by Siera London
Trace took her hand in his. Cutler felt a knot form in his gut when Kendall gave the other man a generous smile.
“So, you're at the Historic District Firehouse with Cutler?” she asked.
“For now. I'm training to be an arson investigator, but we already have Nathan as the primary on any suspicious cases. I should be headed your way in a few months. Maybe you can show me around Dallas when I arrive.”
Cutler cleared his throat, not liking how comfortable the conversation flowed between his friend and the woman that had his Levi's fitting like nut crushers.
“Kendall needs to crash at your place. The hotel cancelled her reservation.”
Trace frowned. “No can do, Cut. The guys that live up the Keys had first dibs. Even the kitchen floor will have a sleeping bag. Wish I could help.”
Trace pivoted. “Sorry, Kendall.”
“It's okay, Trace,” she said, placing a light touch to his arm.
Cutler ground his teeth. She flinched if he came near her, but the beast got a feel-me-up. Okay, maybe he was exaggerating, but she hadn't touched him willingly. The whole 'break her fall' thing at the airport didn't count.
“Be safe, man. I'll hit you up in a couple of days,” Cutler said before Trace walked off.
Kendall tilted her head, her gaze following Trace as he exited the bar. What kind of game was she playing? First him, now Trace had her attention. His gut twisted. Cutler thought of his mom, how she used to lead his dad around by the nose. A manipulative woman would never enthrall him.
“He seems nice.”
Cutler grunted at Kendall's assessment.
Spying Claudia, a permanent fixture since the bar's foundation, Cutler signaled the waitress over. “The crowd seems thin tonight.”
Her beehive bobbled with the animated moves of a living, breathing entity as she spoke.
“That's because the boss called this last round.”
He hated asking anyone to take on a complete stranger, but he barely had control of his libido. “I need a favor.”
“Name it, suga'. You know you're family around here.”
That's what Cutler loved about Hobo's. It was more than a bar by design. Rachel and her staff treated their customers like family.
He pulled Kendall from behind his back where she'd listened intently, but remained silent.
“Kendall's a new firefighter in town and she needs a place to hunker down for the storm.”
Claudia, at five foot seven, glanced up at Kendall. “Nice to meet you, Kendall, and welcome to Hobo Alley.”
Kendall laughed and his sex hardened...again. Thank the sweet baby Savior he would be leaving her in Claudia's capable hands.
“Not welcome to Key West, but welcome to the bar?”
“The Keys have a way of creating a unique welcome for each of us. At Hobo Alley, everyday is the same. Good booze, good music, great food, and fantastic people. Next time I see you, suga' you tell me about our Key West welcome.”
Kendall stole a look at him, and then turned away. A hint of pink tinted her cheeks beneath her warmed honey skin.
Cutler took a seat. He watched as Kendall instantly warmed to Claudia's southern wisdom.
“I’ll do just that. So, I'm going home with you, I guess?”
“Nope.” Claudia grinned. “I already have a bed warmer, if you know what I mean.”
He jumped to his feet. “Well, what was all that talk about family for, then?”
“Since you're family I can be honest with you,” she smirked. “I don't have the space. Ask Rachel, maybe she has room at her place.”
He scowled and strode toward the bar where Rachel stood watching his approach with a raised brow. The scrape of Kendall's boots strutting in step with his met his ears. They reached the bar at the same time with Rachel standing behind the wooden counter.
“Hey, Cutler. What can I do you for?”
Thunder rumbled all around them, the bottles littered throughout the establishment rattled a discordant chime. A crack of lighting flashed close by, the illumination similar to a camera flash bulb reflecting in all the glass panes separating Hobo's from the outside world. Rachel's dark eyes danced with merriment, her fire engine red hair giving her the appearance of a Valkyrie.
“Hi, I'm Kendall Raine and Cutler wants you to take me off his hands.”
Cutler tried not to wince when Rachel tossed him a disapproving glare.
“You look harmless,” Rachel mused.
Kendall stiffened at his side. Out of the corner of his eye he regarded her. The pulse at her neck jumped in an erratic beat. What was up with this woman? One minute she laughed and joked, and the next she looked ready to do battle. He could read her change in mood, but he didn't understand the cause.
Cutler ran his fingers through his hair, puzzling out the best approach to getting Kendall home with Rachel.
“I didn't say she was dangerous.”
The woman fancied herself a matchmaker. His best friend, Nathan, had met his wife, Symphony Porter at Hobo Alley. She was the waitress at their table Nathan's first night back in town from Dallas Fire and Rescue. For weeks, Cutler had tried to gain Symphony's affections. One look at Nathan and she'd hitched her wagon to the investigator. Even though, Nathan had arrested her under suspicion of arson, somehow they still made it to the altar and were expecting their first child.
“As long as you're not in harm's way, Cutler, Kendall can go home with you.”
Sure he had enough supplies at his place, but stuck in the house with Kendall for possibly two days was the opposite of safe. His hospitality stopped at sleepovers with his fellow female firefighter who had a body made for wrapping around a man.
“Ah...I'm willing to sleep here in the bar,” Kendall said.
Cutler let his annoyance show. “You're not staying in the bar alone and sleeping on the floor.”
She shrugged. “I've slept in worse.”
“Not on my watch.”
The three of them fell silent. Rachel was up to something. He glanced at Kendall, wondering if she felt the undercurrents flowing between them. Why was he so in tune to this woman? He didn't believe for a minute that she wanted to stay in the bar alone during a storm. He sensed a sadness in her. Was she upset that he was trying to get rid of her? He looked at her, taking in her impassive expression. If he took her home could he keep his hands off her? They were about to find out.
“Come on, let's go home,” he heard himself say.
Kendall's eyes flashed with pleasure. He found he liked seeing her happy. Had she worried he'd leave her stranded?
They were almost to the door when Rachel called his name.
“Your future is full of surprises that your past will help you claim, Cutler.”
Kendall leaned into him. “What does that mean?”
“It means Rachel is playing fairy godmother again. We're stuck together for the next two days, and I'm going to need a lot of cold showers.”
“I can stay out of your way. I won't make anything hard for you, Cutler.”
He took her by the elbow as they exited the bar and walked out in the storm.
“It already is.”
Chapter Four
Cutler's place was cozy and masculine. A futon sofa sat in the middle of the room. A cross-section of an oak tree with a heavy layer of clear varnish served as the coffee table. Mega was too small of a word to describe the television.
“The bedroom is to the right. It's the only one, so you'll sleep there. I'll take the couch.”
Was he for real? Beck would never make a sacrifice for her comfort. What would Cutler's kindness cost her later?
Mind still whirling from his kind gesture, Kendall reveled in her seemingly good luck of the draw. So much of her life had gone wrong in the past three years.
“Your eyes are beautiful,” she heard him say.
Just that simple compliment put her on alert. Would he demand she strip for him now? Adrenaline spiked in her blood stream. Or would he try to shove her do
wn to her knees before him? She'd rather spend the night in jail, after the cops hauled her away for punching him in the biscuits, before she did either.
“They glow with the slightest act of kindness.”
“Kindness is a gift, Cutler.”
And there she was, happy he’d brought her home and offered up his bed. Indeed, it was a good deed from a good man.
“I'm not arguing the point, but—”
Kendall glanced over her shoulder, not wanting to hear him say anything to undo the magic.
“You mind if I hang out in here on the couch for a little while?” She needed open space. After the flight in a tin can-sized airplane and the truck ride, the bedroom could wait.
Cutler lifted his hat from his head, ruffled his hair, and wiggled the cap back into place. Why was it everything he did turned her to putty? It was just hair. Hair she wanted to run her fingers through, as he...stop it.
“Sure thing, Kendall.”
He reached for her suitcase...again. What was with him and carrying her luggage? After three years of marriage to Beck, she could even have sex by herself. Something she'd never imagined would be her fate as a new bride.
“I can do it, Cutler.”
Cutler pulled both hands back and jammed them into his pockets. “There's no doubt in my mind that you can take care of yourself, but while you're in my home, I'm asking you to let me help.”
Gosh, was she being that difficult? Did he see her as some ultra feminist that was so focused on proving her independence that she refused help from a man? Before she'd met Beck, having a man assist her with her chair or a door had been flattering. During her marriage, she’d learned through blood, bruises, and broken bones that accepting anything came at a cost. Refusing anything carried a higher toll.
Lifting the bag, she hesitated before handing it to him. “Thank you...for everything.”
Taking the bag he gave her a roguish grin in exchange. “My pleasure,” he said, raking down her body in a leisurely eye patrol.
“Is there anything else I can help you with?”
A groan was on the tip of her tongue. She thought they had agreed to play nice.
“Behave.” Please…because I want to be so bad with you.
“Why...being naughty is much more fun.”
That earned him a stern glower, which he responded to with a teasing grin. He snagged her backpack from her shoulder and carried both bags toward her bedroom for the night.
Against her better judgment Kendall watched the graceful glide of his masculine frame. “I thought we both agreed us hooking up was a bad idea.”
He paused, catching her in his languid blue stare, “We did, but I never promised I would stop trying to change your mind.”
Lust heated his eyes and she curled her fingers into fists, pressing her nails into her palms, and nailing her feet in place. That ocean breeze scent that was uniquely Cutler’s seemed to flare like a fire that had located a new energy source, beckoning her to walk into his arms. He waited a heartbeat, and then he was gone. When he disappeared behind the partially open door, she grabbed the back of the futon to steady herself. It was obvious she wanted him. Would he push her to give in? What would he do if she didn't? She felt Beck's hand close around her throat, the weight of his bulky body pinning her down.
“Hey...Kendall...” Cutler stood in the doorway, the space made narrow by his broad shoulders. His voice held a whisper of concern a second before he moved in her direction.
She drug her eyes up. They locked with his. He must have registered the rising sense of panic churning inside her because he stopped dead in his tracks.
“You okay?”
She swallowed her mental rankings. He’d only shown her kindness and it was unfair of her to project old records onto a new player, but…she had to ask.
“Cutler are you sure it’s safe for me to be here alone with you?” Her thoughts were scattered. If he were dependent on Kendall's self control, they would be in bed together before the stroke of midnight.
He stared at her, his brows pulled low over his eyes. “I joke around a lot, Kendall, but I wouldn’t take anything you didn't offer first. You feel me?”
Oh, he remained across the room, but she felt him. And could smell him, and the rake of his touch against her skin sent shivers up her spine, like back at the airport terminal.
“I feel you,” she whispered.
He studied her. His posture that of a hunter sizing up its prey. There was not one physical characteristic about this man that said, I’m a safe haven for troubled women. Quite the opposite in fact. when Kendall regarded his wickedly handsome features and the body belonging to a god, she was sure everything about Cutler Stevens spelled trouble for most females.
“I bet you do.” He walked past her. “Have a seat while I cook us up some dinner.”
She breathed easy. “I could help,” she chimed in.
“Nope, you stay right there and keep feeling me.”
“That's not what I meant, Cutler.”
“Oh, darlin', you are a terrible liar.”
Beck used to say the same thing before he closed their bedroom door, trapping her inside with him.
***
Cutler’s kitchen was small, but modern with oak and glass cabinets, brushed nickel hardware, and twin enamel sinks.
A dinette set would dwarf the space, so two wooden stools with cushioned seats were parked opposite the kitchen at the Travertine counter. He'd cooked several dishes just in case they lost electrical power during the night. He wanted Kendall to have a full dinner and breakfast. Platters with eggs, bacon strips, baked chicken tenders, and broiled Hogfish filets with sliced potatoes, the local island favorite, covered the counter top. He pulled a bag of broccoli from the microwave and a wooden bowl with a spinach salad from the fridge.
“Wow,” Kendall said staring at the mini-feast. “How many people are you expecting to ride the storm out with us?”
“I like to be prepared. I have a Yeti cooler stocked with drinks and plenty of ice. I can keep you well-fed if we loose power.” He could keep her satisfied in a number of ways if she’d let down her guard.
Cutler wiped his hands on the plaid dishtowel buttoned to the oven door handle. “Make yourself a plate. I want to stock your room with a couple of flashlights, a few jar candles, and a crank-powered radio.”
“You've thought of everything, Jim Cantori.”
Cutler laughed. “Those guys on the Weather Channel only have a Parka and a microphone. At least let me be one of the Storm Chasers with a crew, equipment, and a camera.”
He could definitely envision them in a man versus nature scenario. Protecting her soft curves from the elements, maybe a few scrapes he could kiss the ouch away…or rub the ache from—. His name on her lips disrupted Cutler’s thoughts. He shook his head, clearing his motherboard…not really. Had Kendall noticed the direction of his thoughts? He glanced in her direction. Lips glistened with moisture, her pulse jumped in her neck, and she was holding her breath. Heck yeah she’d noticed, and was in the eye of the storm with him. Awareness and desire sparked between them.
“Fine, you win,” Kendall blurted out.
He’d relaxed a hip against the counter, studying her. Her eyes widened at the bulge in his jeans.
“Do those wandering eyes of yours mean I'm going to get lucky?”
“Nope, nope,” she insisted. “You're luck has run out in that department.” She threw her hands up and took a step backwards.
He shrugged. “You know…hands up generally means you’ve surrendered.” He grinned when she gasped. “Be back in a minute, darlin’. Plates are in the cabinet next to the stove.”
Cutler didn’t wait. Instead he collected the hurricane supplies as Kendall oriented herself to the kitchen, gathering plates and utensils for two. Though the storm wasn’t predicted to reach hurricane strength winds, his preparations would work in any scenario.
“Hmm,” came from the kitchen.
He looked up from t
he console beneath the television when she didn't say anything further.
“You need something?” he called out.
“Surprisingly, no.”
Her voice sounded far away. Was she shocked to find a bachelor with a full compliment of kitchen accessories?
“Did you expect paper plates, a chipped mug, and a fridge full on longnecks?”
“I admit, the well organized cabinets and the set of everyday china caught me off guard.”
With supplies in hand, he stood and strode to the closed bedroom door along the same wall. “I'm thirty-two, not twenty-two.”
She gestured to her heart. “I meant no disrespect. Count it to my head, not my heart.”
“I’d accept a kiss as a first step toward an apology.”
She laughed. It was the sweetest sound to his ears. He sensed Kendall hadn’t laughed a lot in her life.
“Get over it, cowboy.”
Smiling she continued to fumble in the cabinets, not looking at him.
“You wound me, darlin’.”
“As if I ever could.”
He stared at the crown of her head as she bent over an empty plate. Cutler knew she had the power to hurt him, even though she wouldn't let him get close. Maybe, it was because she kept him at a distance when others never had.
When he joined her at the counter, there were two plates loaded down with a little of everything he'd prepared. She'd made his plate. When was the last time a woman that he brought home had prepared a plate for him?
He stared at her. Who was Kendall Raine, really? Even his friend's wives didn't make their husband's plate. “Thanks.”
“You're welcome.” She gave him a shy smile and he suspected she drew pleasure from caring for him, even if it was in a small way.
Kendall claimed one of the stools at the counter, but Cutler hesitated.
“What...” she said, with a fork full of salad suspended in mid-air. “Is it okay for me to sit here?”
He felt like a heel. He wanted her to be comfortable with him. “Sure...it's just, I usually eat in front of the television.”
He wanted her to join him. It would feel weird to have her at his back. Him facing the tube and her staring at the stove.