Wilde for Her (A Wilde Security Novel) (Entangled Brazen) (2 page)

“I know. It’s…nice to see him happy.”

“It is.”

The tension seeped out of Seth’s shoulders. “I just wanted to come here and wish Jude and Libby well. Say congrats, maybe toast the newlyweds like a normal best man. He asked me to stand up for him, you know?”

“Yeah, he mentioned that.”

“I wanted to, but…I couldn’t.” His fists balled inside the front pocket of his hoodie. “I’m so fucking sick of being afraid. I’m tired of worrying I won’t be able to keep the people I care about safe.”

Oh damn. Didn’t that hit a little too close to home for comfort? “Yeah,” Cam said softly. “I get that.”

Seth glanced over and lowered the hood of his sweatshirt. Stubble covered his head, so short his hair color was hard to judge. A thin white scar started at the edge of his hairline, cut across his forehead and the bridge of his nose, and ended at the corner of his eye, but that one was nothing compare to the ragged ridges of scar tissue on his neck peeking out from under the collar of his sweatshirt.

“You know, people always say they get it. Usually, it’s just words. Hollow. How come I feel like you mean it?”

Cam tore his gaze away from the scars and stared out over the water, his mind kicking up all kinds of gut-wrenching images of Seth with his neck slashed open. Beaten. Tortured. Brutalized.

And then, in a sickening twist of his imagination, Seth’s face morphed into Jude’s.

It could have been Jude in that prison camp. Hell, if he hadn’t gotten dangerously ill right before the mission that landed Seth in that horrible place, it
would have
been Jude.

And Cam would have been stuck stateside, unable to do a damn thing to protect his baby brother. Helpless, just like when he’d been eleven and his entire world crumbled out from under his feet after a senseless act of violence left the five young Wilde boys orphaned. They had lost so much more than their parents that day. They’d lost their home, their sense of security. And Cam had lived every second since then terrified it would all happen again.

Seth was still staring at him, and he had the strangest sense those blue eyes could see through him. The silence started to get too thick. Yeah, he wasn’t any more immune to the silent treatment than the next Joe Schmo.

“So,” he said after another long drink of the too-light beer. “Jude’s glad you came, but he doesn’t want you staying if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“I know.”

“Do you need a ride home?”

Seth heaved out a breath. “Yeah. I guess I’m not ready for this yet.”

“All right. You wanna stay here until I get my keys?”

He nodded and up came the hood again.

Cam pushed away from the tree and emptied the rest of his beer out in the sand. “I’ll be back in a few.” He didn’t wait for a reply and walked toward Eva on the boardwalk, depositing the empty in a bin on his way.

“What happened down there?” she asked and handed back his Hawaiian shirt. “You look a little rattled.”

Only she would see the slight tremor in his hands that gave away how much that encounter had upset him.

Cam slid into the shirt and buttoned it. “He has a house not too far from here. I’m going to take him home so he can regain his bearings without all this noise and confusion around him. Cover for me, will ya?”

She rubbed a hand down his bicep in a friendly caress that wasn’t the least bit sexual, and yet his balls tightened at the skin-to-skin contact. She looked too good in that damn dress, with her hair loose and wavy with wilted curls…

“I’ll have a Guinness waiting for you when you get back,” she said.

Cam gave himself a mental slap. This was Eva.
Eva.
In other words, off limits for naked fantasies. Fuck, how many more times would he have to remind himself of that tonight? Usually, when it came to her, he had better control over his urges. He’d spent the last five years reigning them in, after all. “Uh, yeah. Thanks. I just drank half a Corona, so I’m going to need it.”

She made a face. “You actually drank half a bottle of that cat piss?”

“It was for a good cause.”

“Aw, my hero. I’ll have two glasses of Guinness waiting then.”

“Have I told you lately that I love you?” he crooned in his best Rod Stewart impression.

She rolled her eyes. “Christ. I’m never singing karaoke with you again.”

Cam laughed, and it felt good, releasing some of the tension from seeing Seth’s scars. He’d talked her into karaoke a few weekends ago when some of his Air Force buddies were in town, and he’d made a complete ass out of himself, much to her horror. Her refusal to sing that night after she’d accepted his dare had resulted in her coming to Key West as his plus one for the wedding. Now he was getting a kick out of breaking into random song just to needle her.

“Hey, at least I never back down from a bet.”

She flipped him off, and Cam found himself smiling as he ducked into the hotel’s lobby.

Chapter Three

Most of the guests had taken their dinner seats by the time Eva made it back to the reception. Laughter and the faint clink of silverware mingled with the guitar music from under the tent. She watched the happy, glittering crowd for a moment, marveled at how they all appeared at ease as they chatted over drinks and appetizers. She should join them and play her part as one of the groomsman’s “dates” but…

Yeah, no.

Still barefoot, she about faced and strode into the hotel lobby, intent on finally finding the bar. She had no idea where her sandals had gone, only vaguely remembered setting them down somewhere. Didn’t matter. It wasn’t as if she planned on wearing those toe-crushing torture contraptions ever again.

Signs pointed the way across the lobby to a dimly lit lounge packed with other hotel patrons. She imagined there was a bar set up specifically for the wedding guests, but this was more her speed anyway: Dark and a little cramped with TVs lining the oak bar tuned to the latest football highlights. It reminded her of Maguire’s, the Irish pub several blocks over from the police station, where a lot of cops hung out after their shifts. It was her and Cam’s favorite hangout, and this place gave her a comforting sense of familiarity as she parked it on a padded stool and flagged the bartender, who wore the brightest neon orange shirt she’d ever seen. He practically looked radioactive and his smile was just as bright. He chatted her up as he pulled two pints of Guinness with perfect white foamy heads. After the first sip had her wiping foam from her upper lip, she supposed she could forgive him for searing her eyeballs with his choice of clothing.

Still, homesickness tugged at her.

Key West was like a carnival: wild and unpredictable, full of bright colors and strange people and fun house mirrors reflecting a distorted, margarita-soaked version of reality. It was fun to get caught up in the whirlwind of it—until you started to get nauseous from all the spinning.

Man, she missed D.C. and grumpy old Rick Maguire, who never wore neon and only “chatted” when he wanted to complain about the president’s newest transgressions. At the moment, she wasn’t even sure why she’d agreed to come here. Well, except for the fact that she lost a bet. And she had a really hard time saying no to Camden Wilde.

Thank God she was leaving tomorrow.

Eva set the second pint of Guinness in front of the empty stool beside her. Cam wouldn’t have any trouble finding her when he got back, and she was a woman of her word. Besides, he deserved it. There was something about the man that people instinctively trusted. Even she had trusted him from the get go, and she wasn’t one to trust blindly. She’d been new to homicide, fresh out of a two-year stint with narcotics, and nervous that she wouldn’t be taken seriously as a woman in the all-male squad. But the moment she set her bag down on her new desk, Cam had slid his chair across the aisle between their desks and offered her a carrot stick.

“Carrot stick?” she’d echoed like a dunce, unsure that she’d heard him right and leery that he might be playing a prank on the noob.

He shrugged and took a bite of one. “Better than a cancer stick. I’m trying to quit.”

They caught their first new case together that afternoon. A man had shot and killed his girlfriend and barricaded himself inside an apartment with the couple’s newborn daughter. Eva soon learned Cam was the only certified negotiator in their squad, a former member of the Emergency Response Team. That was the first time she’d ever seen him turn his pockets inside out and walk into the lion’s den with his hands held up.

How could you not trust the guy?

“Eva?”

Yanked out of her reminiscence, she half-turned in her seat, expecting to see Cam and ready to congratulate him on a job well done. But then the voice registered like a sucker punch, and she whipped around. Not Cam. Definitely not Cam.

Oh, God, that voice. Like a sensual rasp of velvet over her nerve endings.

Please, no. It can’t be him. She was hundreds of miles from D.C. It just couldn’t be—

The familiar scent of Preston Linz surrounded her. His cologne hinted at coffee, wood, and citrus fruits, and she used to love the smell. Now it made her slightly nauseous. Was he still using the same bottle she’d bought him last year for Christmas?

“Holy cow,” he said, ever the politician, always so careful about not swearing in public. “It is you. I almost didn’t recognize you in that dress. Wow. You look gorgeous.”

She didn’t bother with a smile. “What the hell are you doing here?”

His eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. He used to have a slightly unruly mop of sandy blond hair, but now he wore it cut and styled in a gelled sweep away from his handsome, narrow face.

“C’mon, Eva. Is that any way to greet an old friend?”

“We’re not friends,” she said unequivocally. “We’re exes. Big difference.”

His polished smile dropped into a scowl. “I thought we agreed to be civil about everything.”

“Yeah, in D.C. We crossed state lines, so that verbal agreement is now void.” With that, she chose a TV at random and pretended to be interested in the scrolling football highlights as she sipped her beer. Hmm. The Patriots tromped the Bills. No surprise there. The Steelers won against the Titans in overtime. And, dammit, the Redskins got their asses handed to them by the Packers. Fucking Redskins.

“Eva…” Preston caught her wrist as she reached for her glass. He tugged until she faced him, and hurt shown in his dark eyes.

Okay, so she was being childish. They’d been splitsville for six months now. Time to move on, right? Besides, deep in her heart, she knew he’d made the right call by ending their two-year relationship. They’d met at the YMCA five years ago, where they both swam laps in the morning, and she’d originally spurned his advances. She hadn’t been looking for a relationship, didn’t want to tie her happiness and self-worth to a man like her mother had, but that didn’t deter him. He’d worked at her for years, winning her over little by little until a tiny, forbidden hope flared that maybe—just maybe—he’d be the one to give her the one thing she’d never had: a steady, stable family.

Things had started off great between them. They had a lot of the same interests. They both enjoyed the Nationals and had gone to as many ballgames as they were able to fit into their busy schedules. Which, unfortunately, wasn’t many. They enjoyed the same kinds of movies and music—blow ‘em up action flicks and country. They both loved to camp and hike—and, boy, had they gone on some crazy trips together to the backwoods of West Virginia, the memories of which still made her smile. She had liked spending time with Preston. He was good in bed and also easy to get along with outside the bedroom. He was a comfortable fit. Maybe too comfortable and too easy, because they had hardly ever fought. He never got angry and retreated from her when she did. Even their break-up had been half-hearted.

But despite how seemingly well-suited they were for each other, there were two big obstacles to them ever having a happily ever after. One: Preston was politically ambitious. The harder he worked to climb the unstable ladder of D.C. politics, the less she felt like she knew him. He stopped suggesting camping trips and started asking her to black tie social events. He started griping about her job, which had never bothered him before. As time went on, they’d spent less and less of it together.

And two: He’d recently confessed to her that he didn’t want to get married. Ever. And she’d promised herself a long time ago that if she was going to do the whole relationship thing—which she wasn’t anymore; she’d sworn off men six months ago—but
if
she wanted a relationship, she would do it all in the right order. Dating, engagement, wedding, honeymoon, then maybe a kid or two a few years down the road, once they were settled. Exactly the opposite of what every woman in her family had done. She’d seen her mother and sister both go through enough men to start their own football teams, and she wanted no part in that. It was either the whole shebang or nothing at all.

So, yeah, Preston had been right to end things. It still stung, but he’d been right.

She sighed and shook off his grasp. “Okay, Preston. I’m sorry for being bitchy. You know how I get when I’m forced to wear a dress and be social.”

He gave a slight wince at the swear word and glanced around. Hah. Some things never change. She rolled her eyes, pretending that his distaste for cursing wasn’t somewhat adorable. She always used to tease him about it.

“It’s a nice dress,” he offered. “Let me guess, Shelby bought it?”

She nodded and picked up her beer. “When I told her I’d been invited to a wedding here, she went all fashionista on me. Even forced me to go shopping and try shit on. I barely managed to talk her out of buying me a sequined prom-bomb in feisty fuchsia.”

This time he did a better job at hiding his wince with a smile. “Wedding? Me, too. Well, in a way. I’m vacationing with a friend who’s in wedding a party. Popular destination isn’t it? I’ve seen several brides since I got here. Anyone I know?”

“Cam’s brother got hitched.”

His smile didn’t slip, but his face tightened the way it always had whenever Cam came up in conversation. “And how is Camden? I heard through the grapevine that he left MPD to become a private investigator.”

The way he said “private investigator” suggested he thought about as highly of the profession as he did a wad of chewed gum on the bottom of his loafer. Not that she could really blame him for his disdain. She’d had a similar reaction when Cam first told her his plans to leave their tight-knit homicide squad. Still, she felt the need to defend Cam and his brothers.

“Wilde Security is actually doing quite well.”

“So I’ve heard,” Preston said. “The Pruitts are old money. I’m sure they paid the Wilde brothers handsomely for clearing up that whole stalker incident earlier this year.”

“And they ended up with a son-in-law in Jude Wilde,” she pointed out.

“Which I’m sure Colonel Pruitt was absolutely thrilled about.” The sarcasm in his statement was thick enough to cut with a chainsaw, suggesting Colonel Elliot Pruitt was not a-okay with the marriage, although he seemed happy enough when he walked his daughter down the aisle. But even if he’d been putting on a front for the benefit of the wedding guests, what did it matter? Eva liked Libby well enough and Jude was like a little brother to her, but their family drama was none of her—or anyone else’s—business. Between her mother and Shelby, she had enough of her own drama, thanks.

Time for a subject change. “So where’s your friend?”

“Doing the wedding thing. I flew down on a whim yesterday without RSVPing, so I’m left to entertain myself for the evening. Shouldn’t you be at your wedding?”

“Cam had to leave for a few minutes. I’ll go back when he returns. Until then…” She lifted her drink in a silent toast. “Bottoms up.”

“You always could put away alcohol like no woman I’ve ever met.”

Part of her wished that had been a dig at her lack of femininity so she’d have an excuse to be snotty and dismiss him, but his tone of voice painted it as a compliment.

“Thanks.” She scanned the bar, mentally urging Cam to hurry up. She was over making polite conversation. Of course, once he got back, she’d have to go make polite conversation with the wedding guests, so it was really a lose-lose kind of night.

She knocked back the rest of her Guinness and caught the bartender’s attention for another. She slid Cam’s drink in front of her and decided to put the fresh one in its place.

Christ, where was Cam?

As if her thoughts conjured him, he appeared in the doorway, holding the door open for one of Libby’s bridesmaids—the one he’d escorted down the aisle after the ceremony. With streaky brown hair and big blue eyes, she was the kind of gorgeous woman who made beauty look effortless. Her blue wrap dress accentuated a body that probably made men drop to their knees in front of her and pledge their undying devotion. Cam was certainly falling all over himself to help her through the door. Because, God forbid, she might break a nail if she had to open the damn thing herself.

Whoa.

Eva shifted her gaze away from them and stared into her pint, watching the foam slide down the side of the glass. Where had those bitter thoughts come from? So what if Cam wanted to hold the door for the woman. So what if he flirted a bit. So what if he wanted to fuck her. As a matter of fact, good for him if he did. Eva couldn’t recall the last time he’d been on a date and the hand and lotion routine was probably getting as old for him as her vibrator was for her.

Heat flushed under her skin at a vivid mental image of Cam naked, splayed out on a bed with his head thrown back against a pillow, his chest heaving with each breath, his skin sweat-slicked, his hand closed around his cock, sliding up and down…

Double whoa.

Did the bartender turn off the A/C? Must have because it was getting really freakin’ hot in here, and it absolutely had nothing to do with the completely verboten thought of her best friend naked, giving himself a hand job. She snatched up her beer and gulped it, trying to cool her parched throat.

The scent of Cam’s favorite cinnamon gum surrounded her as he touched her shoulder, and she gazed down at his hand in a daze. She never noticed the size of it before—wide with a dusting of dark hair over the back. His long, tanned fingers engulfed her whole shoulder and she was in no way considered a petite woman. If anything, her shoulders were too wide from years of religious lap swimming. But as his fingers tightened in concern and she felt his leashed strength, she realized just how small she was compared to him. Despite all of the hours she spent in the gym, he could still hurt her without breaking a sweat if he wanted to. She suddenly hated him for that fact of biology almost as much as she was fascinated by it.