him and all that stuff.”

I hated the way I felt when she mentioned this guy, Patrick. It was sick of me to feel jealous, but fuck, I couldn’t help it. “How long were you married?”

Her expression changed, and she seemed surprised by my question. “Umm... almost three years. Why?”

Now I felt like an ass. “You just have such a good relationship. That’s probably a rare situation.”

“Oh, no!” she laughed shaking her head. “Patrick and I were never married. God, no. It was... well,” worried eyes rose to mine. “He and I kind of had this random fling. I was such an idiot, I got pregnant. It was totally my fault.”

She was so cute being embarrassed in front of me, as if I hadn’t done worse things. “You know, it takes two people to make a baby.”

“I know.” She nodded, pushing her hands into the sides of her hair. It was a gesture I’d learned meant she was flustered. “But I told him I was on the pill. I’d been sick and taking antibiotics, and... We were so drunk and stupid. I was such an idiot.”

The room went quiet, and I tried to think of something to say. Her face was hot pink, and I still couldn’t get over how she would blush. Her, in all her purple hair and bold personality. The blushing killed me.

“You probably think I’m a complete flake now.” Her voice was quiet, and I almost laughed.

“I don’t think that at all.”

“I would. I’d think I was some kind of psycho.”

Scooting forward, I scooped her onto my lap. Her legs straddled my waist, and she looked down, not meeting my eyes.

“Hey,” my voice was soft. “Look at me.” She didn’t, so I said it with a little more force. “Look. At. Me.”

Those little blue birds fluttered to meet my gaze, and fuck, if she didn’t take another little chink. “Everybody does stupid shit they regret. I’m the world champ at it.”

Her mouth pressed into a little sideways grin. “You keep saying that, but I’m still not convinced.”

The lightness in my mood disappeared. I caught her chin and made her look at me. “Trust me. I’m the champ.”

Her brow fell, and I hated that I’d been so forceful with her. Pushing back, she sat on the floor in front of me, looking at her palm. “I’ve made more stupid decisions than anyone I know.”

It was more of an opening than I’d ever expect to get, so I took it. “What’s that about?” I nudged her hand. “Why do you have that there?”

She didn’t lift her head. Her voice was a quiet monotone as she spoke. “When my husband died, I kind of lost it. Everyone hated him—my parents in particular—which is probably why I loved him all the more. He left out of here like a bat out of hell, and I chased right after him. Then he died.”

An ache moved in my chest at her words. I hated thinking of her going through that kind of pain alone. “I’m sorry. ”

“He had a best friend Max... Max’s older brother felt sorry for me, so he gave me a job.” She grinned up at me. “I worked as a tattoo artist for a little over a year.”

I smiled back. “That’s pretty cool.”

“Yeah, only I didn’t know anything about the culture or anything. What things meant.” She looked back at her palm. “I’d seen a few guys with teardrop tattoos, and I thought about how much I’d cried after my husband died. So I put a tear in my hand, like for all the tears I’d held wishing he were still alive.”

She didn’t say more, and I couldn’t think of a good response. When she looked up at me again, she seemed to read my mind, and we both exhaled a laugh. She rolled her eyes and leaned forward against my chest, her shoulders shaking with her laugh. “I’m such a dumbass.”

Wrapping my arms around her, I kissed the top of her head. “It’s actually a pretty good gag. You really had me going at the gym.”

She sat up fast then, catching my eye. “Oh my god, you thought I was a murderer?” She shook her head. “And you were still brave enough to sleep with me?”

“You’re pretty small. I’m pretty confident I could take you.”

“Don’t make me kick your ass again.” She narrowed those beautiful blue eyes at me. I caught her chin to kiss her roughly.

“You know where that leads.” A white-hot image of us so close to making it in the men’s room flitted across my brain, prompting a response below my belt.

“Hmm...” Her wicked grin only made me harder. “I remember liking where that led.”

Lifting her easily, I carried her straight to my bed. Laying her back against the pillows, I slid forward, holding my torso up with my forearms. Our mouths were only a breath apart, but I waited. I wanted to look into her blue eyes a little longer. She was so strong and she had that edge, yet at the same time, she was still innocent.
God, what was I doing?

My heart wouldn’t let me think about it. It was a damn, stubborn taskmaster, and it wanted one thing—this gorgeous creature in my arms. I might be so tough and controlled outside this bed, but laying here, with her small body in my arms, her legs slipping around my waist and her fingers threading into the sides of my hair, I was powerless.

It didn’t scare me at all, which was why I should’ve known to be afraid.

––––––––

N
othing was keeping Slayde and me apart now. If I wasn’t at his place, he was spending the night at mine. He still left early each morning to be at the gym, cleaning the locker rooms and getting ready for the day, but now that Rook had made him a trainer, he was with me more all the other times.

Slayde never said how many years he’d been a fighter before he quit, but he was so skilled at everything, it had to have been a while. Even Pete asked him for pointers on lifts and moves.

He’d already left for the day when I was hanging out with Mariska that Wednesday afternoon, dishing about my super sexy boyfriend. She was dressed as always in her Boho-Goth style. Deep emerald bodysuit with a long, rayon skirt wrapped around her slim hips. Her long, wavy brown hair was pinned back on the sides and silver skull earrings were in both her ears.

“Is he really rough?” She leaned forward, hazel eyes sparkling. “Like when you’re doing it, does he hold you down and shit?”

“No,” I laughed. “That’s such a freakin’ stereotype.” My knee-jerk response I’m sure was a result of Patrick’s intense line of questioning the last time I’d talked to him.
Shit
! Had that been two weeks ago? I needed to plan a trip to Wilmington now.

Mariska’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t believe it. He has those wicked-sexy eyes, like he likes to strangle you.”

Leaning forward, I scanned the bar to be sure we were alone. “I’ve always wanted to try that,” I whispered. My friend squealed, and I kicked her. “Shut the fuck up,” I hissed. “That’s why I can’t tell you anything at work.”

“So does he do it? Do you come really hard?” She was leaning forward on the bar again, and I was about to tell her we’d never tried it when a man pushed through the glass doors.

He strode toward the counter, and we both snapped to attention. He was gorgeous, tall and slim but built, and the way he carried himself, I could tell he was used to giving orders—and being obeyed. He was military, I’d bet my life on it.

As I looked at him, something was so familiar, from the light brown hair with caramel highlights to the intense hazel eyes that were almost green. The more I studied him, the more he reminded me of...

“Can I help you?” Mariska’s voice cut through my thoughts with a force that caused me to step back.

“I’m looking for Kendra Woods. She goes by Kenny.” The handsome man surveyed the gym behind us.

Blinking up at him, I straightened. “I’m Kenny.”

Stern eyes moved to my face, and he hesitated. “I expected someone... older.”

Embarrassment mixed with anger.
Was he insulting me?
“I’m twenty-six, and you are...?”

“Stuart Knight. You know my brother Patrick.”

My mouth dropped open, but I quickly closed it. The few times Patrick had mentioned his older brother Stuart, it had always been to say what a hardass he was or to note how much they didn’t get along. I could see where he was coming from, but I wasn’t about to be intimidated on my own turf.

“I know Patrick. What do you want?”

“May I speak with you in private? It’s about your son, my nephew.” He never once lost his imposing posture, but he reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, revealing the slightest crack in the armor along with some pretty impressive ink hiding under his long sleeve.

I took a breath and exchanged a glance with Mariska. Patrick’s brother or not, I wasn’t comfortable being alone with this guy. “Mariska’s my friend. We can talk here.”

He glanced at her, and for a moment, his eyes got caught. It was like he saw her for the first time, and even I could feel the unexpected charge that passed in the air between them.

His voice changed, sternness gone. “Hello.”

Mariska’s cheeks warmed along with her voice. “Hi—it’s Stuart? Would you like a smoothie? I make them myself... right over there.” She pointed across the bar. “It’ll give you a little privacy. While you talk.”

Watching the two of them, I almost suggested I make the smoothie and leave them alone together, but he grabbed the reins.

“Thank you,” he said, breaking their moment. Still, his gaze drifted to her ass when my friend sashayed across the bar. I resisted rolling my eyes at her obvious hip swish.

The deep voice was back on me, sternness restored. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I have something for Lane. I’d like you to keep it for him until he’s old enough to have it.”

I watched him dig in his pocket and pull out a small bundle wrapped in a black cloth. It fit in his palm, and as he unwrapped it, I ducked under the counter to stand in front of him. “What is it?”

Opening his hand, light glinted off the shiny bronze. It was a medal on a navy ribbon with red stripes. “It’s my father’s distinguished service award. It was given to me when he died. I need you to give it to Lane as the first grandson when he’s older.”

Concern flooded my chest. “Why are you giving this to me now? You can give it to him yourself. Later.”

He was quiet, his eyes fixed on the memento in his hand as if he saw something more than just a piece of metal. “That might not be possible, and I need to pass it down. It’s important I do this.”

Flying through the millions of possibilities, I studied his face. “Are you ill? Do you want me to call Patrick?”

That broke whatever reverie he was in. “No,” he ordered. “This is just between us. I don’t want my brother involved.”

“But he has Lane...”

Stuart nodded. “That’s why I’m asking you for this favor.”

I shook my head. None of it made sense. Heirlooms were handed down when someone died. Stuart appeared healthy, shit he appeared freakin’ hot as hell, but I could tell something was off with him. Chewing my lip, I wondered if I should press the issue.

I was about to speak, but Mariska slid the smoothie she’d just made across the counter to him. “On the house. It’s full of lavender and blueberry. It’ll help you relax.”

He looked at her, and that charge was back. Perhaps it was because physically he was so much like his brother, I felt like I could read his body language. Their eyes met and mingled, and Mariska’s cheeks flushed. Still, he resisted.

“I have to go.” His voice was quiet—as if he were speaking only to her.

My friend wasn’t the least bit discouraged. She reached forward, touching his hand. “Where are you going?”

Even though I could tell he wanted to pull away, he seemed hypnotized her. “My uncle has a place out west where... where I can breathe. Maybe I can find some peace.”

The muscle in his jaw moved, and he stepped away from the counter, away from her. He’d done what he came to do, and I could tell Mariska was more than he expected from this errand.

“Please,” I stepped toward him. “Let me call Patrick. I’m sure he’d want to know—”

“No.” His eyes flashed, and a charge of fear radiated in my chest. Clearly, Stuart Knight was not someone to cross. “Do not call my brother. I don’t want to see him.”

He turned and headed for the door, but Mariska grabbed the smoothie he’d left behind and ducked under the counter. Stuart might scare me, but she wasn’t letting whatever had passed between them get away so easily.

“Wait! You forgot something!” She caught his hand, and he paused. He turned back to her, and his expression softened.

For a moment, he stood there. She held his hand as well as his gaze. “Thanks,” he said, taking the beverage she held. Their eyes met again, but he let her go, pushing through the glass doors.

I went back inside the bar, shoving the bundle in my bag and fishing around for my phone. Badass or not, something was seriously wrong, and I needed to call Patrick. His brother was proud and clearly strong, but the guy who just handed me his father’s medal of honor was contemplating some serious shit.

“Oh my god, Kenny.” Mariska collapsed against the bar. “I’m in love.”