“Wow. Okay,” I reply. I look around his spectacular home filled with very expensive, yet tasteful furnishings, and wonder what exactly I’ll find if I can peel away a few more layers of Mr. T. H. Stone told me things that makes some of it make sense, but I feel like there has to be more. I chew on my lip a little bit, searching my thoughts for the right question. He gets up and walks back to the counter.
“I’m sort of a Renaissance man, Windsor. I try to do a little of everything,” he says. I look up at his unexpected confession. When I smile, he goes on, “I built the Chevelle from the bottom up. I enjoy cooking and can even do a little sewing. I can speak a couple foreign languages. During my last deployment I finished up my Masters degree. I appreciate good art and music, electronics make me happy, as does playing a little guitar,” he says. He puts a plate with a pressed Panini sandwich on it in front of me. He takes his seat again in front of me. “I also know that you never button the bottom button on a suit jacket. Tell your friends that tidbit.”
Maverick takes a deep breath.
“I have a bad past, but I don’t like talking about it.” He takes a bite of his lunch and stares at me as he chews. He’s trying to decide what to say next.
I stuff a bite in my mouth, hopeful he’ll keep his mouth running. It’s so uncommon. He swallows.
“My favorite things vary because I get wrapped up in whatever I’m trying. Whatever I’m doing at the moment is my favorite. I want to perfect things. Make them better, make them my own,” he says.
“You’re sort of an anomaly. You know that? You’re not the average Joe,” I reply.
“I don’t deal well with comparisons. That’s something else you should know. I only care about comparing when I’m at fucking Best Buy picking out a new television,” he says. I laugh.
“Don’t compare you to other men. Check,” I say. “I like this free flowing information. It makes me less self conscious about my verbal diarrhea problem.”
Maverick grimaces. “I’m eating, Win,” he says, shaking his head. I guess that was sort of gross.
We finish lunch in silence and I just process everything he’s said. He is so unlike anyone I’ve ever met that I’m not sure what to label him. I suppose he gets his own label. I’m sure he’d appreciate being in that mental category anyways.
“I’m going to jump in the shower,” he says, leaving me alone to process his confessions.
I’m cleaning up his kitchen. It’s so nice and everything is so modern that it’s sort of like a playground figuring out how to conquer the appliance. The minute after he leaves me alone, I hear knocking on a side door and I freaking panic. I don’t have much time to decide what to do because Stone blazes into the house.
I yank down the hem of Maverick’s shirt when he sees me. He stops in the middle of the living room, raises his hands over his head, and screams. I cover my ears because it’s so loud. “Fuck yeah!” Stone cries. “Morg, get your pretty little ass in here.” The door still wide open, Morganna walks through and closes it behind her. She shakes her head.
“God, Stone. Leave her alone,” Morg says to her husband, who seems to be in the middle of some weird freaking touchdown dance. To me, she says, “There’s rules, Windsor.” She sighs. “Even if I don’t agree with them I guess it’s time to spill them. We’ll talk later.”
I just stare at her. Rules? What in the hell does that even mean? I’m so shocked I forgot what I’m wearing and what I look like. This looks like I’m having a sex-filled romp at Maverick’s house. Of course they would assume the worst. Even though I feel like what we did was just as hot, and just as intimate, it still wasn’t sex. We’re going slow. Because Maverick wants to, and I think maybe that’s best for me too.
“I told you she would be here. I told you!” Stone says, pointing at Morganna. She swats at his outstretched hand. “Who is the king, baby? Who is the fucking king?” His dance shifts to some sort of robotic sway. Morganna looks to the ceiling, like she’s lost all patience and faith in humanity. I almost wish I wasn’t here so she didn’t have to endure Stone’s…dance moves.
“You’re the king, honey. You are,” she says, exasperated, merely placating him to save time.
I take this opportunity to flee into Maverick’s bedroom. At some point he grabbed my suitcase out of his car so I have all my things. I hear his shower running so I poke my head in and let him know he has guests. He seems surprised, but not really shocked. So, he does have houseguests that are “just friends.” It’s just the slutty variety he doesn’t allow in his personal realm.
The sight of him naked gives me pause. I don’t think I’ll ever tire of looking at his perfect body.
His narrow waist frames his perfect V. You know the one. The caboose that belongs at the bottom of every mouthwatering ripple of his abs. All…six, no all eight of them. He told me working out is part of his job, that his body is a like a machine because it’s his craft, his tool, for doing anything that is required of him.
For all the hard curves I can’t help but know how easily a human life can be taken. With a deployment to God knows where looming, it makes it so much more real. Sure, I could die in a car accident on the way to my boring accounting job. But I don’t deal in death and danger as a profession. His calculated and uncalculated risks are so high they can’t be deciphered. I offer a weak smile and strip off my shirt, and enter the enormous shower with him. It’s a wet room, with showerheads everywhere. The solitary bottle of some sort of body wash or hair shampoo is on a shelf by his head. I have to laugh. He’s still just a guy.
His gaze is hungry as he watches me walk toward him. I brush against him as I grab the green bottle. There are a few other showerheads I could choose from, but I grab him around his waist instead. He pulls me against him as the hot water cascades over both of us. Every bone in my body softens against him.
“Morganna is pretty pissed. You should probably go corral your friend,” I say against is chest. He kisses me on the top of my head, then dips down and kisses my shoulder.
“You just got in here. Can’t I corral you first?” he asks. I shiver. Not from the cold.
His hard-on presses on my stomach and moves. “You’re so responsive,” I say. He cuts me off with his lips on mine. His tongue slides into my mouth and works in and out. I lean up to grab his face in my hands. It’s scruffy beneath my fingertips, so perfectly manly. He slides his fingers very slowly up the sides of my neck and then into my hair.
Morganna’s giggle finds us in the bathroom. Maverick pulls me, super quickly, behind his back. Sure I’m hidden, but Mav and his huge, manly, beautiful dick are on full display for her.
“She’s giggling,” I say quietly.
“She is. In my bedroom,” he replies tersely. I stifle a giggle myself.
Maverick yells, “Not in my bedroom, Stone!” He palms my breasts in his hands a few times, making my nipples stand at attention, and then shakes his head. “Later,” he rasps, even though his eyes say right now.
“Later,” I answer. He grabs a towel off a hook on the wall and wraps it around his waist, in that perfect way guys do. I finish showering, using the sole bottle of soap on my entire body and my hair.
When I enter his room it’s blessedly free of Morganna and Stone. Dressing in a dark red shift dress, because I only have work clothing, I put my hair in a messy side-bun. I brush my teeth, do my makeup, and pray I’ve taken so long that Morganna isn’t here anymore. Maverick hasn’t returned so that’s a bad sign. I’ll be answering to Morg about ignoring all her warnings about Maverick. A phone conversation or even a texting match would be preferable to talking face to face with her about whatever awkwardness this is going to be. I glance at Mav’s bed before I exit the bedroom and I get hot and shiver at the same time. I have a goofy grin plastered on my face when I find Morganna sitting on the couch, tapping furiously on her laptop. She’s talking to someone on her blue tooth, of course.
“I don’t care what she says. She’s the one who got herself into this fucki
ng mess to begin with. I can’t help her if she doesn’t keep her collagen filled duck pout shut.” Morganna pauses her tirade. “Of course you can tell her I said that. I’ll fire her ass, I will.” She looks up and smiles at me when I sit on a chair opposite her. The smile on her face looks insane because of the obviously very brash words coming out of her mouth—Jekyll and Hyde in her element. She clicks off her call without saying goodbye. “They’re in the garage doing whatever it is that men do in garages. Getting dirty, trying to add to their appeal,” she says still typing on the computer. “He did tell me you will be joining us on our trip.” She stops typing and looks directly at me, gauging my reaction or trying to tell how I feel about it. Morganna probably has the same lie detecting skills Maverick does.
“Yeah. I’m bringing him with me to see Kathy first,” I say. Morg knows about my mother. She listened to me whine and complain about not having any family while we were in undergrad. My dad died when I was in my teens, leaving me alone. She also knows about the string of stepfathers. All of this adding up to my foolish trust issues. It’s probably why she’s tried to keep me from dating Maverick. Maybe she thinks he’s just bad news for me, not necessarily in general. “The crazy lady has been calling Gretchen to try to get to me. I may be a lot of things, Morg, but I can’t ignore her if she’s actually asking for me. God knows I’ll regret going, but having Maverick there with me will make it a little better.” She hasn’t stopped staring at me since I first opened my mouth. “What?”
“You’re falling for him,” she says. It’s not a question, just an observation. Like she would tell me the color of my dress, or what she had for breakfast. I look down at my hands folded neatly on my lap. “I already told you I’m done meddling, Windsor. You don’t have to be afraid of what I think. I’m starting to think it’s for the best anyway.” She huffs. “He seems better for it and if I lose one more bet on his expense, my jaw may come unhinged,” she says, smiling a perfect grimace.
It would make me a new brand of crazy if I admit I’m falling for a guy after several dates, I’m more cautious than that, but I can’t deny it. I shrug.
Morganna laughs. “Let’s go get them. I have to get back to my office. Phillipe is probably downing purple pills as we speak. Sometimes I feel like no one does what I want them to,” Morganna says. I have work to get done, too.
“If you want something done,” I muse. She brushes me off.
“I know, I know…do it myself,” she says. “I can’t hold the whole world on my fucking shoulders though.” She laughs a little at her own expense. And it’s in moments like these that I see the old Morganna. The person who would laugh at how serious and mean she’s become.
She leads me down a corridor on the opposite side of the house. I haven’t been on this side. Or upstairs. There are a ton of rooms that need exploring. Naked explorations come to mind. Morganna prattles on about a case she’s working on and how Stone is giving her a hard time about working too much. The subject of my affections for Maverick has fallen off her radar all together. Broaching the subject isn’t in my best interest, so I nix my questions about the rules. Morganna pushes open a heavy door and we walk into the garage.
It looks like a full on, very organized mechanic’s shop in here. Two full garage bays are devoted to tools and random pieces of equipment that I can’t name. Maverick and Stone are standing together talking, their voices low. Their conversation stops completely when we get within earshot. It’s obvious they weren’t doing anything in here, just talking. Maverick smiles. Stone, still exuberant, just stares at me with a creepy gleam in his eye.
“I’m going back to work. Drive me please,” Morganna commands in a sweet voice. I’m not sure why I keep my distance, but I do. It’s not like Morganna and Stone don’t know what we’ve been doing here in his house. Where women don’t go. They know. I want to hug him and kiss him because he’s standing there, in the middle of heavy machinery. I feel like I’m on display. The freak at the sideshow. The one Thomas Maverick Hart let in. They say their goodbyes and with a swift clap on Mav’s back Stone is gone.
Morganna goes to leave, then pauses mid-step. “Rule number one. Don’t forget your pants,” she says. Being Morg, she leaves before I can ask what the hell that is supposed to mean. I shoot a puzzled glare at Maverick. He hikes his shoulders.
“Seriously. You come with rules?” I ask, mortified. His life is different, way different than the average person, but can I really be expected to follow rules? That could be the only possible explanation for Morganna’s statement. Michelle Obama can’t wear shorts. Windsor Forbes has to wear pants. It is ludicrous.
He laughs a rumble of low laughter as he approaches me. He grabs both sides of my face while he traces my lips with both of his thumbs. “No rules. Never any rules with us. Okay?” he says.
“How can I argue with her? I didn’t have on any pants!” I answer.
“With good reason. Stone won’t be making any more surprise visits. I made sure of that. Morganna probably made up a set of damn rules herself,” Maverick says, closing the space between us, trying to reassure me.
Shivers shoot down my spine. I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of his touch. It seems silly to want something so badly that you’ve lived your entire without, yet there it is. Now I’m wondering how I’ll go without it. He seems to be thinking the same thing. He replaces his thumbs with his mouth and kisses me passionately. His hands slide down to rest on the curve at the bottom of my spine.
“Plus, if they were rules for me, number one would be that you never wear any pants,” he says against my lips. “Or anything else for that matter.”
“Fine. I’ll go to work naked,” I joke. “I do have to go check in. Especially if we’re leaving shortly,” I say. I can’t help the smile that hurts my cheeks. I’m so excited to go anywhere with him—to get to know him more. We are officially a couple who vacations. I notice the frown on his face.
“You really have to leave now?” he says. I’ve been around him long enough to realize he’s at his own “office” only when he has to be. It’s either short days, because he went in to work out and shoot, or long days where I have no idea what he did all day and night. I don’t ask, either. He gives me vague answers when I do ask. “Diving.” “Meetings.” “Speed ball.” “I got some new gear.” “Monster Mash.”
Oh, he’s going to make this hard. “I can come back over after…if you want,” I suggest.
“Yes.” He answers quickly.
“You have a lot of house to show me. I haven’t even gotten the official tour yet,” I say. Chewing on my lip, I think of all the things we can do during the tour. He shakes his head, his dimples coming out in full force. It’s like felony assault, I swear it. I lean up and kiss him. “I can’t wait. Goodbye,” I say, leaning over to whisper in his ear.
He cuts me off before I can finish. “Never say goodbye,” he demands. His smile fades. “I’m making my own rules. Never say goodbye. That’s rule number one.”
I nod. “I’ll see you later.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Maverick
COCAINE IS LESS addicting. Windsor fills every waking thought, and my dreams at night? She’s fucking starring in them. The rest of my life is merely subtitles at this point. That’s not necessarily a good thing either. At least all the years of doing nothing except training, or thinking about training will probably kick in. I’m counting on autopilot coming in for the win.
“I swear she is trying to kill me,” Windsor says. She’s sitting in the middle of a pink, frilly bed. We’re at her Mom’s house in Georgia, in Win’s childhood bedroom. Kathy wanted Windsor here because husband number five—I’m not even sure if she’s said his actual name—left her…again. “He’ll be back. He’s gotta come back.” She turns to face me. Her eyes are wild. I know what she’s thinking.
“You don’t live here anymore. She’s not going to ask you stay here. Kathy knows you have a job and a life,” I say. Windsor is like a ball of fucking nerves.
Her leg bounced the entire flight to Atlanta. I tried to get her to join me in the airplane bathroom, but she was too wound up to respond. That’s when I knew this wasn’t just an issue of conflicting personalities. Whatever went down between Windsor and her mother, the scars from it are deep. If it were possible, I felt an even tighter connection with her for it.
She runs her hands through her hair and collapses back onto her bed. A white teddy bear bounces off. It seems Kathy had a hard time letting go, because this bedroom looks like it hasn’t been touched since Windsor left.
“I keep telling myself that. She is a fucking mess, Maverick. She can’t take care of herself. What kind of daughter would I be if I left her here by herself?” she asks. It’s almost rhetorical. We both know what kind of person she is. She’s good.
“I could make some phone calls and see if we could get someone to come over and check on her every day,” I offer.
She shakes her head. “She’s always had a man around. That was always number one for her,” she says sadly. Fuck. Now Windsor looks miserable. I sit on the edge of her bed, feeling a little apprehensive because It’s like I’m sitting on a child’s bed and that’s just fucking weird.
I run my fingers through her hair. I’d take away whatever she’s feeling if I could. God knows I’d take it all away. Because I know what feelings like this do. She hides her face in a fuzzy, heart shaped pillow. I don’t even know what to say. Nothing can fix it. Words aren’t a magic cure for anything. Words only take the sting off the surface. Deep down, everything is still shredded and bleeding and aching.
“I have to stay here,” she says, the pillow muffling her words.
My pulse picks up and I try to calm myself. I’m not mad. I take a deep breath. The rational piece of my brain starts connecting the dots. Being separated from Windsor makes me nervous. My body has an actual physical response to the mere mention of me going and her staying. It is fucking insane.
“I know,” I say. Because I do know. It doesn’t change how I feel. If she didn’t stay, she wouldn’t be the person I fell for. She turns to look at me and a tear slips down her face. I wipe it away with my thumb. She is so God damned beautiful that I can’t stand it. Even in a child’s bed with a red face, she is the only sight I’ve ever been addicted to. I want to look at her and really see her in every possible way. When she’s sad, happy, coming, when she’s angry…I’ll take it all.
The Crazy Good SEAL Series: Books 1-3 Page 13