Love So Irresistible

by Marquita Valentine

  “Gee, thanks,” Tristan mumbled.

  Dear God. Someone had to get her out of his house before he did something stupid, like propose marriage.

  “Thanks for driving me home,” he said gruffly.

  Another one of her gorgeous smiles lit up her face. “Thanks for protecting me from the big, bad guy who turned out to be your brother.”

  Mason barked out a laugh.

  “Hey. I’m big and bad,” Tristan protested.

  “See you around,” Skylar said as she stroked Bomber on the head. “Be a big helper for Mason.” Then she walked outside.

  Mason stared at the still-open door, watching as she made her way to her car and then drove next door.

  “I like her,” Tristan said.

  Mason gave him a look. “She insulted your ass.”

  “Yes, she did, and made you out to be the man. Poor, misguided creature.”

  “I am the man.” Then a beat later, he added, “Stay away from her.”

  “Plan on asking her out yourself, huh?”

  “What I plan to do is none of your business,” Mason said, heading to the kitchen. “Where’s the beer?”

  Tristan followed him. “Actually, it is my business if I’d like to ask her out. We don’t date the same women, remember?”

  Yeah, they might be fraternal twins and share a lot, but women weren’t one of them. Never had been. Hell, they didn’t even have the same taste in women. Tristan liked them all classy and snooty, while Mason liked the ones who enjoyed the simple things in life—like a cold beer and a big juicy steak.

  “You can ask Skylar out right after I take Lemon out on a date,” Mason countered, completely enjoying the way his brother started fidgeting.

  “Why would you do that to yourself?” Tristan snapped.

  “I’ve never had a problem with Lemon. In fact, the only person in this entire town who has a problem with her is you,” Mason pointed out.

  His brother ran a hand through his hair and leaned against the kitchen counter. “I liked you better when you weren’t speaking to anyone.”

  “You should have thought of that before you broke into my house.”

  “I had a key.”

  “Fine. You should have thought of that before you decided to visit me.”

  “Guess I’ll go, then.”

  “Guess you should.” Mason grabbed a beer from the fridge and headed back to the living room. He eased down into his favorite chair and grabbed the remote, clicking on the cable television. Of course, his brother followed him.

  Couldn’t Tristan take the hint and leave?

  “It was good seeing you smile today,” Tristan said suddenly.

  It felt good to smile, but he wasn’t ready to admit that a woman who had formerly annoyed the pure shit out of him was now responsible for a change in attitude. Especially so quickly.

  “Reminded me of how you were before this last deployment.”

  She hadn’t made him change his attitude; she’d made him forget the bad shit that had gone down. “Things change. People change.” He turned up the volume. “Do me a solid and let everyone know I’m fine. I don’t need anything, and when I’m ready to have a social call, I’ll text you.”

  “I’m not denying that you’ve changed because I know what war does to a man, but we’ve all been worrying about you.”

  “Stop worrying.” Bomber nosed his hand, and Mason eyed the half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels. Much better than beer. “I’ve got all the help I need.”

  “I can see that.” Tristan started for the door, and Mason felt his stupid heart sink. Was it that hard for him to tell Tristan to stay for a while?

  Mason opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His brother opened the door and walked outside, closing it behind him.

  Apparently, it was.

  “I’ll try next time,” he said to Bomber.

  The dog huffed.

  “I will. Hell, I might even go out of my way to thank Skylar.” That might be pushing it. He glanced out of his window and caught her opening up her windows. Her HVAC was on the fritz and if he had it fixed, then he could kill two birds with one stone. She’d have air and he’d have peace and quiet—not that he expect her not to keep her word about muting the music. He knew she would.

  Grabbing his phone, he made a couple of calls, and then closed his eyes. He ran his hand down Bomber’s back, over and over, until everything inside of him seemed to settle down.

  “Good boy,” he mumbled.

  Skylar watched as Tristan walked from Mason’s front porch straight up to hers. His smile was nice and friendly, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

  “I don’t mean to impose, but I’d like to talk to you about my brother,” he said.

  She indicated that he should sit in one of her rocking chairs. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “No.” He sat down in the closest chair and leaned forward, clasping his hands together. “I’d like for you to keep an eye on him.”

  “He’s a grown man, and I’m pretty sure he would be more than a little ticked off if I spied on him.”

  Tristan laughed. “I’m not asking you to spy on him. I’m asking you to insert yourself into his life, and that might not be pleasant, but I’m worried.”

  She arched a brow. “Your brother might be unpleasant? Wow, I’m shocked. Wouldn’t know that about him at all.”

  “That’s why you need to be in his life.”

  “I’m just his neighbor,” she hedged.

  “Then be all neighborly.”

  Fisting a hand on her hip, she tilted her head to one side. “Is this like a genetic thing—bossy Lawson gene—because Mason is just as bad. Heck, I think y’all’s mother tried to boss me around, too.”

  Standing, Tristan held up his hands in mock surrender. “Do what you want. I just thought it was a positive sign that he responded to your presence the way he did.”

  “Should have been in the car with us on the ride over. You would have been bowled over by his charm,” she said dryly.

  Tristan exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “He didn’t used to be like this.”

  Skylar gave him a tight smile. “I didn’t think so.”

  “He’s suffering right now. More than just the physical. Bomber’s not with him because of his limp. Bomber’s with my brother because he’s suffering from PTSD.”

  “I know. Your mother already told me and …Mason basically confirmed it.”

  “He did?” Tristan appeared thoughtful for a moment. “That’s unexpected.”

  “We were trapped in a car together for almost an hour.”

  Tristan sucked in air through his teeth. “You are a saint.”

  “He’s not that bad.”

  “Fine. You’re an angel.” He took a step closer, his blue eyes dark and slumbering. Sexy and full of promise, only she didn’t feel the slightest need to find out what those promises were. “An angel I’d like to take to dinner. Do angels sup on mortal food or shall I feed you ambrosia?”

  Skylar burst out laughing. “I’m sorry. Does that work for you?”

  Not the least bit embarrassed, he shrugged a shoulder. “I’m the head librarian, most women expect it. I can tone it down, if you like.”

  While Tristan was an extremely handsome man who cared about his brother, which made him even better looking in her eyes, he just didn’t do it for her. Not like his brother…. and omigosh, where in the world did that come from? “Thanks but I’m already involved with someone. It’s pretty serious.” Serious relationships with chocolate bars counted, right?

  “Such a shame.”

  If he didn’t look so despondent, she would have thought he really didn’t care that she’d turned him down. “Nice to meet you, Tristan, and don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on him, but not because you asked me to.”

  “Why, then? He’s not family, and it’s not as if you’re on vacation and have nothing else to do.”

  It was a good question. One she should be able to answer without hes
itation, but she couldn’t. Heck, she mostly wanted to stay away, but the image of him lying on the ground before the paramedics came… “Because that’s what neighbors do.”

  Chapter Four

  ‡

  For almost a week, Skylar watched in disbelief as absolutely no one came to visit or check on Mason. Sure, he’d probably run them all off, but wouldn’t his family see through his grumpiness and check on him anyway? It just wasn’t right in her opinion. Not that her opinion of Mason or his family mattered to anyone but her.

  Worse, she hadn’t seen Mason go outside even once. Only Bomber nosed around the backyard while chasing squirrels.

  Angie Potts hit a particularly sharp note on the flute, and Skylar turned her head away. She couldn’t let the little girl see her wince.

  “Sorry, Miss Skylar,” Angie said with a sigh.

  Skylar placed a hand on her shoulder. “It takes a lot of practice to get that particular combination right. You keep working on it, okay?”

  Glum, Angie nodded. “How long did it take you to become good?”

  “Years and years of practice,” Skylar said, “but there are some instruments that I’m better at playing than others.”

  “Like the piano?” Angie ran a hand over the smooth, age-darkened wood of the upright piano.

  “Exactly. I spent hours playing on a piano like this.” Performing for no one but herself and her dolls. Though when her dad was home, he’d loved to hear her play.

  You have a gift, baby. Just like your momma.

  “Did your mommy make you play?”

  “My dad sometimes had to fuss at me, but most of the time, I felt like I couldn’t breathe if I didn’t play something.” Skylar gave the little girl a sidelong look. “Is the flute not your first choice?”

  Angie looked down at her shoes, scuffed Mary Janes. Her skinny legs were freckled and one knee had a sparkly Band-Aid across it.

  “I wanna play basketball.”

  “Have you told your parents?” she asked, gathering the sheets of music from the stand and placing them in a manila folder labeled with Angie’s name.

  “I’m scared. What if they’re mad at me, or say no?”

  Skylar thought for a moment. She didn’t want to get the little girl’s hopes up, but she also didn’t want to discourage her from trying. “I don’t think they’ll be mad, but I do think that you need to talk to them about how you feel.”

  The crunch of tires caught her attention. It wasn’t time for Angie’s older sister to pick her up, and neither she nor Mason received very many visitors.

  “Let me check to see who’s here and then we’ll try another instrument today. Something fun.” Skylar hurried to the front door. There was a knock before she could answer it. “Coming.”

  Cracking open the door, she asked, “May I help you?”

  The man gave her a friendly smile. “Hi, Miss Jernigan. I’m here from HVA-C Us Fix You Up Right.”

  She scanned his uniform, taking note of the patch on the shirt and his name embroidered over top of it. “That’s certainly a mouthful, Barry.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “However, I didn’t call your company.”

  “No ma’am, but your HVAC does need fixing.” He grinned and lifted his toolbox. “I’m here to fix it. Harvey is, too, but he’s already on the other side of the house. I didn’t want you to worry, so I thought I’d let you know, and we might need to come inside, too.”

  “Yes, but—” How exactly could she say she couldn’t afford to fix it. “I don’t understand.”

  “The bill’s been taken care of, ma’am.” He handed her a card. “You can call the number on the card and check with my boss.”

  “Okay. Give me one minute, please.” She shut the door, and locked it. Sure, he was most likely who he said he was, but she couldn’t be too safe. Instead of calling the number on the card, she pulled out her cell, searched for the company’s info, and then called the number listed.

  She sighed.

  Which was the exact same one on the card. Still…

  “HVA-C Us Fix You Up Right, how may I help you?”

  “Hi, this is Skylar Jernigan, and I think there’s been a mistake. There’s a crew here to fix my HVAC, but I didn’t call them.”

  “I’m sorry about that,” the receptionist said. “May I have your address?”

  Skylar recited her address, the sound of keys clicking as the woman typed it in making her more anxious. She walked back to Angie and smiled. The little girl sat on the loveseat, her legs swinging.

  “Ah, here you are. Is this a bad day for you?”

  “No, it’s not a bad day, but I didn’t schedule this, or ask for someone to come out.”

  “The bill’s been all taken care of.”

  Skylar blinked. “By who?”

  “Your landlord—that’s such a wonderful thing. My landlord is awful—took him three weeks to get someone to come out to fix the dishwasher.”

  Her landlord? She didn’t rent her house. “Ah…could you give me the address of my landlord? I’d like to send him a thank you note.”

  “Sure thing,” the woman said, and then rattled off the street name.

  Skylar nearly dropped her phone in shock. “Thank you.”

  “Why is your face red?” Angie asked, her brown eyes widening. “Are you sick?”

  “No,” she said with a shake of her head. Mentally composing herself, she took a deep breath and pasted on a smile. “I’m…I’m ready to see what instrument you like better than the flute.”

  Though Angie frowned a little, she listened, and they began to sort through the instruments in Skylar’s music room. Twenty minutes later, her student was playing the triangle like nobody’s business.

  “I love this one!” she squealed as her big sister’s car pulled into the driveway.

  Skylar gave Angie a hug. “I’m so excited for you. Let’s get your things, and I’ll walk you outside.” Then she would march on over to Mason’s to find out why he’d paid for her air to be fixed.

  *

  Mason sat on his front porch, keeping an eye on the men working at Skylar’s house. Bomber lay in his usual spot at his side, and every so often, he stroked the dog’s soft head.

  Over the past week, Skylar kept her promise and had her students play muted instruments while they were there. She’d also stopped opening the windows that faced his house.

  It was rather…humbling she would do so much to try to make him comfortable while making herself uncomfortable. While he knew there were decent and kind people in the world, in Jessamine, and in his family, war…his last mission in particular, had really messed with his brain.

  He’d gotten shot, but that hadn’t been the worse part. Oh no. He could take getting shot, stabbed, and punched. The worse part was that out of four men sent out to guard a convoy, he was the only one left.

  And he fucking hated that.

  Taking another drink, he let his head fall back against the padding of the large chair his sister-in-law, Sydney, had given him to make the porch look ‘more homey’. He didn’t know if it looked more anything, but it felt good…nice and soft, but nowhere near as good as Skylar had felt when he’d lain in her lap.

  Bomber jumped up, and Mason opened his eyes to find the woman in his thoughts storming into his yard with a package under her arm.

  “Hello, neighbor,” she said sweetly, though she looked like she wanted to strangle him. “Become a landlord in the last week?”

  Heat stole up his neck. “I was trying to remain anonymous.”

  “You didn’t think I wouldn’t want to know who’s paying for something so expensive?”

  He shrugged. “I thought you wouldn’t care.”

  Wrong thing to say. “Wouldn’t care? Are you serious? I do care about thousands of dollars of work being done to my house and paid for by someone I don’t know.”

  “Well, you do know me.”

  “You’re not helping your case.”

  “Didn’t know I
had to plead one.”

  Her pretty eyes narrowed. “This is not the time for jokes.”

  “I wasn’t joking.”

  That stubborn jaw of hers worked. “I swear, you will stop being so stubborn and listen to me, Mason, or else.”

  He smiled. He couldn’t help it. Never in his life had he been so amused by someone so mad at him. She was half his size and he had the training to kill a man with a plastic spoon, if need be, and yet she’d just threatened him.

  “Can’t have that now,” he said in a drawl meant to placate. “I’m listening, darlin’.”

  Skylar stared at him for a moment, her cheeks blooming with color. “Thank you,” she said primly. “Anyway, like I was saying…ah…”

  “About the gift you were given,” he prompted, enjoying seeing her all discombobulated by him. He could be charming if he set his mind to remembering how to do it. In the past, he charmed every lady he met.

  “That was a gift—why?”

  “Because you helped me. You gave your word and kept it, at least three times. Can’t ask for more than that. So, I wanted to repay you,” he said simply. And now they were settled, he could go about his life and be miserable—and drunk—if he wanted.

  “You didn’t have to repay me,” she said softly. “I didn’t help you to get something out of it.”

  “I’m not the easiest person to get along with,” he admitted.

  “You don’t say.”

  “Watch it.”

  She grinned at him. “I like it when you let your hair down.”

  He ran a hand through his unkempt and too-long hair. “It needs to be cut.”

  “I could do it for you.”

  “Music virtuoso and hair dresser? I’m impressed.” What was he doing?

  It’s called flirting, you moron. You used to do it all the time.

  Right. But I thought I wanted to be alone?

  You’re debating yourself in your head. You really need to get out more.

  Skylar’s smile turned shy. “I used to cut my dad’s.”

  “Does he live near here?”