Temporary Home (3 page)

“This way.”

She led him through the living room and down to the hallway. After pushing open the guestroom door, she flicked on the light and moved to the side. He stepped by her and set his bag down beside the bed. He’d removed his cover when entering her home and held it now as he faced her.

“Make yourself at home. There is a bathroom is across the hall, towels and whatnot are in the tall cabinet in there for you to use.”

All she could see was them in that bed, naked limbs entwined.

“Thank you.”

So many responses almost fell from her lips, but she kept them to herself. Before she left the room she paused at the door and turned back. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

For the way they talked about you as if you weren’t even there. Nope, can’t say that.
“The reason you came. Master Guns being in the hospital.”

His expression flickered yet never changed. “Thank you.”

She had an overwhelming urge to gather him and hold him close. An urge to do other things as well, but for all she knew she wasn’t his type.

“Holler if you need anything.” She walked out and left him to his own devices.

Back in the kitchen, she began setting the large table. As she placed the last glass, lost in her own thoughts and the music playing, she glanced up to see him standing in the doorway. Watching her.

Shit!

Her heart pounded thunderously. And she’d thought he’d looked fine in his Marine blues. He now wore light blue jeans—a worn pair—which made her curl her fingers into the flesh of her palms to keep from touching. Exploring. And did she say touching? Definitely, lots and
lots
of touching.

His shirt was black with ‘Marines’ in gold lettering across the middle, followed by the eagle, anchor and globe.

A man simply shouldn’t look that damn good. She cleared her throat and gave him a smile. He’d showered, she could tell by the remaining dampness on his short hair.

“Can I get you anything?”
Me perhaps? Naked? Stilettos only?

Sam shook his head. “Smells great.”

“Thank you. There are sodas in the fridge, tea, beer, just…help yourself.” She tore her gaze from him, refocusing on the table instead of the hard masculine Marine body in her kitchen.

“Can I help?”

His voice was right by her ear as she stood before the dishes cabinet. The scent of pure man teased her senses. Okay, so it was more of a torture because she couldn’t touch. Her nipples tightened and her clit pulsed with need.

Damn, it’s been so long.

“You can g-grab the plates.”

He didn’t wait for her to move. Instead, he shifted his physique immediately behind her and reached up, effectively trapping her between him and the countertop. Oh, dear God, she was going to melt. It felt like mini-Tasers were being applied to her wherever he touched, catapulting her body into a state of hypersensitivity. Firm thighs, taut abs—and let’s not forget the large cock, which she could feel against her ass.

Damn near panting like a bitch in heat, she had to fight not to press back into him or whimper when he stepped back. The separation helped to clear her mind. Helped. A wee bit. As she went for napkins, she watched him surreptitiously. He moved with a leonine grace and coiled power.

Imagine all that in bed.

A flood of wetness made her bite back yet
another
groan. She really needed to go out and get laid.

“What do you do for the Corps?” She hoped her question would keep her mind off the things she’d love to do with him. Or to him.

“Recon.”

Hot and dangerous. Her body throbbed.
So much for keeping my mind off sexual things.

“How long have you been in?”

“Almost twenty.” A pause. “Seventeen.”

Wow. He was close to retirement. “And that’s where you met Master Guns?”

“No.”

She waited for an embellishment on the single-word answer but got nothing. Swallowing her sigh of frustration, she grabbed a sheet of breadsticks and placed them in the oven. The rich, hearty scent of the cooking lasagne spilled out and she sighed in pleasure. One of her specialities and a favourite dish of Laila’s, so it coincided wonderfully.

The remaining time she and Sam worked together in silence—she didn’t pry anymore and he seemed content to say nothing. She thought about him in recon.

She’d just pulled out the lasagne and set it on the table as he placed the breadsticks in a basket when his head snapped up and every muscle in his body tensed.

“What?” she asked softly, recognising his look as one who hadn’t decided if the noise was friend or foe.

“We’re here!” Laila called out.

For a brief moment his entire body softened and again that unpleasant feeling of jealousy filled her. Roxi didn’t understand it—he wasn’t hers to be jealous over.

“Right on time,” she hollered back. “Just putting it on the table.”

Laila and her cousins entered and the tension increased. She rolled her eyes as Dean took a seat at the end. Sharing a look with Laila, they each took one beside the other end and Laila tugged Sam into that seat.

There wasn’t a lot of chatter over the meal and when she got up to remove dishes and bring out dessert, Sam was right there with her. Again he helped.

After they’d finished eating, Sam and Laila went to speak privately. The other cousins had left and she was wiping off the table the moment her friend tracked her down.

“Thank you so much, Roxi.”

“You never have to thank me, you know that.”

Laila pushed in chairs. “Thank you anyway. And for Sam too.”

“You know I haven’t a problem with him staying. I know he means a lot to you.” She wanted to ask so many questions about him yet somehow managed to keep her mouth shut.

“He does. What about Eric?”

“He doesn’t come ’til next week. And he’ll be fine with it.”

“Thank you again.” Laila hugged her and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “G’nite.”

“Night, hon. Keep me posted. I’ll swing by the day after tomorrow and see him.”

“I will. Love you, Roxi.”

“Likewise, Laila. Go home and get some sleep.”

Soon she was alone in the kitchen. She headed for her kettle to heat some water then she felt him behind her. Everything changed when he was in the room. Without turning, she licked her lips.

“I’m making tea. Would you like a cup? I can also offer coffee or hot chocolate.”

No response and she peered over her shoulder.

He stared at her. Was it her imagination or was there possessiveness in his gaze? “Who’s Eric?”

Chapter Two

Sam had experienced jealousy before. Quite a lot actually, growing up. At how the other children had parents and siblings as well as a home and perhaps a room of their own. Special holidays with the family. Yes, the feeling wasn’t anything he didn’t recognise.

It was the situation.

Ever since Roxi had stood up for him, without having even met him, and said he could stay with her, he’d been in a bit of wonderment. So this time when jealousy revealed its ugly head, he’d known it was different. He didn’t like another male name causing her to be so happy.

You just met her, for all you know she’s married,
his brain chimed in.

He refused to believe it. She stood there watching him alertly, her rich coffee-coloured eyes never wavering. He stepped closer, trying to ignore the pounding in his blood that told him she was his and he should grab her. Kiss her.

I don’t want to just kiss her.
Another realisation rocked him. He didn’t sleep with women just
because
. He had no wish to form attachments that wouldn’t…couldn’t last. But if Roxi crooked her finger at him, he would follow without a second’s hesitation. He wanted to feel her body against his, touch her skin, run his tongue along the pulse in her neck. Taste her. Fill her. Hear her cry his name.
His.
No one else’s.

He moved towards her, almost out of control. Her eyes widened a bit before her tongue sneaked out and dampened her lips. It was a direct line from her tongue to his cock.

“Eric is my nephew.”

God, her voice. That alone could be a fantasy. Wresting his raging libido back until he regained the upper hand, he gazed over her face, taking in her full, kissable lips, thick and curved lashes and her flawless skin.

“And he lives with you?”

Her smile was immediate, illuminating her entire face. “Not permanently, no. He’s enrolled at the military school nearby. He stays with me on breaks.”

“Not his parents?”

“My brother, Ritchie, is overseas right now, and Eric’s mom”—a fierce scowl—“let’s just say she’s not fit to pick up dog shit.” A shrug. “It’s a long story, but basically when she flipped out he—Ritchie, I mean—was still overseas. I was home on a leave and brought him to stay with me. This is the arrangement we’ve ended up with. If Ritchie is home, Eric goes there and stays with him. If not, he’s here.”

Sam was amazed. “And his mother?”

“Who knows. Stoned somewhere, high on something, drunk in a ditch, who knows. Maybe rehab. I just want her far from Eric.” Her tone had no sympathy in it.

“How do you deal with deployments with him, then?”

She turned back to the whistling kettle and poured the water into mugs. He realised he’d not told her he wanted anything, but she was still making him something.

“I don’t have to. I’m out.”

He heard the wistfulness in her tone. She added tea bags and sugar before peeking back at him.

“Enough about Eric. Tell me about you, Sam. I’ve heard a few things but to hear Laila speak, you’re Superman.”

He took their mugs and led the way to her living room, before placing them on the coffee table. Then he sat on the sofa, the other end from Roxi.

“I’ve known Laila since before her parents died. She’s wonderful.”

Roxi’s eyes hardened, but the emotion was so fleeting he wondered if he’d imagined it. Then she nodded.

“She is. But you’re still not telling me about you.”

No, he wasn’t. He tried avoiding talking about his past. “You heard Dean Jr. I’m a stray.”

“Bullshit.” Her answer came instantly and with force. “Dean is a jackass who doesn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground. You are
not
a stray.” Her eyes burned with determined fire.

Her defence of him struck deep and he had to gather himself to focus back on the conversation they were having. “How do you know Dean?”

A snort of derision. “He showed up about two years ago. His mom had been some rich thing who apparently never told Master Guns she was pregnant when she left him. I guess it was some kind of confession from her. So this spoilt brat shows up with his two brothers, Chris and Tom, more assholes. I still haven’t figured out why they’re here. Not entirely sure it’s for a good reason. Laila is so desperate for family she will put up with anything, almost.”

He would rip Dean’s arms from his body and beat him with them if he hurt Laila. “You really don’t like him.”

“Hell no. He’s an ass and a bully. The other two with him are the same, and Laila, well, she’s Laila.”

He nodded and reached for his tea. Mint. He felt her watching him and lifted his gaze to hers. She didn’t blush and duck away. Instead, she held his stare and allowed him to see the appreciation in her eyes.

“Still haven’t said anything about you.”

Roxi was right again, he’d managed to steer the conversation away from himself. “Not a lot to say. I’m sure Laila has told you all about me.”

“Nope. She hasn’t. I asked her and she said it was something I would have to ask you when I finally met you.”

“She said that?”

“Yes. So I know very little about you aside of how proud Laila and Master Guns are of you.” She drank some more tea, curling her legs beneath her. “But I can see you don’t talk much, so it’s okay if you don’t want to tell me anything. I won’t pry.”

Roxi curved her hands around the mug and closed her eyes. Sam couldn’t tear his gaze from her. He wasn’t ready to open up but he wanted to hear her talk more.

“Tell me about you.”

She opened her eyes and they twinkled. “All right, but it’s gonna need some food, so I’ll be right back.”

True to her word, she soon returned with a plate of petit fours. She placed it on the cushion between them. His cock pulsed as she reached for one and bit into it with a lusty groan. A very vivid mental image of those full lips around his shaft slammed into him. His fingers tightened around the handle of the mug.

Shit!

“Me,” she said on a purr of pleasure, which only seemed to encase his length in steel. “Well, I have the one brother I told you about earlier, Ritchie. And my nephew, Eric. Our parents are living in Georgia, which is where we grew up. No sisters. I was in the Corps for ten years. Now I’m here in Bremerton where I work with Laila at a bank. See, not very exciting.”

“What do you do at the bank?”

“Security. Laila’s a teller, but I’m sure you knew that.” She shifted and sat cross-legged. “I was going to be a cop but I couldn’t. Not with Eric.”

He ate one of the fours. Lemon this time—it went perfectly with the tea. “Why not?”

“Ritchie’s job is dangerous. Eric needs to have at least one person as a constant in his life.”

“What branch does your brother serve in?”

A slight shake of her head. “None, he’s with a construction company over in the Middle East.”

He understood. Having done a few tours over there, it wasn’t the safest area. But it was good money if you went as a civilian. He flicked his gaze around her place and couldn’t help but feel comfortable. She was waiting for him when he returned his questing look to her.

They talked some more. It was late, he noticed after a while. The petit fours were gone, as was the tea in their mugs. For the first time in a long time, since before he’d got the news on Dean, he felt his body relaxing.

Roxi gave him a warm smile as she rose from the couch. She swiped the mugs and plate. He closed his eyes, only to open them when he inferred her presence.