The Cornerstone (4 page)

“I have a thing for IPAs,” she said, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. Skinny silver bracelets encased her wrist, and they clanged against each other whenever she moved. From where I was sitting, it looked and sounded like she was accessorizing with a Slinky. “A list of the best local breweries was published last month, and my goal for the summer is to try each one.” Unbidden, she tucked herself into the seat beside me. “We met earlier, but I know there are a lot of us and things have been so hectic. I’m Shannon, Matt’s sister.”

I accepted her outstretched hand, and as our palms met, I realized she was a tiny little thing. She was just a peanut. At first glance, she didn’t seem small, not with that feisty attitude and fiery hair, but she was the definition of petite. Slim fingers, smooth skin, trim, compact body, and…freckles. So many freckles.

It was as if Strawberry Shortcake fucked Winston Churchill, and nine months later, Shannon Walsh was born.

“Right,” I said. “Will.”

“Are you an India Pale Ale fan, Will?” Her eyes dropped to the Corona bottle beside me and she forced that fake smile again. It was obvious she did this with frequency—handling people, subtly manipulating them, getting her way while letting everyone think it was their idea—and it annoyed the fuck out of me. “Oh, that’s just silly.”

“Is it?”

“Yes,” she said, then called down the bar, “Barry! Get my friend a Summer Ale.”

Barry didn’t react quickly enough for Shannon, and his shift was probably long since over but he didn’t know how to break that news to her. With a sigh about wanting things done right meant doing them herself, she stepped behind the bar, grabbed the bottle, popped the top, and placed it in front of me.

“Put it on my tab,” she yelled as she settled back into her seat. Barry gave us his best deer-in-the-headlights look and went back to restocking. It was late, and he was the only one manning the patio bar. My money was on him counting the seconds until this rowdy crew cleared out. “So I started my IPA adventure with an Olivette from Paisley Pines and then I discovered Lost Highway Breweries, and now I’m dying to try the Veridien from Banded Horn Brewery.”

Bound. Gagged. Closet.

“So tell me, Will,” she said, inclining her head toward me. “What’s your poison?”

An image of Shannon bent over my knee flashed into my mind, and
fuuuuuck
that had to stop right now. I swallowed it down, drowning that thought in cold beer. “Whatever’s on tap,” I growled.

In all fairness to my dick, this was nothing more than a natural reaction to being off-base and in the presence of gorgeous women who were free to dress however they pleased. Hell, I hadn’t seen a lady in heels like Shannon’s, with ribbons lacing all the way up her leg, since…ever.

I sent a silent prayer to my cock, begging it to calm the fuck down.

“There you are,” Shannon said as Lo draped her arm over my shoulder.

“Hey, Will, this is my friend Andy. She works with Matt,” she said, gesturing to the brunette beside her.

“Will Halsted,” I said. She shook my hand without saying a word. “You’re not related to this crew?”

“No,” Andy said, and her gaze traveled over the patio area to settle on Patrick, the oldest Walsh. He was one stoic motherfucker. I’d only picked up general details about the family Lo was marrying into, and I knew Riley was the fool, Sam was the playboy, Patrick was the hard-ass, Nick wasn’t related but came with the package, and Matt was the golden retriever: obedient, loyal, and couldn’t keep his tongue in his mouth.

Andy ordered a glass of wine, and thank God Barry was able to meet her request without much discussion. I doubted Shannon cared whether she was empowered to fire him or not; she’d make it happen.

“Finally, an impartial witness. Sit down,” I said, pulling up a chair.

If I could get Andy talking, I knew Shannon would go looking for attention elsewhere. That meant I could get some history on these people and distance from Shortcake. Seemed like a win.

But Andy turned away from Patrick a second before he pivoted. A quick inspection of the patio told me that everyone else saw it too. I couldn’t understand how she missed his hot stare.

So that’s how it is with them.

“Are we not having a conversation?” Shannon asked, and
fuck
. Just…fuck. If I had the time or interest, her mouth would be too busy with my cock to make those comments. And no, I did not want to be interested but post-deployment horny didn’t discriminate against viper-women who inspired fear in wolves and inadequate men.

“Apparently she didn’t take the hint,” I muttered but Andy ignored me. Incidentally, my dick was ignoring me too.

Lo shot me a venomous glare, mouthed “Be nice,” and linked her elbow with Andy’s. She flipped me off as they walked across the patio to where Wes was seated with Erin, or—as I preferred to call her—the quiet one.

I definitely drew the short straw in this activity.

“I don’t spend nearly enough time listening to harpies.” I gestured for Shannon to finish her story, and hoped my remarks were enough to send her back to her room for the night. That was my exit strategy, and she was providing more than enough material to work with. “By all means, continue. I’m certain there are some frat boys brewing their own basement lager that you haven’t mentioned yet, and I won’t be able to sleep tonight without your assessment of their operation.”

“The things I do for my brothers,” Shannon said under her breath.

I expected another book report on the history of brewing but she stayed silent. She watched as Lo and Andy returned to the inn, and then her attention shifted to Erin. Shannon was putting a lot of effort into making her glances seem casual, and failing miserably.

Her thumb swept back and forth over the bottle’s neck, and for a moment, I was transfixed by an image of those fingers on my cock. They were so small and slim, I bet they wouldn’t fit all the way around my shaft.

And fuck me, I couldn’t stop watching her stroke that bottle. I closed my eyes, and I could feel it, I could feel her skin against mine, and
fucking hell
, it had been too long.

“Give me that,” I said, grabbing the beer away. It was barely cold and I couldn’t say I enjoyed beer this hoppy but I drank it anyway.

“We could have ordered you one, dearie,” she said.

“Unlikely,” I said. “You scared the piss out of Barry, and probably everyone else at this place.”

Her laugh was a soft, breathy sound, and it was the most honest thing I’d heard from her all night. “You can’t say I don’t get shit done.”

I couldn’t stay seated any longer. I needed something to do, a way to expel the misplaced desire hammering in my veins, and I was half ready to dive into the ocean and swim until I washed up on the shore. At least then I’d be too exhausted to think about wrapping all that red hair around my fist and forcing her to her knees.

Stepping behind the bar, I grabbed our empty bottles and tossed them in the bin. Sam was drunkenly corralling his brothers—plus Wes, Erin, and Nick, the doctor who’d asked me an unending series of questions about tribal healthcare conditions in Pakistan and Afghanistan earlier in the evening—and leading them down the beach toward his cottage.

That was the bullet I was taking for this team tonight: Wes was gathering intel on Lo’s in-laws while eyeing Erin, and I was left keeping a leash on Shortcake.

But then I noticed her tracking
me
, and I realized this little girl and I were playing the same fucking game. How could I have missed such overt scrutiny? And no, of course she didn’t have a thing for IPAs.

Yeah, the bitch had
balls
.

“So you’re the tail.”

“I’m what?” she snapped, and it seemed plausible that she’d have a trophy case packed with all the assholes she’d torn up.

“The tail,” I repeated. “I know my objective here…but what’s yours?”

She crossed her arms over her chest, jangling those stupid Slinky bracelets in the process. “Your sister seems to believe you’re going to kidnap and torture my brother. She wanted to prevent that.”

“It’s called enhanced interrogation,” I said. “And that’s not my wheelhouse.”

“That’s right,” she murmured. “I’m told you’re quite the commando.”

I bristled. There was a lot of mythology surrounding special operations teams, and most of it was inaccurate or exaggerated. “We aren’t fond of that term, ma’am.”

“In that case, I’m quite fond of it.” She eyed me up and down, visibly taking stock of my dive watch, the Gatorz sunglasses hanging from the neck of my t-shirt, and the frog skeleton tattoo peeking out from my sleeve. “What kind of commando activities have you been up to recently?”

You wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if I told you.
“Afraid that’s classified, ma’am.”

She stared at me as if she wasn’t accustomed to being refused anything, ever. And look at her. Those pouty lips, the ones that ordered everyone around as if they were on her payroll and they should be fucking thrilled to have that honor. That stubborn chin, angled just enough to communicate her superiority. And those eyes, big and dark, dark mossy green, twinkling as if she was amused by my insubordination.

This woman was lethal.

Tearing my gaze away from Shannon, I surveyed the beer selection and opted for another Summer Ale. “Why is Matt in such a hurry to marry my sister?”

Before seeing Lo or meeting her fiancé, Wes and I endured one of the most stern lectures my father had delivered in years. It seemed the Commodore was drunk on the Matthew Walsh Koolaid. At the very minimum, my mother was force-feeding it to him. He officially warned us off any initiatives aimed at interrogating or otherwise scaring the shit out of our future brother-in-law. That didn’t mean I wasn’t free to collect intel.

Shannon smiled, and for the first time, it was authentic. “Because they have crazy, filthy love for each other.” She wandered behind the bar and inspected every bottle in stock before selecting a Sam Adams. She leaned against the counter, staring at me while she sipped.

Okay, so maybe she wasn’t too much of a socialite for beer.

“Really? Do you even like beer?” I shook my head as she drained the bottle and reached for another. “And whatever happened to your blessed IPAs? You should know Barry’s off crying in a corner somewhere.”

She held the bottle in front of her face and studied the label. “I’ll leave him a generous tip. Nothing a few months of psychotherapy won’t solve.” I couldn’t repress the surprised laughter that bubbled up from my chest. “Now explain to me why you have a problem with Matt.”

“I don’t trust him,” I said. “It’s really fucking simple.”

“Do you trust Lauren?”

“Of course,” I said, reaching for my beard and once again finding it missing. “Without a doubt.”

“Obviously not,” Shannon laughed. She tugged her sweater’s sleeves down from where they’d been bunched at her elbows, and now they hung over her fingers. There was absolutely no reason why I’d find that sexy, but…post-deployment horny. That’s all it was. “If you trusted her judgment, you’d also trust her choice of husband.”

I leaned back against the counter, mirroring her stance. My goal was keeping my eyes on her face and away from her legs and fingers, but then I noticed the way her sweater was always sliding off one shoulder. That shoulder…I couldn’t stop staring at it. “I don’t trust any guy with my sister.”

She tossed the empty bottle into the trash and went for another. “You’re a misogynistic meathead,” she said.

“If you want to hit me with meathead, I’ll own that, but I’m not taking misogynistic. I can respect, admire, and champion the fuck out of women, but that doesn’t mean I can’t also protect my sister. That doesn’t mean I can’t make it clear he’ll have to deal with me if she’s ever harmed in any way.”

“That was a lot of words for you all at once. I’m kind of impressed.” Shannon ran a hand through her hair, and I noticed we were completely alone. “Let me tell you something about Lauren: she is a badass chick. You want to talk about torture? She put Matt through all kinds of hell.”

“Good,” I said. “It builds character. And he probably deserved it.”

“While your last point is most likely accurate,” Shannon said, “you need to lighten up, commando. Not all womenfolk need looking after.”

“Someone should be looking after you,” I murmured before draining my beer. Too often, the world wasn’t very nice to females, and yeah, we needed to deal with that shit straightaway. But no one was going to tell me to stop standing up for the women in my life.

“Erroneous.” Her lips curled into a smile that walked the line between playful and demonic, and she shook her head. “If anything, I’m the one who does the looking-after around here.”

“In other words, your brothers are lazy sacks of shit,” I said, and I knew there was a reason I didn’t like those guys.

Her pale brows drew together in a vicious scowl, and I recognized I was wrong about Shannon. She wasn’t a socialite, not at all. She was a fighter, and a scrappy one at that.

“In other words,” she said, “I run this town and I don’t need any help doing it.”

She shrugged and now that shoulder was all the way exposed. A wild splash of freckles ran across her skin, and I was too tired, too fed up with this conversation, too tightly wound to do anything but imagine tasting her right there. I pushed off from the counter and stared out at the sea, all while searching for enough discipline to make it back to my room without doing something unbelievably stupid.

But instead of leaving the bar right then, I stopped beside Shannon and studied those freckles. “Like the tail of a comet,” I murmured.

I reached out and traced a line from the ball of her shoulder across her collarbone. Then my gaze shifted to her mouth and those defiant, sinful lips, and my other hand was sliding up her neck and into her hair.

I didn’t know why I did it. Maybe it had been too long since I touched a woman. Maybe I couldn’t handle the post-deployment horny as well as I used to. Or maybe…maybe I wanted to get into a power struggle.

My forehead rested against Shannon’s as I moved into her space, crowding her and feeling all five-foot-nothing of her pressed against me.