No Gentle Giant: A Small Town Romance

by Nicole Snow

  She owes me answers, and not just because I’m interested in keeping my own ass in one piece.

  I’m in this now. Fully.

  That means I need to know what’s going on behind the curtain. It’s pretty obvious she’s been filtering the full picture, obscuring where that gold truly came from, who’s involved, and just how much peril she’s in.

  Before, it was all a big fat hypothetical and a dash of suspicions.

  It sure as hell isn’t now.

  Fliss moves around me anxiously as she packs up a few more things. I take it on myself to pick up the cash strewn all over the living room and stuff it into the bag left behind.

  I’m glad our mini killer didn’t clean her out again—though now I know where all her money’s been going.

  Straight down a deep, dark chute leading to a psycho’s piggy bank.

  It’s a silent trip save for Shrub’s excited yapping as we pile into my Jeep and head to my cabin. We’d never put an official time limit on Felicity’s stay besides some vague hints about a solid week.

  Now, I don’t want to let her out of my sight for a fucking second without that sideshow after her behind bars.

  She stares down at her lap the entire drive, silent and withdrawn.

  I’d almost think she was mad at me if she didn’t look so worn.

  I’d think I was mad at her, if I didn’t throb with worry every time I look at her.

  Part of me says I should be mad.

  If she’d just come clean, we might’ve avoided that insta-brush with death. I would’ve known how serious this was sooner, and I could’ve made damned sure she was never in a position to wind up alone and afraid with that murderous woman-child.

  Thank fuck I didn’t mention my kid in front of that freak.

  She doesn’t need to know Eli exists.

  Whatever’s coming for me, I can handle, just as long as my son stays out of it.

  When we pull up at the inn, I’m jolted the second I realize Eli’s not home—until I remember he’s staying over at Zach’s tonight.

  If he were anywhere else, I’d be running to grab him right now.

  Luckily, Zach’s father is a ridiculously strong ex-military bruiser who makes me feel small.

  Nothing’s happening to Eli on Leo and Clarissa Regis’ watch. I’d bet my life on it. And considering the state we’re in, it’s better if he’s nowhere near me tonight.

  That’ll buy time to figure out if that lunatic we chased off wants to defy common sense and come back for round two early.

  Inside, Felicity lets Shrub down to gallop across the living room, then slumps down on the sofa and buries her face in her hands, sighing through her fingers.

  “I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m so sorry I dragged you into this.”

  “Too late for apologies, woman, and I don’t need one last I checked. There’s been some dragging, yeah, but we’re both getting dragged along by shit someone else set in motion a long time ago.” I settle down next to her, and reach over to touch her wrist, gently urging her hand down from her face. “Talk to me, Fliss. I need you to come clean. I need to know what’s really going on. Everything.”

  She lets her hands fall with a shaky sweep, just looking at me.

  Her eyes start welling over again, pale blue-violet refracting and blurring before she looks away sharply, her lips tightening.

  “Where do I even start?” she whispers.

  “The beginning,” I coax. “Let it all out.”

  “I...okay.” She scrunches her hands in the hem of her pretty little lavender-checkered dress, her nails biting into the tops of her thighs. “Paye—Paisley Lockwood—she’s the head of a crime outfit. From what I’ve gathered, it’s a big one that runs through most of the Pacific Northwest. The Lockwood syndicate. Her father, Kurt Lockwood, used to be the boss...and my father worked for him.” Felicity gulps in a soft, upset breath. “I don’t know the full extent of Dad’s involvement. There’s some new stuff I just found out tonight. But my whole adult life, ever since I took over The Nest, Paisley’s been claiming Dad owed her big-time and if I didn’t pay his debt with every penny I had, she’d hurt my mother.”

  Her breaths roll out of her in a rough shudder, and hot tears spill down her cheeks.

  She scrubs at her eyes, her nose, her skin, like she just wants to slough off her body and be someone else.

  “You’re okay. Give me more,” I whisper, laying my arm over hers and finding her hand.

  “I never knew what my father did that racked up so much debt, but...once we found the gold, I knew it had to be a major part of it. When Flynn mentioned that heist, it was all but guaranteed. Earlier tonight, she told me he swindled them out of millions, that...that he killed her father, and...” Voice breaking, words choking, her eyes strain toward the ceiling. “...and she killed him in retaliation. Pumped him full of a heroin overdose when he’d been trying so hard to stay clean for us, and then...”

  I get the picture.

  I don’t need the words.

  And she can’t seem to get them out anyway as she bursts into deep, rasping sobs that shake her to the bone, burying her face in her hands like she can hide them from me.

  I don’t want her to hide.

  I want to give her shelter where she can face the truth, no matter how blinding or harsh or unforgiving it might be.

  Slowly, I reach for her.

  She flinches at first, shaking her head, mumbling something I can’t quite make out.

  I hear the words don’t deserve you.

  “Stop right there. Come here,” I growl.

  She falls against me, and I tangle her up in my arms and let her sob her venom out.

  There’s a resilience to Felicity Randall, strong like a spiderweb. On the surface, a web looks fragile, so delicate, but it actually holds pounds of tensile strength on strands thinner than a human hair.

  Brush it the right way, though, and it’ll snap.

  And I think tonight, Fliss found out secrets that pushed her to the breaking point.

  It’s my job to salvage what’s left, to make sure she doesn’t shatter and blow away with the ferocious wind that’s coming down on us.

  So I hold her.

  I let her cry and be vulnerable.

  I wish I could take it all away.

  I wish it were as simple as snapping that hissy little viper’s neck.

  It sounds so fucking complex, and even if her old man had the best of intentions, there’s a part of me that also wishes I could drag him back from the afterlife for a man-to-man and ask him what the hell he was thinking.

  Pulling a con job on people that dangerous? Did he actually expect it wouldn’t blow back on his family?

  But what’s done is done.

  He’s gone, and Felicity’s here.

  There’s something inside me that needs to make sure she stays here, alive and well and safe, free from the Lockwoods’ devilish influence.

  If I was a more reckless man, I’d go in guns blazing.

  One-man tank, straight to their headquarters and down their gullet. I’d bring enough explosives to make sure they’d never hurt anyone again.

  That’s a damned good way to get slaughtered, though, and then there’d be no one here for Fliss.

  My jaw pinches like a vise and my vision swirls through dark and red and so many blood-streaked stars.

  I can’t be stupid.

  She’s counting on me.

  I have to protect her.

  Eventually, she goes silent against me, stilling, her rough sobs easing to erratic sniffles. Then just rasping, soft breaths till she’s a slender bundle of warmth pressed to my side, her body so limp I almost wonder if she’s fallen asleep.

  But after a moment, I hear her.

  “Sorry,” she whispers, barely there and bleeding anguish.

  “I told you, lady. No more apologies. Once was too much when I know you’d never want to inflict this shit on anybody.” I stroke my hand down her arm, grazing her softness under my
palm, keeping up a soothing rhythm.

  “Alaska, I—”

  “You didn’t make this mess,” I bite off before she can say another word. I can’t fucking help it. “You just got stuck with cleanup duty.”

  “But I pulled you into it,” she says morosely.

  “I stepped in willingly,” I remind her. “You didn’t know what you’d find at the bottom of Glass Lake. I’m the dude who helped dredge it up. Even then, you tried to keep me from getting too involved. What’d I do, Fliss? I dived in deeper, for you. That was my choice—the same decision I’d make a hundred more times. You leave it to me, I’ll get out, too. Get us out, if you’ll trust me.”

  A thick sigh leaves her lungs.

  She braces her hands against my chest, pushing up and looking at me strangely.

  “I don’t understand. How?”

  “Haven’t figured that part out yet. I’m working on it.” I smile wryly, looking down at her, bathing in her heat.

  Fuck, her skin feels deliciously warm, even while we’ve been talking cloak and dagger secrets, fears, guilt.

  She’s so close—we didn’t even turn the lights on—and it’s an alluring effect.

  She’s all blue shadows and mellow highlights in the faint slip of light spilling in from the porch. My eyes ignite the rest of me a little more with every second they’re glued to her.

  “Listen, your ma’s in Idaho, right? I can start by calling an old buddy from the SEALs who lives in the area and putting him on watch. No one will get near her with him on guard.”

  “You...would?” Her eyes start to well up again. “You’d do that for me?”

  I’m starting to think I’d do anything for this woman.

  Especially when it seems like her pride might be slipping just enough to let me.

  “Hey. No looking at me like that. I’ve got you and we’ve got this.” I can’t resist, then, touching my fingertips under her chin, stroking the soft skin there. “How much do you know about Navy SEALs?”

  She hesitates, a half smile pulling at her lips.

  “Not a lot, really.” Her gaze flicks over my face, puzzled, luminously wet in the dark. “I know I’ve never seen one who isn’t gorgeous. It’s like they sculpt the good looks into you.”

  Shit, here we go.

  Don’t think a girl’s ever called me gorgeous before.

  I clear my throat, ignoring the weight below my belt, my cheeks burning under my beard.

  “They train a lot into us, yeah, but I think the best they can do in that department is honing our physiques.” I offer her a small smile. “Anyhow, during SEAL training, they put you through pure hell. Every hardship’s made with a precision designed to break you. And you will break.”

  “Did you?” she asks with a slight gasp.

  “I did. Everyone does. That’s the point. The bigger question is whether you break and fall apart—or do you reforge those shattered pieces into something newer and stronger? Something that can withstand more, hold together in the next round, till they can’t break you the same way. It’s brutal. Mental, physical, soul...it tests everything in you.”

  For me, it was simulated waterboarding.

  I still remember it. The terror, how deep it ran. The panic of being suffocated by the incessant flood, dousing my face for hours.

  Then the defeat, the realization that there was no way to stop it, no way to shut it down, no way to save myself.

  Just this yawning hopelessness like it would never end, that I’d always be a human body set on fire by water, and even if I gave up, I’d still keep drowning.

  No reason to give up, then.

  If I was going to drown, I’d drown all the way through to the end till I became a hoarse, screaming mess, driven half out of my mind.

  “That sounds pretty intense. And kinda depressing, honestly,” she whispers. “Some things, you don’t get to come back stronger. You don’t get second chances.”

  I know exactly what—and who—she’s talking about.

  She isn’t wrong when the wrong brush with Paye and her crew could be fatal.

  Still, she’s missing the hopeful part.

  “Here’s the thing—you always have a way out,” I say, the memories taking hold of me hard: the knifing stab of ice-cold water, the searing pain of the sun overhead, salt water and sand in my mouth, the scream of my body, the voice barking drills, the smells of the men around me with their pores radiating not just sweat, but suffering and determination. “There’s a bell. When you get that deep in tactical training, there’s always a bell during every exercise. And when you hit your breaking point, when you can’t take anymore, when you’re ready to tap the fuck out for good and give up on the idea of being a SEAL forever...”

  I gather her closer against me.

  She stares at me in wonderment, nodding and asking for more.

  “You ring that bell, Fliss. You ring it and then you walk out. It’s over. Done. You’ve quit. They broke you, and you just can’t take anymore. There’s nothing wrong with ringing that bell before you drown or lose your sanity for good. Nothing wrong with knowing your limits. It doesn’t make you a lesser person. It just means you weren’t ready—and you were never fit to go it alone.”

  She’s looking up at me with understanding dawning in those clear, pretty eyes.

  I think she knows what I’m asking even before I do.

  “What I want to know, Fliss, is this.” I pause, searching her face. “Are you ready to ring that bell? Are you ready for help? Or are you ready to hand that gold over to Paisley Lockwood and hope she’ll go away for good?”

  There it is.

  That pride, that defiant flash in her eyes, that glint that tells me she might be afraid, but she’s not broken. There’s a difference, and that difference tells me this beautiful woman will fight with everything in her to the bitter end.

  “No,” she says, soft but firm. “I’m not giving up. She killed my father because she blames him for Kurt Lockwood’s chickens coming home to roost. She killed him with her own bare hands.” Her pretty red lower lip juts out stubbornly, her jaw clenched. “I can’t rest until I stop her.”

  “Then we’ll stop her together,” I promise, gently raking my thumb against that strawberry lip. “We’re both in this, Fliss. I won’t leave you shouldering it alone.”

  Her mouth trembles, her eyes darkening.

  “...no one’s ever promised me that before.”

  “And I’m damned glad I’m the first.” I smile. “Even if you deserve so much more.”

  I’m suddenly painfully aware of how lithe her body feels against mine.

  How the rising heat trapped between us builds like an underground caldera, this vicious slow burn on my skin.

  How she looks at me like she can’t see anything else.

  How her lips part, her tongue darts over them, and—fuck yes—I’m riveted.

  “I think I want more, Alaska,” she whispers. “Enough to make me forget tonight.”

  I nearly groan with the electric shiver bolting through me, a charge lighting me up like a million volts, and she’s the current hooked into my veins.

  “You gotta be clear. Tell me what you want, Fliss. What you need. I need to hear it from your mouth.”

  “Kiss me,” she says, already leaning toward me, those inviting full lips shaping the words that rip me open and send half the blood in my body straight to the bulge seething between my legs. “Kiss me, Paxton Charter, and don’t you dare stop.”

  17

  All That Glistens (Felicity)

  For the first time in all my years, I get what it means to be a dirty liar.

  And I, Felicity Randall, am absolutely filthy.

  I haven’t just been lying to Alaska this whole time.

  I’ve been lying to myself.

  I lied about the way he looks at me.

  The way he touches me.

  The way he growls at me.

  The way to sweet oblivion.

  Namely, the way he just kissed
me.

  I’ve lied to myself about what I want from him. How he makes me feel. Why that kiss cut me up, threw me to the breeze, and left me floating on sweetness and sin and delirium.

  I’ve lied like a desperate, lovestruck, pigheaded fool because as long as I didn’t believe we deserve something good together...

  ...then I knew I wouldn’t have to be disappointed when the curse that haunts me ruins everything.

  Ruins him.

  But right now feels like a very different kind of ruin as he groans, bending to claim my lips with his mouth so firm and his hands pure hellfire on my skin.

  Holy hell.

  Just a minute ago, he’d been so gentle, holding me like I was precious blown glass that could shatter to dust with nothing more than a whisper.

  Now, he holds me like his own kept hostage—like he knows I can take it—and that iron grip just makes me want more.

  I’ve felt fragile and delicate my entire life.

  So small, hidden, and easily breakable.

  Fragile definitely isn’t what I want right now.

  Not when this desire inside me comes on so strong it rips the breath from my lungs.

  It’s incandescent, this force that feels like it could move mountains—and it definitely moves the mountain of Alaska’s body as I throw myself against him, pushing him back against the sofa and climbing into his lap.

  I love his startled oof just a little too much.

  But I love, love, love straddling his iron hips more, his bulk so large he spreads me open.

  It’s almost an act of pure eroticism just to have my legs spread this wide, when his size forces my thighs to ache. The position pushes my panties up against me until I’m pulsing like a time bomb.

  There’s only a second for his hands to dig into my ass—breaking the teasing spell—and then we’re kissing like wildfire, two crazed things chasing the dynamite that was always waiting just beneath the surface from that first messy day in the coffee shop.

  The fuse was always lit, burning down to the magnificent explosion of our first kiss, first stolen touch, first searing look at each other naked.

  His mouth flipping attacks mine, fighting moans out of me, but I give back as good as I get.