The Loner’s Lady

by Kane, Jessa

  THE LONER’S LADY

  Jessa Kane

  Copyright © 2019 Jessa Kane

  Kindle Edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Epilogue

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  CHAPTER ONE

  Lyssa

  “Oh come on, he can’t be that bad.”

  “You want to bet?”

  My best friend, Mason, offers me his hand across the console of my Jeep and I eye it with indecision. Was Mason’s father seriously as deranged as he was making him sound? If so, should I be worried that we’re five minutes away from reaching the man’s cabin in the Catskills? “What are we wagering?”

  Mason hums thoughtfully. “When we get back to New York, I’ll let you pick where we get takeout for the entire week.”

  “God, we never cook, do we?”

  “Nope and I’m not about to start. Maybe I should date a chef next to save some money.”

  I perk up. “Ooh! Will he cook for me, too?”

  Mason snorts. “We’re a package deal, babe. You know this.”

  With a smile, I focus back on the road, but it fades when I realize how remote our surroundings have become over the last ten miles. Civilization is firmly in the rearview and I’m losing hope of spotting a decent coffee shop. City girl problems. I have them. “Okay, let’s go over the story one more time. We’ve been dating how long?”

  “Eight months. We met when I saved you from being hit by a cab.”

  An amused sound trickles past my lips.

  “What?” Mason asks. “If I’m already making up our fake romance, I might as well swing for the fences and make myself look like a hero.”

  “You are a hero, darling. You save me every single day.” We trade an awww face. “I’m only laughing because you never move above a power walk. To save me from a speeding cab, you’d have to jog at the very least.”

  “My father hasn’t seen me in a year, and look around, Lyssa, I doubt the mofo even has an internet connection. Whatever I tell him, he’ll have no choice but to believe.” He ticked off on his fingers. “In other words, you’re my devoted girlfriend, I’m straight as an arrow and I run recreationally.”

  I drum my fingers on the wheel. “Mason…you’ve pretended to be my boyfriend a zillion times so men would leave me alone. You know I have no problem faking a relationship in front of your father. It’s your decision when to come out, obviously. Your own time in your own way.” I roll my lips inward to wet them. “I’m just curious if you’ve thought about telling him the truth?”

  “Nope. And if I can get away with him never knowing I’m gay, I’ll do it. When you meet him, you’ll understand. He’s an old-school man’s man to the fucking core. He’s a former army ranger who’s been living off the land for years. There is no world where we relate to each other. It’s better this way.”

  “Okay.” I reach over and squeeze my best friend’s hand. “I’ve got your back.”

  He chews his lip. “So I’ve told you he’s a foul mouthed, military badass, but…I don’t think I’ve quite prepared you for his appearance.”

  “What now?”

  “Yeah. Let’s just say he’s, uh…intimidating. Large and in charge. Long and hairy, hard to carry.”

  “I’m starting to get nervous.”

  Mason turns in his seat to face me. “Swear on a stack of Bibles, he won’t hurt you, Lyssa. He looks like he could twist a human being into a pretzel, yes, but please remember I would never, ever put you in danger.”

  “Oh my God.” My voice has gone high pitched. “How long are we staying again?”

  “Just until tomorrow morning. I have to come up to see him once a year or he won’t continue to help pay for college.”

  “Okay.” I blow out a breath. “We got this. We. Got. This. I mean, I’m a New Yorker, right? I’ve gone days without hot water. I’ve had rats the size of toddlers run through my legs in Washington Square Park. I’ve…”

  Escaped an attacker in the stairwell of my old building.

  Mason shoots me a sympathetic glance because he knows what I’m thinking. He always does. When we met at NYU freshman year orientation earlier this year, I was a mess. I’d been packed and ready to embark on my college journey the day it happened. My single mother raised me in a modest two-bedroom apartment in Kensington, Brooklyn. Our building was small, only inhabited by three families, whom we knew well. Which is why I’d always felt safe in the building.

  Until I didn’t anymore.

  Since that scary night, I’ve been wary of men, and Mason has been instrumental in keeping every interested male in New York at arm’s length. Needless to say, when he asked me to return the favor and convince his father that I’m his girlfriend, I didn’t hesitate to say yes. I’d do anything for my best friend. In a short space of time, we’ve become each other’s support systems and motivators. He also makes me laugh like nobody’s business and tells me the truth when I need to hear it. I’m lucky to have Mason and I will not let some macho mountain man scare me away from doing my duty.

  I force some steel into my spine and sit up straighter. “Bottom line, we can handle this. He should be scared of us.”

  “I’m going to let you believe that.”

  “Thank you.”

  Mason consults the GPS on his phone. “Okay, take your next right. That’ll be his driveway, if I remember correctly.”

  Tiny nervous bubbles fizz in my stomach, but I don’t let my smile falter. However, it freezes onto my face when I see the sign at the bottom of the driveway. Trespass at your own risk. “He knows we’re coming, right?”

  “Yes, I spoke to him this morning. It’s all good.” Mason laughs under his breath. “Although it was more like…I spoke, my father grunted.”

  “Cool cool cool.”

  We’re driving for a full two minutes up the long, winding driveway when the house comes into sight. “When you said cabin, I pictured a hut with a little chimney. It’s so much bigger than I was imagining.”

  “We have our first plus!”

  I accept his high five. “We do!”

  My legs aren’t shaking at all when I hop out of the Jeep and stare up at the looming, two-story log home. A wind chime hangs from the second story overhang, tinkling in the late afternoon breeze. Beneath the overhang is a porch with a porch swing and a single chair. Beside it is a low, round stump with what appears to be a knife and wood shavings on top.

  Trees surround us from all sides and it’s so quiet compared to the city, it takes my ears a few seconds to adjust to the gentle buzz of nature. A crunch of my boot on the earth, the chimes, a bird calling. That’s all there is.

  Until the front door of the house slowly creaks open and John Thorne ducks beneath the frame to step out onto the porch—and blood starts to pound in my ears.

  He’s lethal.

  It’s the first thought that travels through my mind because it’s so obvious this man could flick a finger and topple mountains. It’s the way he carries his gigantic frame and incredible girth. How is he remaining contained inside that white T-shirt and jeans? The garments are stretched to their limit and seconds from ripping, I�
��m sure of it. My best friend’s father is at least six foot eight and every inch of him is rock hard and rippling. Barefoot. God, that intense glower. It makes me want to confess to crimes I haven’t committed just in case he’ll spare me. His hair is long and unruly, black with streaks of gray running and twisting in the unmanaged length.

  My panties should not be growing damp.

  My mouth shouldn’t be dry.

  I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but my heart is pounding so hard, I can taste adrenaline on my tongue. What is happening here?

  Men aren’t my thing. I’ve established that. Especially violent ones and this guy has definitely strangled people with his bare hands. Why are my nipples peaking eagerly, seeking friction from my tank top?

  “Hey, Dad,” Mason calls, throwing me an elbow nudge. “Good to see you.” He gives John his back and widens his eyes at me. “This is my girlfriend, Lyssa.”

  A black-gray eyebrow lifts. “Girlfriend.”

  Oh no. His voice. It sounds like the deep rev of a boat motor and it should be a huge turnoff, but it makes me want to twist my hips and pull on my own hair.

  One afternoon out of the city and I’ve lost it.

  “Lyssa,” Mason hisses.

  I shake myself. “S-sorry, yes. Yes, hello. I’m the girlfriend,” I say, breathily, trying to hide my puckered nipples by crossing my arms. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

  John splits a sharp look between the two of us, then slowly turns on a heel and disappears into the house.

  Laughing, Mason shakes me gently by the shoulders. “What the hell was that?”

  I squeeze my eyes shut. “I don’t know!” Deep breath. “My flight or fight instinct woke up, but I’ve put it to bed. I’m good now! Promise.”

  “Great, let’s go.”

  As soon as my friend turns his back, I fan myself furiously, sensing my cheeks are bright red. Only to realize John is watching me from the front window.

  This is going to be a long night.

  CHAPTER TWO

  John

  Ain’t no way in hell that’s my son’s girlfriend.

  I’ve known Mason was gay since he came for a visit during seventh grade. He left a school notebook behind with Tom Hiddleston’s name doodled all over the cover. If that wasn’t proof enough, I’d take one look at his Instagram feed and know. In the last year, he’s dated a personal trainer, a lawyer and a trust fund kid named Spalding. He might have deleted all evidence of these relationships after the break up, but not before I saw the posts.

  I’ve spent my professional life with the army chasing down leads and hunting facts. Without the proper information, I wouldn’t be alive today. I make it my business to know everything, especially about my son, who I love. It’s not my fault he thinks I’m too old to work the internet.

  I was hoping this would be the visit he told me the truth, but I guess he isn’t ready yet, as evidenced by the knockout blonde he’s got pretending to be his girl. The one fanning her face in my front yard, trying to hide the proof I turned her on, same as she revved my engine.

  Goddamn. This one is trouble times ten.

  I need to get a lick of that more than I want my next thousand meals.

  Our eyes meet through the window and I can feel her gasp deep in my balls. I fist my hand on the sill, imagining that honey blonde hair wrapped around my knuckles while I guide her lips up and down my cock. I’ve never had this kind of reaction to a female. Not in all my forty-two years. This one—Lyssa—she’s way too petite for me. Way too young. And she’s pretending to date my son.

  If I make a play for her, I’d be forcing them to give up the charade.

  I don’t want to force Mason to be honest with me before he’s ready…

  But it’s going to be a struggle to keep my hands off Lyssa. Something about her has my stomach all tied up in knots. I’m not sure what the hell my reaction to her signifies, but I can’t imagine not finding out. I want to touch her. Right now.

  She has the nerve to look bored when she finally walks through my door, holding her cell in one hand, tossing her hair with the other. There’s no hiding the fluttering pulse at the base of her neck, however. Or the way she keeps peeking up at me from beneath her long, black eyelashes.

  Does she like my place?

  Why the hell do I care?

  I moved up to the Catskills so I wouldn’t have to be around people or listen to their opinions. Even back in the day, between deployments, I always found somewhere private to hunker down and wait for my next orders. No relationships to steal my focus. Can’t even say I had some great love affair with Mason’s mother. She was just an anonymous one-night stand until she showed up ten months later with a bundle in her arms. The surprise outraged me at first, especially because I never failed to use protection. Then I saw the child and I couldn’t help wanting to protect him. Help him in a way no one did for me.

  It’s obvious he hates coming up here to visit me, but I won’t be an absent father. And I like the kid. So he’ll just have to put up with me.

  My gaze travels back to Lyssa who is circling the living room, her thigh rubbing against the arm of my easy chair. She bends forward to inspect the book on my coffee table, and her frayed jean shorts ride straight up her ass, showing off two firm, little butt cheeks. Christ almighty. She might as well be going around in panties for all the coverage those things provide. If she plans on going anywhere outside this cabin, she’ll need a lot more protection from the elements.

  Inside the cabin, she’ll need a lot more protection from me.

  Don’t even think about it, John.

  “Sit down,” I grumble, making them both jump. “Stew’s ready.”

  “Great,” Mason says, dropping onto a chair. “All I’ve eaten today is a scone.”

  Am I not sending him enough money to eat? I start to ask him that question, but hesitate. Would that embarrass him in front of Lyssa? Maybe. While I spoon beef stew into bowls and set them on the table, I make a mental note to ask him about funds later.

  Lyssa makes her way over to the table and I move on reflex, pulling out her chair—a terrible mistake. Her perfume smells like fresh berries and hits me hard. Up close, she’s even more mind-blowingly beautiful. Smooth skin. Wide, generous lips. Tits designed to make a man crawl. Huge green eyes remain arrested on my face for several beats before she lowers herself into the chair I’m holding out.

  My fingers itch to tunnel into her hair, pull back her hair and feast on her fucking mouth. But I can’t do that. I cannot do that.

  I clear my throat hard and take my place at the table, Mason and Lyssa sitting across from me. “How is New York?”

  My son laughs. “You can’t even say New York without scowling.”

  I tuck into my stew with a grunt. “It’s a disgusting hell hole full of rats.”

  “Tell us how you really feel,” Mason snickers. “There are a lot of great things about it, too.” He winks at Lyssa. “After all, it’s where I met this one.”

  The stew turns to sludge in my mouth.

  “That’s right,” she murmurs, using her spoon to push a carrot around her bowl. “Mason saved me from being hit by a cab. That’s how we met.”

  Lie.

  I’d like to put Lyssa over my knee and spank her sexy tush as punishment. As soon as she’d had enough, I’d rub the sting from her flesh and patiently explain to her that I’m not easily deceived. My ability to cut through bullshit is only one of the reasons I received so many army promotions. I really don’t like her lying to me—and I might be crazy, but I don’t think she liked lying to me, either. It’s in the way she shifts in her seat and refuses to meet my gaze suddenly.

  “Is that so?” I say, satisfied when her eyes snap to mine. “Good man.”

  “Thanks,” Mason responds, seemingly unaware that I’m hard as a fucking rock for his supposed girlfriend under the table. “When we found out we were both freshmen at NYU, we couldn’t believe it.”

  She’s eighteen. I
already guessed she was the same age as my son, but the confirmation is a gut punch. I’m twice her age and then some. Old enough to be her father. Unfortunately, that knowledge does nothing to soften my cock. “Where do you live, Lyssa?” I ask, watching her soft mouth pop open at my use of her name.

  “I…um.” She shifts in her chair. “W-we live together. I live with Mason.”

  “Yup!” A smile spreads across Mason’s face. “We’re roommates.” Immediately, he backpedals. “I-I mean, not just roommates, obviously…”

  “No, we’re much more than that,” Lyssa supplies, nodding at my son encouragingly. This is like watching a bad sitcom. They’re both terrible liars.

  “We’re like, all the things,” Mason says finally.

  Lyssa smiles brightly. “All of them!”

  And then they high five.

  Christ.

  “So…” Lyssa begins, clearly looking for a way to change the conversation. Finally, she gestures back toward the living room. “Did you carve all those wooden figurines on your bookshelves?”

  I grunt a confirmation.

  What did she think of them?

  “They’re good, right?” Mason chimes in. “My dad is a kickass whittler, in addition to, like, being able to snap bones with a flick of his wrist.” He scoops a bite with his spoon, keeping it suspended in front of his mouth. “Are you still making the walking sticks?”

  I nod once. “Some.”

  Lyssa perks up. “Walking sticks?”

  “Uh-huh,” Mason says. “You have to see them. The carvings are so intricate. Really, Dad. You could make them professionally.”

  “I don’t do it for money.”

  “My mother has a bad knee,” Lyssa says, arresting me with her big, gorgeous eyes. Everything around me fades. Everything but her. “She’s was riding a city bus one afternoon when it collided with a speeding ambulance. Surgery followed, pins were left behind. But it’s never been the same.” She wets her lips and my dick surges in my jeans. “I’ve actually been meaning to buy her a walking stick. Maybe I can purchase one of yours.”