Love So Irresistible

by Marquita Valentine

  “You are.” She shook her head at him, biting at her bottom lip. “You’re so determined to push me away when I don’t want anything from you. We’re neighbors. I’m being neighborly. That’s it.”

  For some reason, that made his heart sink when it shouldn’t. He should be doing cartwheels at her admission. “You’re the one who offered to be so neighborly,” he said. “I didn’t ask for a damn thing.” Except he had. He had asked her to do something about the kids she taught.

  Her laughter died. “No, you didn’t. I offered and since you took me up on it, the very least you can do is apologize for being an ass.”

  “I could,” he agreed.

  “You should. Wow. Mason, after yesterday’s conversation, I thought we came to an understanding.”

  He adjusted his legs and waited for her to let go of him and shut the door. Only thing was—he didn’t want her to let go of him. He liked the feel of her hands on his arm. Just like before, her touch was comforting, gentle, and easy. Though his body tensed, waiting for the pain that was sure to follow another human being’s contact…he closed his eyes and simply enjoyed her touch.

  Finally, she let go of him, but then she did something unexpected. She brushed back his hair. Okay, so maybe considering today’s earlier event with her, this wasn’t completely unexpected. Her warmth breath puffed against his skin. Peppermint made his nose twitch slightly.

  “You don’t have to be this way, you know,” she said softly. “I enjoyed talking to the man who was willing to open up and ask for help.”

  “That man was under the influence of drugs.” He firmed his jaw, staring into her pretty eyes. “The man you see right now is who I am. Get used to it.” Except, he wasn’t always like this and for her to get used to it meant she would have be around him more often.

  A small part of him liked the thought of her around. Obviously, that small part of him was still high from the meds he’d been given.

  His leg pulled, and he grimaced. For whatever reason, God’s joke on him was his tolerance to the majority of pain medications. In other words, it took a lot to knock him out into peaceful dreams. But he would deal with it. Pain meant he was still alive.

  Even if he’d rather be dead.

  Skylar spared him a glance as she let go and began to take the wheelchair back to the front entrance of the hospital. An orderly greeted her and took it from her. Hurrying back to Mason, she slid inside the car and clicked her seatbelt into place. Sweat gathered on her brow and the small of her back.

  The day was another humid one, full of sunshine and steamy breezes, which mean that August would be a scorcher of a month.

  “Can I get you anything before we leave? The nurse said you declined further pain meds.”

  “I’m good,” came his terse response.

  It was such a shame he was in so much pain that he wasn’t willing to open again. Obviously, he was embarrassed by their talk yesterday.

  Drugs…yeah right.

  The nurse hadn’t given him anything until after their conversation about his issues, as he called them. Be that as it may, she’d gone home last night, dug through her boxes of supplies, and pulled out every last mute equipment she had. Then she had ordered a pair of noise cancelling headphones.

  A peace offering was how she thought of it. What Mason didn’t understand was that she’d dealt with difficult, stubborn people all her life. Her dad, for one. Chris Jernigan had worked like a dog, moved her all over the state to find decent paying jobs… and had loved her more than life itself. Or so he had told her.

  Sure, she felt love growing up, but she’d also felt like she was never good enough. Her mother’s cowardly act of running out on her marriage and child when Skylar was six had reinforced that.

  Frowning at the thought of her mother, she shook her head. There was no use thinking about Poppy Holland. The woman was selfish, and that was that.

  Yet here Skylar was, living in a town that was only a hop, skip, and a jump away from Holland Springs—her mother’s hometown.

  “Are you planning on driving sometime today?” Mason asked, pulling her out of her head.

  “What? Yes.” She cranked the engine and backed out of the parking spot.

  Before she could even get out of the hospital parking lot, Mason was back to complaining. It was too hot. The car was too small. The window—rolled down for Bomber—made Mason’s ears hurt. His leg hurt. His mouth was dry and ‘why in the hell was it taking them so long to get to town?’.

  After he grew quiet, Skylar slid him a glance. “Are you done, old man?”

  His mouth opened and then closed, the scar running through the bottom corner of his lip distorting. He nodded.

  “Good.” She turned on the radio and began humming along.

  Mason leaned forward and turned it off.

  “Do you have something against music in general?” she asked him.

  “Only the kind you like.”

  “So you dislike everything?”

  He grunted.

  Point to her, she inwardly cheered.

  “How did you know Bomber is a service dog and not my pet?” he asked.

  Heat suffused her neck as she braked for a red light. “Your mother told me not too long after I moved in.”

  “What else do y’all usually chitchat about?”

  Skylar swallowed, feeling completely guilty when she shouldn’t. His mother was the one to stop by and see her after visiting Mason. His mother was the one to give her a lot of information regarding her son. “I’ve only talked to Mrs. Lawson once before we ran into each other in your hospital room, and she wanted to make sure I didn’t have any children who would be scared or allergic to Bomber.”

  He grew silent for a heartbeat or three thousand before grumbling, “I’ve changed my mind about the milkshake and bank. Take me to get my meds and then I want to go home.”

  “Whatever you want.” She made a left at the light. “The nurse said that the doctor was able to get the last of the shrapnel in your leg. It had worked its way so close to the surface that your recovery time is about six weeks or so, and—”

  “I know the rest. I read the discharge papers.”

  “Then you know that I know you shouldn’t be going home today. You should have let them keep you overnight again.”

  “I hate hospitals,” he said. “They smell like bleach and sick people.”

  “That’s because sick people go to hospitals to get well,” she pointed out.

  “You got that right.”

  “Funny,” she said dryly. “Why are you so against your family helping you out that you’d ask a complete stranger to pick you up from the hospital?”

  “I’m not against my family. I just don’t want to inconvenience them.”

  “But you’ll inconvenience me?”

  “It’s Saturday. You don’t teach. You go grocery shopping, clean house, and read outside in your hammock. Shitty knot tying, by the way.”

  Her mouth nearly dropped in shock. “You’ve been spying on me.”

  “I’m a SEAL. It’s not spying, it’s training, and you are the most routine person I’ve ever seen. If someone wanted to take you out, they’d have no problem.”

  A sort of strange grunting noise came out of her mouth at that. “How is that even remotely an excuse?” she finally managed to say.

  “I have nothing else to do. I listen to your car, listen to you talk—your voice carries—and, look, it’s fucking America. I’m in my own backyard, on my own damn porch, when you prance outside to read. Or am I not allowed to get fresh air like you? Should I be like Bomber and hang out one of my windows instead?”

  She ground her teeth against each other. “Be nice, be nice,” she softly chanted to herself. “He’s been in a war, in the hospital with a wound.”

  “Don’t be nice to me just because I’m wounded.”

  “Oh, I’m not. I’m being respectful to an elder who just so happens to be a wounded SEAL.”

  “Elder? First old man,
and now this. I’m twenty-six years old.”

  “I’m twenty-five. That makes you my elder,” she said sweetly, cutting her gaze to him.

  His dark blue eyes narrowed, and then he turned away from her to stare out of the window.

  Point to her again. But her victory felt hollow. She hated arguing, or the fact that someone could be mad at her. It was some weird need of hers to be everyone’s friend.

  No, it wasn’t weird. Her former therapist had told her exactly what it stemmed from. So, she knew what to do, and if that meant helping this man for today only and never speaking to him again—then so be it.

  “I’m sorry. How I just spoke to you was uncalled for and disrespectful.”

  Her heart fluttered. “Do you really want to get a milkshake and go to the bank?”

  “No.”

  “Then we’ll get your prescription and be on our way.”

  “Thank you.”

  That wasn’t too hard, was it? she wanted to ask, but she knew it was just her need to be affirmed as right getting in the way. Instead, she pulled into the drive-thru lane of the drug store and waited for their turn. “You’re welcome.”

  “So that station you play at night? Which channel?”

  Glancing at him, she bit her lip. “It’s not a station. It’s… me.”

  He turned to her, his eyes widening appreciatively. “Good to know.”

  “Does that mean you want to keep listening, or…?”

  A slow grin stole over his face, transforming him from dangerously handsome to wickedly sexy.

  “Yeah, I want.”

  Holy. Crud. She was at a loss for words. A horn blared, and they both started.

  “Son of a bitch,” Mason shouted.

  Skylar grabbed his hand. “Only a horn. Nothing else.”

  He gave her an odd look, but he didn’t pull his hand away. “I know what it was.”

  “Then you’re okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh.”

  Gently squeezing her hand, he let go. “But thanks for worrying about me.”

  Her heart did that little flutter thing again. Crap, this was not good.

  Chapter Three

  ‡

  Mason kept his thoughts to himself the rest of the way. Skylar did the same. He appreciated being left alone, yet it was nice to have someone to talk to that gave as good as she got. Okay, it was more than nice. It was right damn exciting when everyone else seemed to tip-toe around him or excuse his behavior—for the most part—because he was a vet suffering.

  Sure she might see him as weak and wounded in some capacity but he’d bet anything, she mostly saw him as a pain-in-the ass neighbor.

  He chuckled.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked as she turned on to their street. They were the only houses on it. The original house on the property—the one he’d bought—an old, plantation-style coastal farmhouse built in the early 1900s. He suspected that Skylar’s used to be a carriage house due to its proximity and size to his.

  “I’m a pain your ass, aren’t I?”

  “Don’t know you that well to describe you so intimately,” she said, and he almost choked on his own saliva. “Here we go. Home, sweet home,” she announced. “Hold on and I’ll help Bomber inside before I go.”

  “Bomber has four good working legs,” he said, opening the car door. “I would have two if I had my damn stick.”

  “I brought it. Hang on a minute.” She quickly got out of the car and opened the back door for Bomber. The trunk popped open and was slammed back down before she returned to his side of the car, his cane in hand.

  He was…flabbergasted. There was no other word for it. He was also grateful at her thoughtfulness. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ll go unlock the door and get Bomber all settled while you do your thing,” she said, preserving him the indignity of having an audience while he struggled to his feet. “C’mon, Bomber!”

  The dog raced after her, and if Mason could do the same, he probably would. Only once he caught her, he’d take her upstairs and…his body tightened at the thought.

  Well, at least that part was in working order. Now all he had to do was put one foot in front of the other—with his walking stick—and beat feet to the front door.

  He could do it. That much he knew. Sweat broke out on his upper lip as he worked his way out of her sedan. There was a reason why men over six feet tall didn’t buy or ride in small cars. They had to fold themselves up like an accordion to fit inside and get back out again.

  Not that he had much choice in the matter.

  He nearly shouted for joy when he got halfway to the front porch. A frown pulled at his mouth when he realized that Skylar was just standing there, key in her hand in front of an open door.

  “Everything okay?” he asked. One foot, then another. You got this.

  “Uh, Mason, someone’s in your house,” Skylar said, backing away from the door and turning to run down the front porch steps. She stood in front of him. “Go back to my car and I’ll call the cops.”

  Was she trying to protect him? He moved past her. “Stay here.”

  “What if he’s outside?”

  She had a point. “Come with me, but stay at my six.”

  “Six?”

  “Back.” He turned a little. “You know, if an intruder was in my house, Bomber would have let him have it by now.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “Good point. I’ll go check on him.” She tried to edge past him, but he caught her arm. His entire hand fit around the upper portion, and he could feel the slender muscles bunching.

  “I don’t think so.”

  Her gaze flicked from his hand to his face, and then back again. “You’re hurting me.”

  He eased his grip. “Promise to stay at my back and I’ll let go.”

  “I’m promise,” she said. Based on her recent actions, he knew he could trust her to keep her word, so he immediately released her. “But I make no promises about helping you, if you need it.”

  “I won’t need it.”

  She mumbled something under her breath.

  “Did you just repeat what I said?” he asked, slightly amused by her.

  “Are we going to rescue your dog or not?”

  “Yep.” He crept, as best as he could, up the stairs, scanning his surroundings as he did. His SEAL training was ingrained in him and if need be, he could access the gun he kept hidden, shove Skylar out of harm’s way, and—

  The wood flooring squeaked and his t-shirt pulled tight. He realized that she’d been holding onto him. For support. For safety. She expected him to protect her, wounded leg and all. If that wasn’t the best damn feeling in the world right now, he didn’t know what was.

  “I’ll keep you safe, Skylar. I promise.”

  “I know you will,” she softly replied, making his chest puff out.

  The scent of a familiar cologne wafted through the air, and he eased up. “It’s my brother.”

  “Okay.”

  She still didn’t let go of his shirt. “You can let go of my shirt now.”

  “Are you sure it’s your brother? It could be someone pretending to be your brother, you know.”

  The woman had a vivid imagination. “No one would willingly bathe in that musk he likes to wear. How long have you been splashing that shit on now? Twelve? Thirteen years?”

  A tall, blond man with blue eyes stepped into view. “Mason, I’ve been waiting for you to get home.”

  “Didn’t your spidey-sense give you the exact time?”

  “The bond between us told me that I should be here today.”

  “Knew I made the right decision not to follow your ass into the Marines.”

  His brother’s eyes zeroed in on Skylar. “If it isn’t Jessamine’s most beautiful music instructor and part-time substitute teacher, Miss Skylar Jernigan. A pleasure to finally meet you. My little ones never stop singing your praises.”

  “Oh, that’s so sweet. You can call me Skylar, by the way.”
She stepped up to stand beside Mason. “How many little ones do you have in your program now? My kindergarten students loved to talk about you and all the cool books you read to them.”

  “Twelve to twenty, depending on the day of the week.”

  Mason rolled his eyes at their familiarity with one another. Hell, his brother was practically salivating over her.

  All he needed was for those two to start seeing each other. Then he’d have to deal with music and book talk at family dinner. Mason frowned. The thought of Skylar dating his brother gave him pause. Tristan was usually a gentleman, but he loved to love women. And women loved to love him right back.

  Well, except Lemon McCoy. Not that he could blame her. His brother was down-right stupid when it came to the woman.

  “Must be why you’re deaf because that’s the only excuse you have for being at my house after I told you to stay the hell away.”

  Both Skylar and Tristan gave him a what-in-the-world-is-he-talking-about look.

  “You know, when you were talking about listening to the kids singing,” Mason clarified.

  “That was five minutes ago, brother. Maybe you need to rest.”

  “He probably should rest, and I should go home,” Skylar said.

  Damn it. He didn’t want her to leave. Yet. “Tristan was just leaving, too,” Mason growled.

  “Actually, I planned on staying for long visit. Even brought over a six-pack of beer and some bratwurst to grill. You’re too damn skinny.”

  Well, Mason couldn’t turn down the beer and brats, could he? “Not too skinny to kick your ass.” Besides, if they were eating, then Tristan couldn’t have too much to say.

  Tristan stepped up to him. “Bring it.”

  Skylar laughed nervously. “Are you guys serious?”

  “Way to go, Mase. You scared Skylar.”

  Mason clenched his jaw as a tick started up in his temple. At this rate, he would have a pounding headache any second now. “She’s not scared. She’s dumbstruck at how stupid you are to challenge a SEAL.” He turned to Skylar, searching her face and finding nothing but a bit of uncertainty in her gaze. Not fear.

  “I was scared, but not for me. I was scared for Tristan,” she said with a little wink as she patted Mason’s arm. “You’re my protector, and I have your back.” Jerking her head in his brother’s direction, she said, “He didn’t have a chance against a team like us.”