The Sound of Consequence (Puget Sound ~ Alive With Love Book 1) (3 page)

The rumpled mess of linens grabbed Owen’s attention and sucked him back into the vortex of memories from last night. The black and gray striped comforter was tossed on the floor, most of the sheet accompanying it.

Owen brushed his hand across the bottom sheet, smoothing the chaos. Her scent still lingered, an arousing combination of citrus and vanilla and sensual woman. As his body again responded to the rush of memories, he quickly straightened the linens with a vain hope that an orderly bed would alleviate the desperate pulse below his waist. The bed wasn’t made to military regulations, but at least it wasn’t a scattered mess anymore and maybe that was enough to stop triggering thoughts of her.

Turning toward the dresser, Owen caught sight of a scrap of cotton on the floor and didn’t hesitate to pick it up. Dangling the cloth between his fingers, he studied it for a few moments. There’d been no time for a careful inspection last night, having been too focused on getting into what lay beneath the fabric. As the blood surged to his groin one again, he set the panties on the bed.

His erection throbbed with need for the woman who left them behind. Wondering why she’d left so hastily, hope that she’d come back stirred in his chest.

Abandoning the panties, Owen went to his dresser to grab a pair of rarely-worn tighty whities. Stretching them over his aching arousal, he took stock of the man looking at him from the mirror built onto the dresser. He was a fool to want a woman like this, especially one who ran from him at every opportunity. Except she hadn’t run from him at the club. Maybe his hope of seeing her again wasn’t in vain. 

Thinking about her wasn’t going to help him tackle the stack of unpacked boxes in his living room, so he called cadence in his head to curb the flow of blood below his waist. Basketball shorts and a muscle shirt comprised the uniform of the day. The mission was to get unpacked, finally. It was a task he couldn’t avoid forever, despite the unpleasant memories it would unleash.

When Owen stepped into the living room and eyed the boxes, he regained focus. He reached for the stereo remote and hit play. Bon Jovi started singing from the speakers.

“Sorry, guys, just not gonna cut it today.” He hit the forward button on the remote and smiled at the first notes of
Back in Black
. Less than twelve hours ago, his mystery woman, dressed all in black, glided across the dance floor to the same AC/DC song.

“That’ll do it,” he said as he tossed the remote down on the counter and headed toward the stack in the corner.

It was a little sad that his entire life was contained in these boxes. That, however, was the life of a soldier. He’d spent too much time deployed to accumulate a lot of useless junk, at least the physical kind. Owen had enough emotional junk to fill Elliot Bay. That was in the past, though. Seattle offered a clean break from that garbage.

Of course, he was still bitter about being discharged from the army. Ten years of spotless service, yet one desperate act had him out on his ass. At least he hadn’t gotten the dishonorable discharge the commanding officer had wanted to screw him with. No, thankfully the first sergeant was on Owen’s side. Even though it was a blow to be busted down two ranks, especially with a promotion pending, a dishonorable discharge would have been unbearable.

Owen pulled one of the boxes down from the top of the pile and sliced across the tape with the knife from his Leatherman. The box was filled with pictures. He pulled the first one out, his service photo, and felt the bitterness seep even deeper. He had been a good soldier for those ten years. Maybe even a model soldier. Thrashing the man he caught his wife in bed with had put more than just a blemish on his record. It seemed like a good decision at the time – no, not decision. Reaction was probably the better word.

Owen had known anger. It pumped through his veins, constantly testing him. He’d managed to keep his blood cool most of the time, having witnessed enough of his father’s abusive antics to know he didn’t want to be like that man. Sometimes, though, terrible things happened and the trigger was too powerful to ignore. Catching his wife in bed with another man was one of those powerful triggers.

He hadn’t considered the consequences it would have on his career. Even knowing that, Owen might not have been able to reel the anger in. He had too much Landry blood in him. As much as he tried not to be, he was his father’s son.

That’s why the anger still rocked him. Now it wasn’t so much that Kristina had cheated on him, but because he’d thrown his career away on that manipulative…woman. Owen resisted the urge to chuck his service picture across the room. As much as he had liked being in the army, the experience didn’t sit well with his personal life.

Now that his life was in order, it was almost a relief to be away from the structure, the deployments, and especially the painful betrayals. So it was time to do something with the service photos, platoon pictures, and snapshots of nights out with his buddies. They didn’t belong in frames any longer. These weren’t his people. It was just his past and the time had come to move on. In the notebook sitting on the breakfast bar, Owen started a list, noting photo albums as the first item.

He decided to put that box aside until he got the albums and grabbed another from the top of the pile. This one was easy to unpack; it was just his safe, the secure box that stored both his discharge papers and his divorce papers. He pulled the box out and brought it to the second bedroom where a desk and computer sat. It was as good a place as any for the safe.

Kristina filled his thoughts as he slid the secure box across the floor. Fortunately, the divorce was fast. Owen had no interest in her, despite her begging him to take her back. He figured she was just playing with him anyway, as she had since day one. That woman was poison and Owen couldn’t get away from her fast enough. He hoped Seattle was far enough from Fort Bragg that her talons couldn’t reach him.

Owen was still stunned that he’d spent last night with a woman. After what Kristina had done, and Daphne before that, he had sworn off women indefinitely. It was only recently that he’d decided to get back into the game. He longed for companionship. Owen hated coming home to an empty condo every night.

It was dangerous to spend so much time alone with his thoughts. The past always invaded like a special forces team seizing control of an enemy’s base of operations. It was quick and forceful and Owen wasn’t equipped to fight back. If he had someone to come home to, someone to share the events of his day, and hers, someone to debate politics or discuss world history, the past wouldn’t be able to penetrate his mind so easily.

Thanks to the women of his past, though, trust wasn’t going to be easy. The few times he had gone on dates, as soon as he talked about the baggage he was carrying, the date abruptly ended. That was fine. He’d only been half interested anyway.

Somehow, though, this woman made his heart race. Making love with her had been incredible. There was something else about her that he couldn’t narrow in his sights, but his instincts told him she was different, despite the fact she kept running from him.

The knock at the door gave his heart a jolt. Hope filled him as he dropped the Leatherman on the coffee table and bolted for the door.

Am I knocking too early
, man?”

Ah, shit. Owen had forgotten that Bryan was coming by. He leaned out to peer down the hall with a lame sense of hope that his mystery woman waited to be welcomed in.

“Expecting someone else?” Bryan smirked.

“Nah. Come on in.”

At six foot two, just like Owen, Bryan Curtis instinctively ducked his head as he came through the door, more habit than necessity since he had room even standing upright. Owen pressed his own body against the wall to give his lifting partner enough space to get by. The two of them spent plenty of time in the gym. Bryan was bigger, but sparring had proved Owen was stronger and faster. Owen figured that had a lot to do with his experience defending himself and his sister against their father. Even though the bastard had died when Owen was sixteen, he’d never lost his fighting skills. He could still take a punch too.

Fortunately, the only punches he’d taken lately were for sport, not in defense. He and Bryan sparred a few times a month in the gym at Bremerton Naval Station. Chief Petty Officer Curtis had served in the Navy for seventeen years and counting. They’d first met when Owen had been stationed with an army detachment unit in Norfolk twelve years ago. Since Owen’s involuntary departure from the army, he felt lucky to have Bryan as a friend, especially when he’d helped Owen land a job in computer security at Bremerton.

“You cut out early last night,” Bryan said, eyeing the stack of boxes.

Shit, Owen hadn’t even thought to let Bryan know he was leaving the club. The last glimpse he’d caught of his buddy was him talking up a couple of girls at a table near the back of the club. Even though Owen had been dancing with a couple of girls himself, his interest in them fizzled quickly, or maybe it was the other way around. Regardless, before long he found himself bustin’ a move on that small stage. He wasn’t really sure how he’d ended up there, but was sure glad he did, otherwise he may not have spotted his mystery woman.

“Blonde or brunette?” Owen asked, knowing that his friend, who had less scruples than he, probably ended up with one of them.

“Blonde, of course,” Bryan said, as if stating the obvious. “How’d you fare?”

Owen shrugged. Bryan liked to boast about his conquests. Owen, on the other hand, wasn’t much for the kiss and tell.

“I saw you leave with that girl. I also saw the buttons on the floor,” Bryan said.

Owen couldn’t keep the smile from spreading across his face. Recalling buttons being popped as he tore the hell out of her shirt, he turned around and saw dark spots on the floor near the door. He scooped them up thinking she might come back for them – and the panties.

“A little out of character for you,” Bryan stated in his usual matter-of-fact tone. Then a smile stretched the dark stubble across his jaw. “About fuckin’ time.”

Owen tossed his Leatherman at Bryan, prompting his friend to get to work. Dropping the buttons on the kitchen bar, he grabbed a set of kitchen shears from a drawer and got to work opening a box of his own. After a few minutes, he finally confessed.

“It was the girl from Starbucks.”

Bryan stopped pulling books out of the box he’d opened and looked at Owen with a questioning gaze. “The one who spilled coffee on you? The one who ran off?”

Owen nodded.

“And where is she now?” Bryan asked.

“Ran off again.”

Owen continued pulling plates and bowls out of a box, carefully unwrapping each piece and tossing the packing paper toward the kitchen, aware that Bryan watched him closely.

“She’s run off on you twice now. Your radar oughta be pinging off that sinking ship!”

Owen shook his head. “Well, it’s not. You know, I’ve never listened to my instincts before, so maybe it’s time I start. I married Kristina in spite of my better judgment. And Daphne, well, that was all about a sense of responsibility, even though I knew it wasn’t right.”

Another long sigh. Man, he was pathetic. It was illogical to feel the way he did. “This girl, this woman, I don’t know, man. My instincts are pushing me to her. This time, I’m listening.”

“So, this girl have a name?” Bryan obviously saw Owen cringe. “You don’t know her name?” He laughed and Owen wanted to punch him for it. Instead, he kept unwrapping glass dinnerware, forcing himself not to chuck it against the wall in frustration.

“All right, no name. Was she any good?”

That stopped Owen in his tracks. Was she any good? Holy hell, was she! If Owen explained how she made his heart race, how she’d kept his cock hard all night, orgasm after orgasm, well, he knew Bryan would accuse him of being pussy whipped. So instead, he stood there, mouth agape, remembering the way her pulse raced as he kissed her neck, the soft skin, the wet warmth that took him over the edge countless times.

“That good, huh?” Bryan said before the memories got out of control.

Owen went back to the plates. “Fucking amazing,” he murmured.

“So what’s your next move?”

“No name, no phone number. Looks like I’m chalking it up to a one-night stand. Wouldn’t the boys be proud,” Owen finished on a sarcastic note.

“Where do you want these books?” Bryan asked as he tossed the empty box aside.

Owen was relieved that his friend took the cue to drop the subject. “There’s a bookshelf in there.” Owen signaled to the bedroom behind Bryan.

When Bryan returned, he tore into another box. “Dude, I know you aren’t into one-night stands, but you said you needed a fresh start. Maybe gettin’ your rocks off with some random chick is just what you need to finish wiping the slate clean.”

So much for the conversation being over. Owen wouldn’t have a problem with the whole situation if it was as simple as getting his rocks off. Unfortunately, his heart was already in it, and had been since the coffee incident. He wasn’t about to tell Bryan that. “Yeah, you’re right. So you gonna see the blonde again?”

“I dunno. Probably not. You know me. I prefer a girl who doesn’t put out the first time I meet her.”

Owen had to laugh at his friend’s logic. That was Bryan, totally willing to screw a girl he just met, yet not willing to date her unless she made him wait. Bryan’s philosophy was that a girl who would screw a guy she hardly knew had self-esteem issues and he didn’t want that kind of baggage for the long term. That made Owen wonder about his mystery woman. Did she have low self-esteem? Is that why she snuck out this morning? How much did he care if she did?

“You’re an ass,” he finally said to Bryan.

“And you’re pathetic,” Bryan retorted.

Owen knew there was no arguing that point as he longed to know the woman he was probably never going to see again.

~~~

The easel with its blank canvas frustrated Stacie. She’d been staring at it for days, unable to put any paint down, the only thoughts in her head inappropriate for a children’s story. Her sexy neighbor was worthy of being painted, his body a work of art, the way he used it even more so. Every time she picked up the brush, Stacie imagined tracing the sculpted muscles of his chest and stomach. She had even dipped the brush into the forest green pot as she thought about the darkness of his eyes. Seductive and mesmerizing, she longed to look into them again as she brushed his thick brown waves aside just before their mouths fused.

“Get over it, Stace,” she scolded as her heart did that flutter jump thing and her belly flipped then flopped like a dolphin out of water. This was not what she needed. That’s why she’d packed up her kit - fresh sea air would clear her mind and provide some productive inspiration. She’d kept herself cooped up the whole weekend to force her inner muse to get to work.

If truth be told, she’d been limiting the risk of running into the Cajun Sex God. Now at the point of frustration, she was throwing her blank canvas into a backpack and making for the early morning ferry to Bremerton. She’d ride all day if that’s what it took to get that inner muse to make an appearance in the form of an illustration and not a sexy portrait.

Her wardrobe was limited to jeans and soccer shorts since she had opted to deposit the boring teaching clothes into a collection bin outside a thrift store in Maine. The early morning air was cool, and likely even cooler on the ferry, so soccer shorts were definitely out. Stacie zipped the BoSox sweatshirt she’d put on over a white cotton tee shirt and blue jeans. Socks were generally considered the enemy and even though it was spring, she opted for sandals, not caring if the cool morning air gave her feet a chill.

The weight of the fully packed bag slung on her shoulders didn’t slow her steps down the stairs. She would’ve taken the elevator if she wasn’t trying to avoid the memories of hands everywhere, mouths hungry and searching, multiple orgasms stirring to life. Had the ride in the elevator been any longer that night, they might’ve ended up doing it right there. Since it was more likely she’d run into the cause of those memories in the elevator than on the stairs, she took the safer route. When Stacie hit the street, she sucked in a deep breath and raced for the ferry.

The top deck provided an amazing view of the city as the ferry left the terminal. Her digital camera was among the supplies in her backpack, so she took the opportunity to play tourist. Despite the cloudy morning, the forecast said it was going to be another warm April day for Puget Sound, clear and sunny, in the mid-seventies.

The beauty of the city washed away any lingering thoughts of the sexy man she’d spent that one incredible night with. This is why I moved here, Stacie thought, taking in the panorama. She loved how Queen Anne and Capitol Hill elevated the city from the waterfront and how the green of the trees interlaced with the buildings. From her standpoint, she completely understood why Seattle was the Emerald City.

As the city became a distant backdrop, Stacie plodded her way to the front of the ferry. Dropping the heavy backpack on the deck, she closed her eyes and breathed in the sea air. Yes, this was just what she needed. The gentle wind was cool and misty against her face. The coolness tightened her lungs as she got lost in the feel of damp air and the sound of swooshing water. When a tingle skittered across her neck, she snapped out of the daze.

Every muscle tightened in response to the familiar musky scent drifting across her nose. Toes curled, fingers clenched, knees locked, thighs squeezed. The cool breeze wasn’t enough to calm her reaction or tame the heat rushing through her.

Stacie opened her eyes to find the Cajun Sex God staring at her from the deck below. A navy blue pea coat and black slacks draped his body. Despite knowing exactly what lay underneath, it was the way his dark eyes focused on her that filled her body with a penetrating desire.

The world seemed to spin around her, much like it had at the club when she’d first spotted him. Her periphery narrowed as she once again lost herself in his stare.

Minutes might have passed. Or seconds. Time seemed warped, reality distorting into some sort of surreal movie motif. The moment was somehow epic, like when Scarlett ran down the stairs or Dorothy tapped her heels. When he broke the connection and ran up the stairs, reality returned with a vengeance and Stacie nearly panicked.

“You shouldn’t be up here alone,” he said through a sexy smile that caused crazy flutters and shaky knees. “I’m Owen Landry. I didn’t catch your name.”

“I didn’t give it,” she responded in her firm teacher voice. It was a tool she’d used often to keep order in a manic classroom and had proven effective as a defense mechanism for avoiding conversations with Greg. Whether or not it would work in this situation remained to be seen. Since she’d done nothing to prepare herself for actually running into this guy, it was the first weapon to draw from her arsenal.

She hadn’t stopped thinking about him since their night together nearly a week ago. Of course, those thoughts were all naked and sweaty with no conversational dialogue at all. She’d hardly expected to see him on the early morning ferry. The hallway, yes. The elevator, probably. The ferry, definitely not. Now she was right where she didn’t want to be.

Trapped.

Again.

Stacie couldn’t retreat because the boat ended just feet behind where she stood. The Cajun Sex God, Owen Landry, blocked the only escape.

She had to play it cool to ensure that the one-night stand remained just that. As she watched him furrow his brow, memories of the last time she’d seen him flashed through her mind. Not through the peephole of her front door, but in his bed. An image of their bodies moving together lingered, her guard dissolving.

He took a step closer. “Don’t you want to give it to me now?” he asked.

“Are we still talking about my name?”

The corner of his delicious mouth twitched while he continued to close the gap between them. “We are, unless there’s something else you want to give me.”

The thought had crossed her mind. She was not, however, getting involved with him. “I think I’ve already given you enough.”

“I think we’ve only just gotten started.” He was close enough to touch her, and she braced herself for it. Fortunately, his hands remained his coat pocket.

Unfortunately, passion sparked in his dark eyes, the electricity flowing into Stacie as though they were connected by an invisible but very live wire. Stacie found it unsettling, yet equally intriguing.