His to Cherish (4 page)

Not the kind of competition I expected, but I liked him. Feisty for his age. I dropped my head, a genuine laugh rattling inside my chest before I hooked his good eye with mine. "Can't blame me for trying. Where is she?"

The old man brought his hands together on the countertop, studied me a long, hard second, then offered a dismissive chuckle. "You don't worry me, none. That girl's come home, got that look. She's running a few errands for the store."

His hand swept toward the front entrance. "Good luck, son. You're going to need it."

Leaving the store, I took a few seconds to organize my search and a game plan for when I found her. The old man had said she was out on errands. For a small hardware store on its last legs, that probably meant the bank, post office or lunch.

Glancing at my watch, I amended the possibility of her fetching lunch to fetching coffee then scoped out the street since she was presumably on foot. The old man might have a delivery service, but I didn't see the demand and he had said "errands," not "deliveries."

I crossed the street, quickly eyeing the the interiors of the stores I passed as I headed for the local branch of the county bank. The post office was half a dozen buildings beyond the bank, on the same side of the road as the hardware store. Standing sentry outside the bank, if I didn't get arrested by the locals, would provide an uninhibited view of every doorway Mia could possibly go in or out of on that bleak little avenue of commerce.

Reaching the bank, I looked inside then immediately flattened against the brick exterior. There, her back to me as she stood at the cashier's window, the lines of her body unmistakable to eyes that had never stopped studying her. Knowing we would be face-to-face for the first time since I sent her away, my pulse accelerated. The fear-based adrenaline rush brought a sharp reprimand from the soldier inside me. This was Mia -- not the Taliban nor Al Qaida, not some member of the La Familia or Juarez cartels nor the Russian mafia. Just Mia.

My heart needed to slow the fuck down -- fast, before she came out and saw me like this.

The bank door opened outward, the contours of her hand on the handle instantly recognizable. She realized someone stood in the arc of the door, but not that it was me. Her gaze came up, an apologetic smile on her face before she saw its recipient and then the green eyes and the smile froze.

I couldn't read her gaze, didn't know whether she didn't think I would find her after she left or if she didn't want me to.

"Mia." I caught her arm and guided her the rest of the way out of the bank before she could retreat inside.

I tugged her toward me. She twisted her elbow and I let her slip free. She stepped past me, her attention on the coffee shop I had passed before looking inside the bank. I touched her shoulder, longing for the time past when so small a gesture from me would freeze her in place.

She kept walking, glancing as she went at a small sheet of paper with all the lines but one marked off. "I'm not on my own time, Mr. Stark."

"Right, you work for Mr. Keppler at the moment."

"The store has a few months left in it." She slowed, if only for a second, and raised a brow in challenge before shaking her head at me.

Yanking on the door to the coffee shop, she entered, not looking back. I caught the door before it closed and followed her in. She ordered two coffees, one triple black, the other the espresso and cream I knew she preferred. I ordered nothing, letting the clerk assume Mia and I were together.

Mia moved down the counter. I followed, tongue frozen, heart hammering against my ribs. Whatever game plan I thought I had formulated evaporated the second I looked in those green eyes and witnessed her shut me out.

Had I really thought I could bribe or order her back?

Yeah -- I had projected my desire onto her, assuming she would feel the same beast clawing in her chest as I did, feel the same heat scorching her lungs and capitulate. That her departure had coincided with the television coverage of me with Kessa's hand on my shoulder had fueled my fantasy that her feelings hadn't faded over the four months spent apart.

Apparently, she had looked at the video, realized she no longer felt anything and decided it was time to leave.

Numb, I watched the clerk put the coffees on the counter. I wrapped my hands around them before Mia could and walked to the station with the napkins, sugar packets and lids. I licked my lips, finding them suddenly dry. Next to me, Mia stood straight and silent.

I shifted positions until I could gaze into her eyes. I searched for a sign that I was wrong about her being over me -- that my first assumption had been correct. Pissed, and without a prompt, she remained unreadable.

So I gave her a prompt.

"You need to come back." I put a lid on Keppler's cup, averting my gaze at the last second because I didn't think I could take another blank response. "Real data analytics, you choose the site--"

"Home office?"

The question slid past her lips like a knife leaving a well-oiled sheath. An assassin's question, I wasn't sure how to dance around it. I just knew I couldn't have her that close -- not if I wanted to keep her outside the danger zone. I couldn't know she was three floors away or that the elevator was carrying her down to the garage. I couldn't watch one of the men in the office try to get close to her without squeezing his head between my knees until his skull cracked.

The only control I had concerning Mia was keeping her at a distance -- a physical distance because I couldn't yet manage an emotional one.

"That would be..." I fumbled for words as I passed her Keppler's coffee and put a lid on the espresso and cream before I finished. "Awkward."

She took the second coffee and turned to me, the green eyes almost hollow. Certainly the smile that rose to her lips was empty.

"I wouldn't have said
yes
even if you agreed to home office."

Looking at her again, I searched for the lie. If she were over me, why ask for home office? To hear me say "no" so she could be certain she was over me? Which meant she wasn't -- maybe.

Damn it, this was not how it was supposed to go. I didn't want to hear her empty or hurt or anything other than compliant. I couldn't keep an eye on her out at that farm, couldn't ensure her safety.

I shook my head, ending my indecision. My hands came up to grip her by the elbows. Absent the coffees, it was a position we had adopted more than once, usually naked. Me pulling her into my arms, my thumbs lightly indenting the pressure points on the inside of her elbows.

Control...dominance.

The blood that had turned to cold syrup in my veins at her flat smile and hurt gaze surged at last. My grip tightened then tightened again at the faint flicker of need that sparked in Mia's eyes. She wasn't lost to me, not yet. I could have her back at Stark International, where she would be protected. She'd roll onto a team, make new friends, meet someone...

I clamped down on the thought of her in someone else's arms. That only made me want to hold her in mine, to caress the silky brown hair, my fingers knotting in it as I angled her mouth to receive my kiss.

Don't go there, Stark.

You're here to protect her, keeper safe, not fuck her.

Definitely not that...

Another lick of my lips and I pulled her closer, the coffee cups pressing against my chest to warm the skin beneath. "Mia..."

She shook her head, her hands turning inward to press their backs against me as she twisted her elbows free. Another shake of her head set a tear loose, followed by a confession that tore through my chest.

"Last night was the first time in four months I didn't dream about you, Collin." She stepped back, one foot angling toward the exit. "It was the sweetest sleep I could imagine."

His to Cherish

I placed the coffee and deposit slips in front of Mr. Keppler, a grim smile on my face.

He took a swallow of coffee then smacked his lips. "That city slicker find you?"

I nodded, wondering just what Stark had said to my new boss.

Keppler swirled the cup in his hand, his good eye watching the steam come through the small hole in the lid. "Make you an offer you couldn't refuse?"

I took a sip of my espresso before answering, letting the heat relax my too tight throat so I wouldn't croak out my response. "No, I'm still yours."

That brought a smile to the old man's face. I, on the other hand, wanted to burst into tears. Stark's appearance had stunned me. His reaction to my asking for home office had almost crushed me. Why show up, in person, say any office I wanted and then reject the first one I asked for -- the only one I wanted?

Keppler slapped his hand on the counter, the sound coming out of his mouth half cackle, half old man giggle. "I told him. You're a James, been a James in Keeling since it was founded. You know you're home even if he don't."

I nodded, then ducked my head as I took another sip of coffee. I was the only James in Keeling. I had no family in the area beyond the loose, legal construct of Evan as my stepfather. I had no friends. I had a brand new boss who was retiring in three months. He knew my grandfather and father, but he didn't know me.

"Home..." I pushed the word out, rolled it off my tongue to catch its flavor.

Keppler looked up from the inventory sheet I had brought him that morning and smiled. "That's right."

The taste wasn't right, not yet. Still, it wasn't bitter, not like the words I'd exchanged with Collin in the coffee shop. It didn't burn, either. Pulling my phone out, I jiggled it at Keppler before grabbing a clipboard with a second inventory sheet. "I need to check if any of the roofers I called have left a message. Mind if I do it while I work in the stockroom?"

His bony hand shooed me toward the double doors in the back. I waited until I cleared them before I pulled John Gillie's phone number from my wallet and dialed. A few seconds later, his voice came over the line.

"Hey..." I paused, wondering for a second what the hell I was doing. "This is Mia...James."

He laughed, the sound so warm and indulgent it chased some of the knots in my stomach that Collin had tied. "Is there another Mia in town?"

"It's been six years, there could be a hundred of us." I laughed back, the smile on my face real. There was something about the man that was relaxing. He had the uniform, which meant he had authority, but he didn't seem too interested in using it.

"Nope, just you." His voice dropped at the end, the tone turning intimate. "You calling to take me up on my dinner offer?"

I hesitated, surprised by how quickly Gillie had taken control of the conversation. He didn't wait for my answer when I was slow to offer it.

"Tonight at the roadhouse, six thirty."

"Okay." I gulped a little air into my lungs, the stockroom suddenly hot and stale. My grip on the phone tightened. The tension moved down my arm to the spot on my elbow Stark had pressed just a few minutes before. I could still feel the exact placement of his thumb, his touch memorized from all the repetitions over those weeks in Dubai.

Sucking another quick breath in, I repeated my acquiescence and bid John a hasty good-bye.

********************

As scheduled, I worked until three. A quick stop by the country clerk's office calmed my fears about any liens on the horse farm, but revealed that Evan had taken out a mortgage for three hundred thousand dollars two years ago. With no ability to check on how close to default he might be, the worry hung heavy in the air around me as I prepared to meet Deputy Gillie at the roadhouse.

My closet gave me the most pause. I wasn't delusional as to why I had called Gillie. I needed to move on from Collin Stark. And if Stark was hanging around Keeling, he needed to see that I was doing just that. Which meant I had to try to attract Gillie -- but not too much because I didn't really know him and had only vague memories of Maddie's protective older brother who had been too cute for me to even dare having a crush on.

Beyond the dating implications of what I picked out, I didn't want Evan seeing me in designer labels. After almost an hour of holding up tops and bottoms and a few changes, I settled on jeans that would cover a pair of expensive black boots, my memory randomly slamming against images of the things I had done with Collin while wearing them. My tongue started to swell at one such image as saliva pooled along my gum line. Moist panties, moist mouth, the sensations driving my wetness became so real I could almost taste the salt of Collin's skin as I remembered sucking him.

I marched into the bathroom and held my face under cold running water until the need to touch myself while I allowed more images of Collin to invade my head faded.

When it had, I stopped fighting my closet and selected a dark amethyst cardigan over a silk shell in pale gray for the top. If I was lucky, Evan's ability to recognize quality fabric without a label was limited to southern textiles.

Harboring that hope, I moved on to make-up, my hands working on autopilot as I reproduced the old-time Hollywood look I had adopted in Dubai. By the time I finished, tears swam in my eyes. I had to tilt my head back, a square of toilet paper at each corner to catch any leakage.