First to Fight Box Set: Books 1-5

by Nicole Blanchard

  A stack of paper plates tilts in the trash, so I bag it up first and set it outside the back door. Based on the ruins in the adjoining dining room, I’ll have another bag to go along with it to the dumpster outside. After I root around the drawers for some plastic wrap, I cover the leftovers and stow them in the fridge. I’m just wiping the counters when a feminine squeak interrupts me, and I find Faith standing in the doorway with two coffee cups in her hands.

  “What are you doing?” she asks as she comes to my side. Her eyes scan the clean kitchen, and my neck prickles.

  “Nothing.” I fold the towel and place it on the counter before putting space between us. I can remember all too clearly just what she tastes like—strawberries and cream from the pie they served for dessert—and all I can think about is getting just one more bite.

  “Did you clean up in here?” She steps around me to make room for her coffee cups in the dishwasher and then turns it on.

  I shrug in lieu of answering, hunt down a clean cup, and fill it with eggnog. There's only a little left, which means her grandpa must have snuck some earlier. I have to hand it to this family—I've only been here a couple hours and I haven't been bored.

  She stops me with a hand on my arm, and I glance back without a word, my eyebrows raised. Her hand goes back to her side and she bites her bottom lip and says, “I’m sorry. About earlier.”

  I stiffen before I realize she means kissing me in front of everyone, not just kissing me. I don’t know if I'm relieved or not, so I settle for dismissive. “It’s fine.” Besides, I'm so distracted by the lip between her teeth I can barely see straight.

  “I’m sorry she—Aunt Marie, your Secret Santa—didn’t get you a real present. She can be a real . . . pain sometimes. She does this every year.” Faith gestures with her hands as she talks a little too fast.

  The nervous gesture causes the corner of my lip to tip up before I can stop it. “It’s not a big deal.”

  She’s also shifting from foot to foot, which is adorable. The sight of her nerves excites me a little too much. I shouldn’t like making her nervous. The empty room I found solace in now makes me feel claustrophobic. I turn and leave her staring after me as I go to the back door, put on my jacket, and pick up the two trash bags.

  “Hey!” she exclaims from behind me. “You’re a guest. Let me get that.”

  I pull the bag just out of her reach as she extends a hand. “I have it.”

  She doesn’t agree and wrestles one bag away from me. “It’s not that. You shouldn’t be cleaning up. We invited you to our party. Why aren’t you in there watching the movie?”

  I shrug, letting her carry the lighter of the two, and walk down the short walk to where the large, green trashcan is. After I toss my bag in, I roll my shoulders. “Holidays . . . aren't really my thing. I’m just here for Peter.”

  She throws her own bag away, starts back up the steps, but then twists to look at me. “Aren’t you coming?”

  I shake my head, spot a grouping of outdoor furniture, and cross to it. I've had months of physical therapy with my prosthetic leg, but it's always a struggle when I forget it's not a real limb and move too fast. The way my heart is hammering in my chest, if I don't take it easy I'll make a fool of myself in front of this girl and that's the last thing I want to do.

  “I’m okay out here. Think I’ll get some air.” When I don’t hear the door open and shut, I look and find her sitting down on the glider next to me. “What are you doing?”

  “It’s Christmas Eve,” she says, as though it’s as simple as that. I wish I could explain just how complicated real life is, but I keep my mouth shut. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

  “The only reason you need to stay is if you plan on kissing me again.” I say it as a joke, but it doesn't come out like one.

  She sucks in a surprised little breath but doesn’t move to get up to run away like I thought she would. She shocks me by throwing her head back laughing. “Okay, Scrooge.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Oh, c’mon. You know I only did that to help my parents. Besides, I spoke to them, and we’re planning to take you out to dinner tomorrow after we do presents and everything to apologize.”

  I shoot her a glance out of the corner of my eye, a frown pulling at my lips. “Why?” I ask.

  “Because it’s a holiday,” she says.

  I give up trying to understand her and just keep my mouth shut. If she wants to sit out here in the cold, humoring a miserable bastard, that’s her prerogative. Leaning my head back, I stare at the clear, dark sky and try to ignore her soft floral perfume.

  Faith shivers, but for whatever reason, she doesn’t move. I curse under my breath and shrug out of the leather jacket. “Here.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “Take it,” I interrupt.

  She does with a grateful smile and slips her arms inside with a moan of relief. “Thanks. I didn’t realize it was so cold out here.”

  I grunt in answer, but she doesn’t seem to get the message.

  “What are you doing now that you aren’t in the Marines?”

  “You don’t have to do this.”

  She turns, and her lips tip down into a frown. “Do what?”

  “Pretend to want to get to know me. I appreciate the gesture, but it’s unnecessary. I don’t want to be anyone’s charity case.”

  Her eyes go bright, and she presses those lips into a line before saying, “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

  “If it is, I’m just giving you an out.”

  “I’m an adult. If I wanted an out, I’d take one.”

  Silence falls as we listen to the steady drip, drip, drip of melted snow on the rooftops from the trees overhead. At some point, I rock the glider back and forth.

  After a few heavy minutes of silence, she says, “I don’t have an ulterior motive here. Maybe I’m just being nice.”

  “Do you think I need you to be nice?”

  “I think what you need is a good kick in the ass.” Her tense tone makes me turn to face her, and my prosthetic bumps her leg. She doesn’t seem to notice as she goes on. “All I was trying to do was be nice to you. It’s what nice people do, and it’s Christmas!”

  She seems to catch herself yelling, and she jerks back with a stunned look on her face. She looks so horrified I can’t help but laugh. After a second, her expression breaks and she joins me.

  She smacks my shoulder with an open hand. “You’re such an ass.”

  I shrug again because it’s probably true. “Wanna kiss and make it all better?”

  “That’s the second time you’ve asked me to kiss you again. I’m thinking you can’t get enough.”

  There’s a pause, and then I say, “Maybe I can’t,” which surprises the hell out of us both.

  Faith

  “Oh, shut up,” I say and shove at his shoulder. “Don’t be mean.” To cover my nerves and my shyness, I get to my feet and tug him to a standing position. “Come inside and watch the movie. It’s freakin’ freezing out here.”

  Despite his assurances that he wants to be alone, I know, bone-deep, that he wants anything but to be alone. No one ever wants that. I know I hate it. Even when it’s what I tell everyone I need, it’s usually a lie.

  What he needs is hot chocolate and Christmas carols. They solve all problems and heal all wounds.

  At least, I hope they will for a little while. In my experience, it's often those little moments we rely on when things get bad. If I can give him one night of hope, then it will be worth it. When my dad was deployed, the only thing mom said he looked forward to was our silly traditions. Things to remind him that life wasn't all blood and death. Since Scott doesn't have family, he doesn't have any bright spots to pull him out of the darkness. I may not be family, but I could be his friend.

  With his hand still in mine, I pull him into the kitchen, where I keep a wary eye on him as I fix us both a hot chocolate with a generous helping of marshmallows. The mo
vie is only a quarter of the way through, so there will be plenty of time to cheer him up.

  I glance around the shadowed living room, finding my family absorbed in the screen. Grandpa is asleep in one of the rocking chairs, clothed, thank God. My parents snuggle against each other on one end of the couch and three of my cousins take up the other. Various aunts and uncles dot the rest of the furniture.

  The only thing left is the oversized chair, which is at such a horrible angle we’ll only be able to see part of the screen. It’s more than enough for one person, but for two it’ll be a tight fit.

  Before I can suggest he take the chair and I’ll sit on the floor, Scott tugs at my hand and pulls me in its direction. My heart stops in my throat, but I follow him, picking through the blankets and pillows and bodies littering the floor. He sits on the chair and tugs me down next to him so my legs are resting on his lap and my back is against the arm.

  “Are you sure this is okay?” I hope my voice doesn't sound as husky to him as it does to me.

  “You’ve already molested my lips and stalked me," he points out. "I don’t think a little bit of snuggling will hurt us.”

  “See if I get you anything for Christmas next year,” I say with a teasing grin and focus my attention on the movie. I definitely don’t focus on how his body feels pressed against me, or how damn good he smells, or how much I want to crawl the rest of the way onto his lap and repeat his Christmas present.

  After ten minutes, I’ve given up the movie as hopeless and am out of hot chocolate, which I drank so fast I nearly burned my tongue. I’ve seen the movie a thousand times, and I can’t lose myself in it anymore. God, why did I suggest he come and watch the movie? Why did I give in and let him pull me into his lap? I should have let the man go home like he wanted. Feeling him around me and not being able to touch him like my body is screaming for me to do is pure torture.

  I feel him press closer and he whispers, “Is this supposed to make it all better?”

  I stiffen to stop the shivers coursing through me, and I hope he can’t feel them; though, I know he probably can. “What do you mean?”

  “Holidays and movies and hot chocolate. I was just wondering. Do people think this changes things? In the rest of the world?”

  My reply, whatever it is, sticks in the back of my throat. I want to say yes, because simple things make me happy. But I remember that the length below his knee is metal instead of flesh and bone. The things he’s seen and done in no way compare to my experiences. I must be dense to think holidays and movies and hot chocolate erase those horrors for him.

  “No,” I intone. “It doesn’t change anything.”

  The arm behind my shoulders shifts, and his fingers sift through my hair. “You should have left me outside. I’m not good company.”

  “Even Scrooge warmed up after a while. You need time. Besides, you haven't even finished your hot chocolate.”

  He moves again, and then his lips are at my ear. “Gonna warm me up?”

  My face heats and I’m grateful for the darkness so he can’t see my reaction to him. “Stop.”

  His low chuckle surrounds me. Even though the room is full of members of my family, the darkness makes it feel as if it’s just the two of us. “You’re the one who kissed me, remember?”

  “You know why I did that,” I hiss back.

  “I would have been happy with a card, but whatever you say.”

  “A lot of guys would love a kiss from me.”

  “Hmmm,” is all he responds.

  Focusing on the movie is close to impossible as his fingers brush against my neck with each stroke through my hair. I’ve been sitting as straight as possible so our bodies don’t brush more than they must, but as the minutes eke by, the tension in my muscles melts away, and I lean against his arm, my head on his shoulder and my hands on his chest.

  I’ve never felt so unsettled and so comfortable with a man at the same time—which is completely out of character for me, especially considering that we just met. Part of me wants to pull him down to continue the kiss and the other part wants to flee to the other side of the room where the air isn’t scented with the alluring traces of his cologne.

  “You aren’t falling asleep, are you?” he whispers after a few minutes.

  I put a hand over my mouth to smother a yawn. “No, of course not.”

  He pulls his phone out of his pocket and checks the time. “I should probably be going.”

  That perks me right up. “You’re leaving? The movie isn’t even over yet.”

  “I don’t think either of us was paying attention to it.”

  Out of excuses, I get to my feet. “Well, it was nice having you.”

  Mom, ever helpful, chimes in. “Faith, why don’t you walk him home?”

  His teeth flash in the darkness as he smiles at my mom. “I’m pretty sure I can handle myself, Mrs. Thompson.”

  “Nonsense. Faith?” From her tone, I know it’s better if I comply without argument.

  “Why don’t I walk you home?” He offers me a pained look I’m already growing used to, but I wave it away, saying, “I need the cool air to wake me up. I have presents to wrap later.”

  He caves, shrugging. “Suit yourself.”

  I try not to notice my mom’s pleased expression as we edge around the crowd of now sleeping children on the floor, and I follow him down the hall to the front door. He stops, and I offer him his jacket and he slips into it as I admire the play of muscles underneath his shirt. I move to do the same with my own from the hook, except he takes it from my hands and holds it up for me to put my arms in the sleeves.

  My lips tilt up in an amused smile, but I let him dress me. He doesn’t even seem to notice what he’s doing. A habit? Curious that he’d be so considerate when he keeps acting as if being grumpy is his default setting. He even opens the door, but I keep my mouth shut about that, too.

  “You realize I live just across the street, right?”

  I follow Scott down the stairs, enjoying the brisk winter breeze on my face. “Well, I’ll admit walking you home wasn’t my sole motivation.”

  “You don’t say?” I don’t have to see his face to note the sneer in his voice.

  I don’t reply until we mount the steps to his porch. He pauses by his front door, expectantly. “Well?”

  I lick my lips and consider my response. Clearing my throat, I say, “I’m sorry, again, by the way. About before.”

  His brows draw together. “Before?”

  I look away because looking at him is almost painful. “Kissing you.”

  He leans a shoulder back against the doorframe, and his face softens. “I think this is the first time a woman has ever apologized for a kiss.” He pauses thoughtfully. “I’m not real sure how I feel about it.”

  His befuddled look causes laughter to burst out of my chest. “I’m sure you’ll get over it.” Stop being stupid, Faith. “Anyway. Merry Christmas.”

  I turn to leave, but a hand on my arm causes me to pause, and it’s my turn to look at him confused. “Everything okay?”

  Scott moves close enough that I can feel his heat. My body wants to move closer, but I stop myself. His eyes are unreadable in the shadows, but there’s nothing confusing about the moment as he leans down to touch his lips to mine.

  I gasp, and he uses the opportunity to slip his tongue between my open lips. He knocks me so far off my axis the world tilts around me, and I hold on to his shoulders for balance. He tastes like hot chocolate, and I forget my mild embarrassment and lick at his lips for more.

  Scott groans from deep inside his chest, and his arms wrap around me, lifting me to press more closely against his firm body. This time, there are no interruptions. There’s no family gawking nearby, no one to applaud or intrude. There’s just the quiet winter night and us.

  We break apart, and he rests his forehead against mine, his shoulders heaving as he breathes. My mind spins as I try to figure out what I’m supposed to do next.

  “You should p
robably head back.” His voice low, and he doesn’t quite meet my eyes.

  “Hmm?” It takes a second, then comprehension dawns. “Why?”

  “Your family’s probably waiting.”

  The cold air swirls between us, causing me to shiver against him. His hands tighten on my hips.

  Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I glance back at my house to reaffirm they aren’t all gathered on the porch watching. It’s blessedly empty. “They’re probably all still watching the movie if they haven’t already fallen asleep. They aren’t worried about me.”

  “Maybe they should be,” he murmurs.

  “Why? Should I be afraid of you?”

  The thought strikes me as funny, and a smile pulls at my lips. When he catches my eyes with a serious expression, I expect he wants to ruin my mood, but I twine my arms around his neck and bring my lips back to his.

  I'm afraid of a lot of things, but Scott Green isn’t one of them. Especially not when his lips soften beneath mine, and he moans like a man starved.

  I pull back, and this time, I’m the one having trouble breathing. “Are you gonna ask me in?”

  He sucks his swollen bottom lip into his mouth. “Are you sure your father won’t come after me with a gun? I know for a fact he’s a hell of a shot.”

  I lean in, and his eyes grow wary of my closeness. My lips reach his ear, and I whisper, “I’m better.”

  His grip tightens, and he lets out a slow breath. “Are you my present from Santa? I don’t think I’ve been a good enough man this year to deserve you.”

  “Guns,” I say around a bark of laughter. “That’s what does it for you, huh?”

  His hands skim down my arms until they find mine. He tugs me through his door. “You have no idea.”

  I study his living room under the pretense of shrugging out of my jacket. The walls are white and covered in pastel sketches that remind me of my own mother. I rub at a pang in my heart. His own mom must have hung them and he hasn't taken them down. An old-fashioned television takes up one wall and a dusty entertainment center is heaped with DVDs and every gaming console imaginable. It's an interesting mix of old and new. A sectional sits opposite the television with a scarred wood coffee table in front of it.