by Amanda Perry
My hope of Syn being the only one to keep my attention was destroyed when Maverick, Marak, and Allistar showed up like my three knights in shining armor, or maybe dorks in tin foil, but either way, it was sweet of them to rush over. It was perfect timing with the phone call I got.
Maverick had a murderous glint in his eyes when he realized McCreepearson was threatening me. My heart gives a hard squeeze at his protectiveness. A few other things give a squeeze when his arms flex, and he gave me several playful glares throughout the evening. My imagination went wild with ideas of how I could get that playfulness to come out in other ways.
My stupid, deprived body decided lust for two crazy hot men wasn’t enough. Allistar took care of me, held me when I cried. He didn’t call me a sissy for my freak-out. Even though my tears soaked his shirt, he didn’t utter a single complaint. He simply made sure I was okay. He managed to convince me to go along with this crazy idea and he did it in a sexy way.
Marak had to go and be sweet and flirty with me. He’s the only one who has a nickname for me. He calls me Red because of my auburn red hair, and I kind of like it. His humor mixed with his reassurance draws me in, and I don’t want to leave his side. While we sat next to each other on the couch, I wanted to take off the beanie he always wears and run my hands over his light brown hair. The small bit of hair that peeks out from the beanie tempts me. Would it be long enough to give a good tug? It would be a fun game to find out. Even though he never stops talking, he manages to make me feel at ease. My skin still burns where he drew soothing circles on my back. My shirt prevented skin-on-skin contact, but it didn’t stop me from wishing we had a lot more body parts and skin in contact.
Spending more than twenty minutes under the same roof with the four of them might be the end of me or the end of my irritatingly long dry spell. We’re all adults, in age at least. If they’re not attached to anyone, why can’t I have fun? Evelyn always tells me to go for it. Maybe this time I’ll take her advice. It isn’t as if I’d break any sort of law or make any commitments. It would be like scratching an itch.
My resolve hardens. If one of them shows the same interest in me as I have in them, I won’t say no to some fun. If Michelle were here, she’d be suggesting that one of them could be my happy ending.
11
Taylor
“You’re a dirty cheater, Red.” Marak throws his cards down on the table. He grabs his soda can and chugs the last little bit. “I’m not playing with you anymore. You’ve probably got an ace in your bra.”
Marak was chosen to stay the night with me. No one explained to me how it was decided, but by the time I got back to the living room with blankets and pillows, Maverick and Allistar were ready to head out. There was a small pang of disappointment when I had to say goodbye to them, just as there was when Syn left with Grumpy, but the excitement of time with Marak dispelled any grouchiness.
One delivered pizza, four beers, two sodas, and a few hours later, the two of us find ourselves playing cards on the floor of my living room. Something new about Marak came to light in the last few rounds of our game—he’s a horrible loser. He really gets pissy about it. I find it hilarious and adorable. He doesn’t think it’s as funny as I do, and he throws popcorn at me every time I laugh at his frustration.
“Marak.” I snort, desperate to keep the giggles in. “It’s Go Fish. An ace wouldn’t do me any good, and it’s really not a hard game.”
He harrumphs and crosses his arms. My attention leaves his icy gray eyes, traveling down to his torso. He isn’t as built as Maverick or Allistar, but he has a bit more bulk than Syn. None of the guys are small, and none of them are weak. It’s clear they take great care of their bodies, giving me something fun to stare at. “Are you even listening to me?”
“Huh?” Whatever he said went right over my head while my focus was on his body. Luckily, he’s too bitchy to notice where my attention was.
“I said we should try a different game.”
I bark out a hard laugh. “We’ve tried poker, gin, war, and go fish. You’ve said the same thing about all of them. Maybe you should just admit failure and call it a night.”
“I’ll never admit defeat.” His eyes narrow. “But it is late, we might want to think about sleeping.”
“Not a bad idea. I have to be up early to pack my stuff, anyway.”
Hopping to my feet, I stretch my hands over my head and yawn. Marak’s eyes travel slowly down my body, with a quick pause where my shirt rides up to show a small bit of skin, then continues down to my legs. Maybe the leggings that hug every curve were a bad idea. Or a good idea, depending on what he thinks.
A thought occurs to me and takes any heat from my body. When was the last time I shaved my damn legs? My first night home, I’d taken an hour-long bath and pampered myself, but since then, I don’t think I’ve touched my legs. Unless Marak has a thing for Chewbacca, he can’t come near me right now. Not that he would want to, but why risk it?
“Okay, you have the blankets and stuff. You know where everything is, help yourself if you need anything. I’ll see you in the morning.” My words leave in a rush as I back down the hallway.
Marak frowns at my odd retreat. My door swings closed with him in the same spot, scratching the back of his neck and arching a brow.
Thank the architect who designed this place for the Jack and Jill style bathroom. One door leads in from the hallway, but it can easily be locked. I can avoid Marak by using the entrance from my bedroom. Clearly, I need a long, cold shower and a thorough shave. Maybe I’ll dry my hair, too. It doesn’t make a huge difference when I use the blow dryer, but it adds a bit of shine to my long auburn waves.
My hair came from my mother’s side of the family, as did most of my features. I refuse to say that woman gave anything to me. My looks came from Grumpy and Grammy, not my mom. My whole life, my Grammy told me my mother and I could be twins. She showed me pictures of my mom as a baby, a young child, an older kid, and a teen. Our pictures compared side-by-side would be hard for anyone to tell apart. The only thing my biological father gave me was my hazel green eyes. Grumpy met my father one time before I was born. He said my eyes are exactly the same as my father’s.
While in the shower, my mind wanders to the phone calls from my mother. She heard from someone that I was fine, and she started calling around my third day home. She left a few messages before she gave up, probably realizing I wasn’t going to answer her. She didn’t ask about my safety; she didn’t want to know if I needed her. She only wanted to know if there were any new rich men in my life she could steal from or hustle money out of. She phrased it in a more covert way, of course, but the intent was clear—Mommy needs her special juice, and she’s drained all of her resources.
Somehow, the two most amazing people in the entire world managed to raise one of the worst. My father had a lot to do with her downward spiral. He got her into drugs and alcohol in her teens. Grumpy and Grammy tried their hardest to get her help, but she refused. When she turned eighteen there was nothing they could do legally to help her. Luckily, they could take me from her, though. If they couldn’t save her, they would at least save me. For a while they hoped she’d turn her life around for me, but you can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped.
Maybe some girls would want their mother to come back into their lives and become the perfect mom. It isn’t something I ever wanted, though. Grammy was the best mother figure any girl could ever hope for, and I never wanted for anything or anyone more. My upbringing was average to most, but it was perfect in my eyes.
By the time I climb into bed, hair blown dry and legs smooth, my mind won’t stop racing. While I manage to push thoughts of my birth parents out of my mind, a million other things jump forward, demanding to be sorted through. All I want to do is sleep; I love sleep. But too many things are happening all at once, and as hard as I try, I can’t sort through them and find some serenity.
The clock on my phone reads four in the morning, and my irritati
on grows. Tomorrow will be a busy day, and I fully admit I’m a bitch if I don’t get enough sleep.
While I could stay in bed and ruin my covers with my tossing and turning, I decide to head to the kitchen for a drink instead. It may help my mind calm the hell down and allow me to sleep finally. With Marak on my couch, going slow and quiet is the polite thing to do. My steps are small, measured, and slightly exaggerated. Sneaking around my house isn't exactly a hobby of mine, but I’ve seen enough spy movies. I manage to clear the hallway and nearly reach the kitchen when a floorboard under my foot creaks loudly. I freeze in place and wait to see if Marak wakes up.
"Maybe I should start calling you Thunder Foot instead of Red." Marak's voice doesn't sound sleepy at all, and I have a sneaking suspicion he hasn't slept yet either.
Deflating from my tense ninja position, I spin and flip on the hall light. "My sleuthing skills are a little rusty."
"What are you doing sneaking around your own house?" Marak sits up, dropping one foot to the floor and folding the other in front of him as he sits sideways on the couch. The blanket covering him pools around his waist, his bare torso on display.
My mouth dries up, and all coherent thoughts leave me. Marak may not be the bulkiest out of his group of friends, but his smooth, muscled chest and abs cause my heart rate to speed up. He doesn’t have any hair on his chest or stomach. The urge to check the rest of his body for hair, or lack thereof, nearly overwhelms me.
“You okay, Red?”
His words snap me back from the dirty path my mind was going, and I force my gaze up to meet his icy gray stare. “Ah, yeah. I was just getting water.”
His brows shoot up. “Water? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink water.”
His surprise at my choice of beverage brings out a grin. “I already brushed my teeth for the night. I don’t feel like doing it again, so I have to stick with water. It’s difficult, but I’ll manage for one night.”
“Remind me to stock our fridge with the pretty silver and red cans you love so much.” He winks, and I smirk.
“Probably a good idea if you guys want any hope of living through the next... however long I’ll be there.” As I talk, I head to the fridge and grab a bottle of water then hold it up, silently asking if he wants one. He shakes his head.
With a quick twist, the cap pops off, and I stroll over to the couch. My dramatic plop down to face him brings out a chuckle. I turn my body to match Marak’s position with one leg bent in front of me and the other foot on the floor. “Can’t sleep either, huh?”
“Too wound up,” he admits, stretching his arms above his head, his body on display once again. He probably does it on purpose, to light my body on fire from my core out. His eyes close as he stretches, and when they open again, the innocence of his move shows. His beanie is now gone, and I can make out his light brown hair, longer than I expected. It parts to the side naturally and falls to his chin, though he continues to push it back and out of his eyes. Maybe the length is the reason he wears the beanie, but I happen to love how long it is. My hands itch to run over his hair and down his body, satisfying my curiosity of how it would feel.
He has no freaking idea what he’s doing to me. “Yeah, me too.”
“What’s on your mind?”
I shake my head, not sure where to start. “You first.”
He shrugs. “Just can’t sleep when I’m supposed to be on watch. It’s a habit, I guess.”
“I don’t need a babysitter, Marak.” My defensive side rears its ugly head.
“I know, calm yourself, woman.” He holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m not watching you, I’m watching for the bad guys. I don’t want to get caught off guard by them either.”
“Oh.” A blush stains my cheeks at my overreaction. Hoping to change the subject, I say the first thing that pops into my head, “So, if we can’t sleep what should we do?” Marak wiggles his eyebrows and gives me a wicked smile, making me laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”
“So, I’ve been told.”
“By who?”
“By you, just now.” He smirks as I roll my eyes.
A moment of silence passes between us, but it isn’t awkward. Marak makes any situation comfortable. It’s the humor he adds to everything or how comfortable he is to hang out with and do nothing.
“Do you have a wife or a girlfriend?” The question pops out of my mouth before my brain can tell me to shut the hell up. It’s a toss-up if Marak is more shocked than me by my bold question. His eyes widen into saucers, mirroring my own.
He doesn’t respond for a few long, horrifying seconds. At first, the thought of running away to hide under a rock appeals to me, but he finally decides to do something other than gape. “I don’t have a wife or a girlfriend.” His surprise morphs into mild curiosity. His eyebrows lower from his hairline and his lips twitch with amusement. “Do you think I’d be hanging out on your couch if I did?”
His question makes sense, but it never occurred to me until he asked. “It’s part of your job, isn’t it?”
“No, Red.” He shakes his head slowly, his eyes burning into mine. “It’s not at all just part of the job. We could easily have left you here with the cop out front as your security. We had nothing but a fucked-up phone call as evidence the guy was close to you. For me and my team, it’s enough. For the rest of the bureau, it’s not jack shit to go on.”
In other words, they decided to go above and beyond the call of duty in order to keep me safe. They take their work seriously. It does make me wonder how many girls they’ve done things like this for. My stomach twists when I think of them hanging out with a bunch of girls, sleeping on their couches and flirting with them.
“Taylor.” My name brings my eyes up to meet Marak’s. “It’s not something we do on a regular basis. And we sure as hell never asked a girl to stay with us so we can protect her.”
The ability to hide my inner turmoil clearly isn’t my strong suit. Marak basically read my mind, and I didn’t say a damn word. “I’m not sure I understand this whole situation, to be honest with you. You guys aren’t responsible for me. Why go out of your way?”
He opens his mouth, then closes it again a few times before finally choosing his words. “I have no clue. I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”
My ladylike scoff earns me a laugh. He leans forward, giving my bare knee a playful squeeze. My gaze drops to his hand, and he freezes his movements. He doesn’t remove his hand, and I don’t stop him from running his fingers up a few inches to my thigh and drawing light patterns across my skin.
After my shower, I slipped on some thin cotton sleep shorts and a matching white tank top. It kills me to be overly warm while I sleep, so most of my pajamas consist of thin materials and little fabric. Even in the dead of winter, I wear the same thing to sleep.
The touch of Marak’s hand on my skin sets my body on fire. It isn’t a shy blush kind of heat, more of a sex-deprived inferno.
“I’m curious.” Marak’s voice is deeper than before. My eyes bounce up to find his playfulness has changed to a lustful glint. He doesn’t break our eye contact as his hand inches farther up my leg, and he leans closer to me, bringing his lips to my ear to whisper, “Is it true you don’t have a boyfriend, Red?”
Words elude me, but I manage a small shake of my head.
“Thank fuck for that.” His lips come to rest on the side of my neck, and he takes a deep breath. “You smell so good, like sugar and vanilla. Makes me want to find out if you taste as sweet.”
My heart picks up speed, as does my breathing. When he gets no response from me, at least no verbal response, Marak continues to drop hot little open-mouthed kisses down my neck. He nips lightly at my shoulder, and I whimper. “Hmm, is that a hot spot for you, Red?”
The only reply I manage is a long shaky hum as he repeats the move. “If I keep exploring, will I find more hot spots on your sexy, little body?”
“Maybe,” I breathe out, dropping my hand to his knee, a despera
te attempt to gain some composure as he shifts closer, and the blanket falls away. Had I known he was only in a pair of boxer briefs, I might have taken the blanket away sooner.
Marak laughs quietly against my shoulder. “This could take a while. Maybe you should make yourself more comfortable.” He pulls back, and it takes the last ounce of self-control I have to not grab him by his neck and pull him back to me.
“How would you suggest I do that?” With the few inches of distance between us, my wits come back a bit as does my bravado.
If the small twinkle in Marak’s eye is any indication, he noticed my change in mindset. “Oh, I can think of a few good ways.”
“Do tell.” One brow arches as I smirk at him.
“I’d rather show you.” Faster than my mind can comprehend, Marak grabs me by the hips and pulls me down on the couch, lying flat on my back. I gasp in surprise as his body covers mine, and he gives me a panty-dropping smile.
My control snaps, and my hand snakes around the back of his neck, pulling his mouth down to mine. Marak doesn’t hesitate. He nips at my bottom lip, taking full advantage of the quick breath I suck in. The two of us fight for dominance over the kiss, neither willing to concede. His right hand tangles in my hair, holding me at an angle that gives him better access to my mouth. His left hand creeps slowly up from my hip to the curve of my breast.
My hands can’t find a spot to rest. They run from his bare shoulders, down to his hips, over his tight ass, then back up again. When I fulfill my dream of giving his hair a good tug, his hips buck into mine, and he groans low and loud. Satisfaction bursts in my chest. He may be finding several hot spots for me, but I found one of his. I intend to use it. One more tug and his hand tightens around my breast.