Waiting For Wren (Book Five In The Bodyguards Of L.A. County Series) (15 page)

“What?”

“Push me away before the sheets have even cooled.”

She eyed him as he moved to stroke her jaw.

“I’m not going anywhere. There’s something here. There’s something between us.” He leaned forward and kissed her lips. “You might want to get used to that.” He got up, grabbed his clothes, and left the room. She needed time to think about what he’d just said.

The light flickered and the kitchen plunged into darkness…again. Wren sighed as she scrubbed at the soup bowls, trying to finish the dishes before the water she’d heated turned cold. The thirty seconds of power had been the longest stretch yet—long enough for her to get her hopes up that the electricity might be here to stay. She
needed
the Internet or her cell signal back. Either would do; she just had to talk to Patrick. The Movenbeck party was well underway at this point. The agony of not knowing how the install had gone was driving her crazy. She could only pray everything went as planned—hopefully better. The Movenbeck project and Lenora’s pool house were worth fifty grand to Cooke Interiors, and word of mouth from a job well done was priceless. She’d had several new referrals in the weeks since Lenora’s impromptu get-together in the newly renovated library.

Wren turned on the tap and rinsed away the suds with icy cold water, then dried the items she’d washed. The light winked on, then off just as quickly. “Oh come
on
.” She eyed her phone in the candlelight as she shoved away the last of the dishes. Unable to resist, she picked it up, checking for service as she’d done several times throughout the past twelve hours. Still nothing. “Damn it.” How was she supposed to
work
like this?

With a frustrated huff, she set down the cell and grabbed the washcloth submerged in the warm, soapy water. She wrung it dry and wiped down the counters, pausing as the floor creaked in one of the rooms beyond. The flicker of candlelight cast shadows about the kitchen, and she shuddered. The house was so quiet, and the wind still howled, pounding at the glass, giving her the creeps.

Tucker left her sometime ago to complete his nightly walkthrough. He was somewhere among the maze of rooms, checking windows and doors, making certain the house was secure. Despite all that, tonight she had the willies.

It was tempting to seek him out and make conversation to drown out the worst of the relentless winds, but the afternoon had changed things. She’d tried to keep the evening light while they enjoyed beef stew by the fire, but it had been a struggle.

A wave of flutters erupted in her belly as she thought of their sexy romp—again. Her dry spell was definitely over and her itch officially scratched—and she wanted more. “Stupid,” she muttered, scolding herself as she plunked the washcloth back in the suds, then wrung it dry to attack the stubborn beef broth on the stovetop.

She shouldn’t have slept with him, plain and simple, but she’d quickly lost her resolve to keep her distance when he captured her mouth by the front door. The gentle kiss of last night had been replaced with urgent heat. Desire had instantly consumed her, and she soon found out that Tucker was the best damn lover she’d ever had.

Now that everything was said and done, she could only regret that hormones had overruled practicality. If she could take today back, she would. It would’ve been better to go through life wondering how sex with Tucker could be, but now she knew what it felt like to have his lips brand her skin and his powerful body cover hers. But more than that was the way her heart had flip-flopped as he stared in her eyes while he moved inside her. She’d never felt as connected to anyone as she did in that moment.

The lights flickered again, and she sighed. It wasn’t supposed to
be
like this. Sex was supposed to be mutually satisfying and uncomplicated—at least it always had been, but this entire situation was growing thornier by the second. She’d never been in search of romance or a deep, emotional connection, yet Tucker had given her a taste of both, and she craved another sample.

Sighing, she gave the washcloth a final rinse and pulled the stopper from the drain. Why couldn’t he keep it simple? Why did he have to insist there was more here? There wasn’t. She refused to get mixed up with any man. Game over. The end. She and Tucker were not the next Sarah and Ethan or Morgan and Hunter. What her family and friends had was rare, and something she had no interest in.

More often than not, relationships were built on lies and infidelity. She’d witnessed her parent’s farce of a marriage firsthand. If Grant and Rene Cooke had ever been faithful to one another… They hadn’t. So what was the point? Never ever would she put her heart in someone else’s hand for them to discard so easily. Alone was better—always. She was too busy with her career for anything more than a simple date and casual roll in the hay every now and again.

So, maybe Tucker made her feel something powerful and intimate and
terrifying
, but she would get over it. They’d had sex—nothing more, nothing less. Tucker said he wasn’t going anywhere, but he would move along quickly enough when he realized they’d had a one and done. Sure, they had heat, there was no doubt about it, but eventually heat burnt itself out. Where would Tucker be when the flames cooled? She wasn’t willing to stick around and find out, so their intimate relationship was going to stop right here.

They needed to talk and reach an understanding before this situation got any more out of hand—and there was no time like the present. He was bound to be finished with his walkthrough by now. He’d been gone a while. She blew out the candles scattered around the kitchen and living room, carrying the flashlight Tucker had left with her. Where was he, anyway?

“Tucker?” She walked passed the bathroom, home gym, and office, searching, but he wasn’t there. “Tucker?” she called again, but received no answer. Frowning, she moved through the dark, stopping at the dim glow of light coming from the forbidden hallway. “Tucker?”

He still didn’t answer.

Swallowing, she glanced over her shoulder, growing more freaked out by the second, and dashed down the long hall, despite his requests that she not. She slowed as she spotted him standing in the doorway of the second room on the left, staring. “Tucker?”

His gaze snapped to hers in the shadows of their flashlights.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he replied dully.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

She scrutinized his distant, devastated eyes before he turned his attention back to the room. Curious, she moved to his side and studied the pink-and-white striped bedding and pale, mint-green walls. Funky white painted letters spelled out S-T-A-C-I along the side of a closet, and photographs decorated dressers, the nightstand, and a large portion of a writing desk. A teenage girl’s bedroom frozen in time.

The light in the hall blinked on, casting a strong glow into the room. “This was your sister’s room.” She stated the obvious because she didn’t understand. All of the pictures she could see were of Staci and Tucker and their parents, she assumed, or groups of teenager. In none of the photos did Tucker or his sister look older than sixteen or seventeen—like in the picture by the pool. How old was Staci when she died? Why did his parents keep a shrine to their daughter? “Tucker?”

He looked at her again, but he didn’t see her. He was lost somewhere in his memories.

Despite her plans to keep her distance, she took his hand, unable to stand his obvious anguish.

He squeezed her fingers. “I finally made myself open her door. I haven’t been able to.”

“I don’t—”

“She was everything good. She was the best part of us. A part of me died right along with her.”

Her heart hurt for him, and she pressed his palm to her cheek.

“I heard a bump, but I kept on listening to my music. I thought she was just being clumsy as usual.” A smile ghosted his mouth. “Mom always said they should’ve named her Grace. I didn’t set the alarm that night. I should’ve checked on her, but I didn’t know. Everything might’ve been different if I had known.”

She had no idea what he was talking about. “How old was Staci when she died?”

“Sixteen. Just a couple days after the picture was taken.”

She studied the numerous photographs in the room, struggling to decipher the one he spoke of. “Which one?”

“The one in the closet.”

She glanced at the closed closet doors. Tucker wasn’t making any sense, but then she understood. The picture by the pool she found the other day. “The one in your parents’ room?”

“Yes.”

She took a startled step back from the bedroom as everything finally made sense. Staci died in Park City. Right here in this room. “What—what happened?”

“We were supposed to meet JT and Jasmine at ten. She wasn’t up yet. She was always awake before me. I made us bagels and opened her door and…she was dead.”

“Oh, God, Tucker.” He’d not only lost his sister but discovered her lifeless body. “I’m so—I’m so incredibly sorry.” Stepping forward, she closed the door, as if that would somehow banish his pain, and pulled him away from the room. “I’m so sorry,” she repeated as she enveloped him in a hug, laying her head on his chest.

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight, clinging.

The lights blinked once, twice, sending them into the dark.

She looked up, into his eyes. “Come on. Let’s go down to our room.” She wanted him away from here.

He nodded.

She held his hand, and they walked away from the dread of the forbidden hallway.

Chapter 11

T
he jukebox rolled into another country song as Tucker plucked up the last enormous beer-battered onion ring on his plate and took a bite. “This was a hell of an idea, Cooke. A hell of an idea,” he said over his mouthful of greasy heaven.

“I know.” She grinned and bit into her own golden-crusted ring. “I couldn’t stand the thought of being trapped in that house for another second. I’ll never take electricity for granted again.” She tipped her cellphone up, glancing at the screen in the candlelight.

“Anything?” He gestured to her phone.

“No.”

Their waitress came by with a pitcher of water. “How is everything?”

“The burger’s great.” Tucker smiled as he glanced at Beth’s nametag. “Have you heard any updates on the power situation?”

“The question of the day.” She smiled.

Tucker grinned. “I bet.”

“Word is it shouldn’t be much longer, thank the good Lord above.” She picked up the glass, poured water, and set it back down. “The power crews are making progress. Rumor has it the resorts might be up and running later this afternoon and hopefully the rest of town by this evening.” She repeated the process with Wren’s glass. “The boys back in the kitchen are fed up with the generators and our limited menu. The dishwasher has to hand-wash everything, and I’m about finished with serving food by candlelight. I think if Bobby told us we couldn’t run the juke I might quit.” She winked.

“See, Cooke? You should be up and running by tomorrow.”

Wren tipped her phone up yet again.

“Cell tower’s damaged, Honey.”

Wren wrinkled her nose. “I’ve noticed.”

“Heard they’re working on that too. You know, a couple ladies were able to get off a few texts when they were in earlier.”

“I tried that.” She picked up her phone. “But I’ll try again.”

“Signals pretty weak. If you go stand over by the window you might have more luck.”

“Thanks.” Wren immediately got to her feet and made her way to the window Beth had pointed to.

“You folks about finished here, or can I bring you some dessert? We don’t have much—hot chocolate and maybe a couple pieces of apple pie left.”

“I think we’re good with the check.”

“Sure thing, honey.” Beth wandered away to stop at her next table as Tucker watched Wren’s thumbs type rapidly. He was as ready as everyone else for electricity to be restored. He hadn’t had a chance to check in with Owens or Ethan for almost forty-eight hours—definitely not ideal. He’d feel better if he knew what was going on with Wren’s case.

Wren started back to the table, grinning. “I was able to get one bar. I got a text through.” She took her seat. “The Movenbeck job went off without a hitch, and Lenora’s behaving herself. Well, sort of.”

“That’s good stuff, Cooke.”

“Heck yeah it is.” She picked up another onion ring and took a big bite. “I’ve been so worried,” she said with her mouth full.

“I know.”

She tipped her head back and let loose a relieved laugh. “I can’t even tell you how much weight just lifted off my shoulders.” She wiped her hands on her napkin. “Patrick has a breakfast meeting with Lenora and her gardener in the morning, but I’m not going to think about that right now.”

Beth brought the check by. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.”

Wren plucked the bill from his hand. “My treat.”

“If that’s the way you want it.”

“It is.” She grabbed her purse from the chair and rifled through her bag, unearthing a twenty from her wallet. “There.” She placed the bill on the table, and he snagged her hand.

“Thanks, Cooke.”

“No problem.”

“Not just for lunch. For the whole day, and last night too.” Wren had been everything he needed when she found him by Staci’s bedroom. She’d walked with him back to the room they were sharing for the time being, tucked him into her bed, and held him, stroking her cool fingers along his skin, banishing the worst of the dread. He’d fallen asleep breathing her in and woke with her still wrapped in his arms. He never should’ve opened the damn door. It had messed him up all over again.

“You’re welcome. I had fun.” She squeezed his fingers and freed her hand.

“Me too.” On a whim, he leaned over the small table, gripped her chin, and brushed her lips with his, testing.

She pulled back. “What are you doing?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s called kissing you.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “It was part of the ‘thank you.’”

“Kisses aren’t necessary. I wanted you to smile today. That’s what friends are for.”

He nodded, studying her until she looked away and stared at the jukebox across the room. Wren had made reference to their
friendship
several times throughout the day: at breakfast when they stopped off at his favorite diner; at Peak Adventures when they took breaks from careening down the steep, snow-packed hills on tubes, laughing as he and Staci had laughed that long ago Christmas; and again just now.

Wren didn’t seem to mind casual affection, like the arm slung around her shoulders as they walked along Main Street, heading for the sports bar. She’d wrapped her arm around his waist, grinning while they talked the entire way. Intimacy seemed to be their problem. She wanted nothing to do with it, even after they destroyed each other in the sack and she comforted him through the night. “We back here again already, Cooke?”

Her gaze met his. “Back where?”

“Don’t give me that.”

Beth came to the table and took the bill and cash. “Let me get you some change.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, never taking his eyes off Wren’s. “If I had a dollar for every time you dropped
friend
or
friendship
into our conversations today, I’d be a rich man.”

“You
are
a rich man,” she scoffed.

He grinned. “You got me there.”

She smiled. “What’s wrong with friends?”

“Not a thing, but we’re more than that.”

She shook her head. “Don’t complicate this.”

“Cooke—”

“I don’t want anything more than that.” She pulled her jacket from the back of her chair, put it on, and zipped it up.

“Too late.”

She sighed wearily. “Why can’t you leave this alone?”

“Because I want you.”

“Well, I don’t want you.” She stood, slung her purse over her shoulder, and started toward the exit.

“Wait a minute, Cooke.”

She kept walking.

Beth came back. “Here you are, sir.”

“Keep the change,” he said as he grabbed his jacket and hurried after Wren, snagging her arm as she reached the door. “I said wait. You’re not happy with me. I get that, but I’m still in charge of your safety.”

“Exactly.”

They stepped out into the crowds and made their way to the Jeep. “So, that’s the new angle? I’m the bodyguard and you’re the principal?”

She slid him a scathing glance. “I don’t need an angle.”

“I agree. I have feelings for you; you have feelings for me. It can be as simple as that if you let it.”

She stopped in her tracks. “Don’t tell me about my feelings. I don’t want to talk about this. Let’s get back to the house. I have work to do.”

Work. Her safety net. He almost called her out on it, but let the subject go. They weren’t going to solve anything on the sidewalk. He unlocked her door and went around to his side.

He took his seat and turned the ignition while Wren buckled her belt. She glanced in his direction, then looked away.

“What’s up, Cooke? Are we gonna talk about this or let it fester?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” She turned her body and stared out the window.

“So, that’s it?”

“Pretty much.”

Not even close, but he’d wait until they were home to settle this. “You got it.” He shifted into reverse and inched his way into the busy traffic.

Wren pushed past Tucker as he unlocked the door and tossed her jacket toward the closet in her attempt to hurry to her room and shut him out before he could follow. She had no doubt he would follow. The car ride home had been short but tense. She didn’t want to talk about the conversation he started at the restaurant. Why did he have to mess up a good day? They’d had fun racing down the snowy peaks, laughing as she hadn’t…ever. Why couldn’t he leave it there?

“Cooke.”

She walked faster as his long strides ate up the distance between them. “Leave me alone, Tucker. I said I was happy to let things fester.” She stepped into the bedroom and swung the door closed, but not before he caught it, came in, and shut it behind him.

“Well I’m not.” He pulled off his coat and threw it on the bed.

“I have stuff to do. Lot’s of work.” She couldn’t do much of anything with her laptop’s battery low, but Tucker didn’t need to know that.

“Work can wait.” He whirled her around to face him.

“Why are you doing this? Why won’t you let this be?”

“Because yesterday meant something—and last night and today. I care about you.”

“I care about you too. Can’t that be enough? Can’t we leave it right there?”

“Why? Because it’s safe.”

Bull’s-eye. “Because that’s the way I want it.”

“So that’s the end?”

“Yes. We’re friends, Tucker. Leave it there.” She walked toward the bathroom in a last-ditch effort at escape.

“Are you attracted to me?”

She stopped, turning. “What?”

“I asked if you’re attracted to me?”

“You’re a gorgeous man.”

“I’ll take that as a yes. Do you have fun when we’re together?”

“Sure. I guess.”

“You were laughing as much as I was today. We have fun when we’re together.”

“Okay, so—”

“I’ll ask the questions, you answer.” He moved closer with every word. “Do you think about me when we’re not together?”

She stepped backwards as he advanced, colliding with the wall. She swallowed a tingle of nerves as she realized he’d effectively boxed her in. She couldn’t take a breath without inhaling his cologne. “We live in the same house.”

“Does your heart beat a little faster when I touch you?” He skimmed his finger down her throat, pausing on her hammering pulse point, then continued his teasing journey.

“Tucker.” She gripped his hand, stopping his movement before she did something stupid and caved in to her desires.

He laced their fingers. “Because you destroy me, Cooke. Every time you look at me with those gray eyes or that smile.”

She pressed her free hand to his chest as his heart thundered against her palm. “Don’t.”

“
Why
?”

“Because I’m not what you’re looking for.”

“Don’t tell me what I’m looking for, Cooke. I know exactly what I want.”

“I’m not good at this. I don’t do relationships. My job—”

“Is safe.”

She frowned. “Is demanding. Are you implying I hide behind my work?”

“Swatches and paint chips won’t let you down the way people do.”

He knew her so well, understood too much. She tried harder to push him away, terrified by how much she wanted him to stay. “I ha—”

“I want more than just a roll in the sheets. I want you to let me in, the way you did when we moved together and you were too caught up to be afraid.”

She wanted to believe him as she stared in his eyes—more than anything. “I’m sorry, Tucker. I can’t give you what you’re asking for. I wanted to talk about this last night.”

“So we’ll start as friends.”

“And end as friends.”

He shrugged. “If that’s the way you want it.”

She blinked, then narrowed her eyes, studying him. What was he up to? He’d let that go too easily.

“But I want one last kiss.”

She scoffed and shook her head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“That’s not so much to ask. One meaningless kiss before we let this go.”

He had no idea how much he asked. “Fine, then friends from here on out.”

“You got it.”

She leaned in, ready to end this rollercoaster ride, and gave him a peck. “There you—”

“Not so fast, Cooke.” He captured her face in his hands and stared into her eyes. “I want a kiss. I want you to think about what you and I will both be missing every time you look at me.”

“Tucker…” She pressed against his chest, realizing her mistake. She didn’t need any reminders of what she was going to miss. Yesterday would be seared in her mind for some time.

He brushed his lips over hers, rubbing, teasing, while he stared in her eyes.

Butterflies danced in her stomach and she tried to pull back. “That’s enough,” she whispered.

He held her still. “We’re just getting started.” He nipped and nibbled her bottom lip and traced with his tongue until her fingers clutched the sleeves of his shirt and her eyes fluttered closed.

He eased back, ever so slightly, their breath mingling, and her mouth sought his, wanting more. He captured her lips with the slightest of pressure, and she groaned, eager for the invasion of his tongue. He deepened the kiss by degrees, and her hands slid up his arms, along the back of his neck and finally wandered into his hair as she drowned in Tucker’s taste and her own desire.

He plunged and plundered, and she whimpered, struggling not to slide down the wall and pull him with her.

He brought her under again, then eased away.

“Wait,” she protested with a murmur, moving in for more.

He groaned, diving, once, twice, looking at her as he pulled back. “Just friends, Cooke?”

How could she possibly respond when he’d undone her so completely? “I don’t know.” She shook her head as if breaking out of his trance. “I don’t know, Tucker.”

“I do. I’ll be right here waiting while you figure it out.”

He stood among the trees watching through his binoculars as Wren and Tucker mouth-fucked. Could Prince Charming shove his tongue any further down her throat? He shook his head. Don Juan might be pretty, but he lacked finesse.