Love So Irresistible

by Marquita Valentine

  “I never said you were only a music teacher,” he countered.

  She blinked at him. “Sorry. Force of habit.”

  “To defend your job? What kind of people do you hang out with?”

  “Most people are nice, but some…okay nearly everyone I knew thought I was wasting my degree by teaching music instead of performing.”

  He’d heard her often enough, though before he thought it was the radio. Yeah, she was good enough to be on the radio and then some.

  “Where did you go to school?”

  “Juilliard.”

  His jaw dropped. No damn wonder she sounded like a radio station. “How many instruments can you play?”

  “I’m classically trained for the piano and guitar, but I’m proficient in most percussion and wind instruments.”

  “Impressive.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “Do people say that to military guys when you get out?”

  “That I wasted my time?” She nodded. “Not to my face.” He winked at her, and she blushed again.

  Clearly, the beer and a half she drank was affecting her. Usually, she was as cool as a cucumber around him when he flirted.

  “Anyway, I think what you do is a present. You’re giving these kids the gift of music. From Juilliard. I don’t know of a single person who’s gone to a place like that.”

  His leg pulled and he grimaced, sucking in a breath.

  “Leg bothering you?”

  “Does it look like it’s bothering me?”

  “No, of course not. I’ll clear the table off before I go, but I’ll leave you the dishes—just in case you thought I was feeling sorry for you.”

  “Kinda would like that pity to extend to washing my dishes,” he grumbled.

  “Maybe next time,” she said and stood, stacking the plates and bowls on top of the now-empty platter. “I had a nice time.”

  “So did I.” He had and he wasn’t sure if it was just because of her, or because it was the two of them, sitting outside under an evening summer sky with nothing but nature as their background noise. No pressure, no need to talk.

  “Night, Mason.”

  “Night, sweetheart,” he said, staring out at the Pamlico. Fireflies danced at the edge. Waves lapped at the shore. The moon shone high in a star-filled sky.

  No rockets. No bombs. No smoke. No screams. No gunfire.

  Just blessed peace.

  He stretched out his legs and shifted in his chair, finally giving up when he couldn’t get comfortable. While he walked to his living room, he kept an eye on Skylar as she made her way back to her house. He didn’t completely relax until he heard her door shut and saw the lights come on.

  A few minutes later, he heard the first notes of her song. They wound around him, seeping into his soul. Tonight, her song was playful yet soothing, as if she was replaying their dinner with her music.

  Skylar was truly talented, that he knew, but to give up what could have been a famous career, or famous by Jessamine standards type of career, to teach little kids gave him a glimpse into her soul.

  The music soared. As did his heart.

  Suddenly, the men who had died came to the forefront of his mind. But instead of their lifeless eyes and bloody corpses, he saw them as they were before—healthy and whole. Laughing, joking…fighting and arguing. Kicking his ass and getting theirs kicked in return. He saw every wedding and every child being proudly shown off. For once, he didn’t feel guilty. For once, he enjoyed what the music offered.

  The melody softened.

  Tears pricked at his eyes.

  What a beautiful soul Skylar was.

  Chapter Seven

  ‡

  Thursday, when Skylar showed up at Nailed & Polished for her mani/pedi appointment, Lemon was nowhere to be found. Instead of being disappointed, she took it in stride and immersed herself in the delicious drinks instead while her legs were massaged to the point of embarrassing moans of pleasure almost filling the air.

  Obviously, she needed to find a man, let him tie her down, and have his wicked way with her.

  Like Mason.

  Desire coiled tightly inside of her at the thought of him putting his large hands on her body. Of his sexy lips finding all the secret spots. Of his—

  The double front doors were unceremoniously shoved open and Lemon flew inside, her hair perfectly in place despite the gust of air preceding her. Today, she wore a pink sundress with matching heels.

  Skylar had always heard redheads shouldn’t wear pink, but whoever had started that rumor had never met Lemon McCoy.

  The redhead scanned the room, her face serious and anxious until she settled on Skylar. Her lips curved up at the corners. “There you are. I’m so glad you’re still here. Sorry I’m late. He who shall not be named would not shut up.”

  “Who’s he who shall not be named?” Skylar couldn’t help but ask as Lemon sank down in the empty chair beside her.

  She set a matching pink purse on the floor and pursed her lips. “Tristan Lawson.”

  “Ah.”

  “I know, I know. You probably think his too-much-for-you personality is actually charming.”

  “I thought he was nice,” she admitted.

  “It’s an act,” Lemon said flatly. “He’s a snake in the grass, but don’t worry, Mason is nothing like him.”

  “I wasn’t worried.” Skylar stood, reaching into her pocket to give the woman who had made her feel and look so good a tip. “Love these instant-drying nails.”

  “It’s all in the ultra-violet lamp and the polish,” Lemon said as she joined her. “They’re holding a table for us, so I’m ready when you are.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “La Fiesta—my very favorite Mexican restaurant.”

  “If it’s that place I smelled while I was touring downtown Jessamine, I am so up for fajitas.”

  “One and only.” Lemon linked her arms through hers, beginning a sedate walk down the sidewalk. “So how are things going?”

  “Fine.”

  “And how is Mason?”

  Skylar did not want to talk about him. Okay, so maybe she did. A little. “Fine.”

  “And how did he enjoy the crabs?”

  “Ate every last bite.”

  Lemon gave a little squeak. “I knew you’d take my advice.” She blew out a breath. “There’s a chance for me, yet.”

  “Chance for you? With Mason?”

  “My, you do have it bad,” Lemon said as she waved at someone across the street.

  “I do not.” Liar.

  “So you went over to Mason’s for my benefit alone and after insisting you couldn’t put in a good word for me?”

  No. “Yes.”

  “I see.” Lemon stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and turned to face her. She unlinked their arms and crossed hers over her abundant chest. “What did you say about me to him?”

  Skylar’s face flamed hot. “Uh…well, you see…”

  “Do you mean to tell me that you went to his house with a six-pack and a bushel of crabs for your benefit only?

  “I did it to be nice?” Skylar said weakly.

  “A nice person would mention the woman who sent her over and oh, so helpfully pointed out the sales at the Piggly Wiggly. It was the very least you could do, Skylar.”

  “I told you yesterday that I couldn’t.”

  “You couldn’t think of nice things to say about me? I’m hurt.”

  Skylar backed up a step. “My head’s starting to hurt.”

  Lemon grinned. “Just admit you went over to the man’s house because you couldn’t stay away, and I gave you a perfectly good excuse to stop by.”

  “Guilty,” Skylar muttered. “So, so guilty.”

  “Details, please.”

  “I had a very nice time.”

  “Very nice is a good start, but I think we can do a little better next time.” Lemon narrowed her eyes. “There will be a next time, right?”

  “He invited me to go out on his boat with h
im?”

  “Not bad.”

  Skylar gave her a look. “Not bad? Three weeks ago, I said hello to him and he walked off in the opposite direction. Two weeks ago, he hung up on me, but not before threatening to call the sheriff!”

  “Progress is good, but I think you should take him dinner again. I’m pretty sure there’s a steak sale going on right now.”

  Oh my gosh. Lemon was like a dog with a bone. She refused to let their conversation about Mason go. “Can we go to dinner? They might be out of fajitas if we wait too much longer,” Skylar grumbled. Great. Now she sounded exactly like the man she couldn’t get off her mind.

  “We’ll go as soon as you agree to take Mason dinner tomorrow,” Lemon said firmly.

  “Why is it so important to you?”

  “Because he’s a friend who’s in need and won’t let a soul, but you help him in anyway… and I’d—I’d like to get to know you.”

  Nonplussed, Skylar stared at Lemon for a moment. “Oh.”

  “My sisters have a very good reputation with the men of this town, but not so much with the women. I mean…they don’t go after their boyfriends or fiancés or husbands, and everyone is nice, but real relationships are hard to cultivate.”

  “But not you…?”

  The other woman glanced away. “I’m not like them. I’m horrible with men, but I’m very good at helping other women find one.

  “And since I’m just hanging it all out there, my boyfriend of five years broke up with me recently.” Lemon winced and bit the side of her lip. “Okay, so not that recently—more like almost two years ago.”

  “But it feels like yesterday,” Skylar said. “Been there, done that. Burned the t-shirt, then ate my weight in brownies.”

  “Mine was strawberry shortcake.”

  “That bastard.” Skylar linked arms with Lemon again. “How about we go eat our weight in Mexican food, but only because we want to.”

  Lemon gave her a beatific smile. “I knew I liked you.”

  *

  Mason did not look forward to meeting with his therapist on Friday morning, but he had agreed to talk at least once a month. And by agreed, Mason meant his therapist had badgered into it.

  Dr. Smith, or as he liked Mason to call him—Reggie—waved him and Bomber inside his office. “Mason, so good to see you. Coffee?”

  Reggie always started off like this, like their appointments were social visits conducted in the front parlor of his grandmother’s house.

  “No.”

  “Bomber—I have a treat for you.” As usual, he glanced at Mason. “Still okay with you, right?”

  Mason shrugged. “Dog has a mind of his own.” Of course his damn dog went to the good doctor, took the treat, and settled down beside Mason. With a grimace, he softly stroked the dog’s head and leaned back in his chair.

  “Good to see you bonding with Bomber.”

  “Didn’t seem right to ignore him. He’s not with me by choice.”

  Reggie peered at him over his glasses. “You know he is.”

  Yeah, he knew Bomber was and that they had a connection, but damn it, he hated the scrutiny he was under while he was here. Or at his parents’ house. Everyfuckingwhere in Jessamine.

  Today would be worse, however, because Reggie would go over his most recent episode.

  “Sometimes, we need reaffirmation.”

  “I don’t think Bomber gives a shit about reaffirmation.”

  Reggie smiled at that. “Let’s talk about the fifteenth.”

  Mason would rather he didn’t, but that was why he was here, so he would do his time and then haul ass back home. Where he could drink until the pain was numb and stew in his own grumpy juices while keeping an eye on Skylar. Or listen to her play until she went to bed.

  And if that didn’t make him sound like a psycho, nothing else would.

  “Loud noise. Dove for cover. Thought I was back. Skylar showed up, and then I was whisked off to the hospital.”

  “Is Skylar an acronym for a new service?”

  “No, Skylar is the name of my neighbor.” Annoying neighbor, he had meant to say. Only, he didn’t think she was that annoying anymore.

  “Ah.”

  “There’s no ah. She helped me, and I thanked her.”

  “How?”

  “Replaced her HVAC.”

  “Only for helping you?”

  He cocked his head to one side. “I also didn’t want her or her students to suffer just because I can’t stand the racket they make.”

  “I see.”

  “Oh c’mon, Reggie. You don’t see shit.”

  “I see you’ve made a connection. Most people would have said thank you and been done, or perhaps a bouquet of flowers.”

  Well, shit. Maybe he should have done that instead. He did have the noise-cancelling headphones. Those were great for when his brothers called. Shouting Speak up, I can’t hear you to them over and over until they hung up had provided no small amount of entertainment.

  “You’re smiling.”

  “Thinking of my brothers.”

  “Even better,” Reggie said, obviously encouraged by the news. “Have you reached out to them?”

  He’d wanted to, but he didn’t think the doctor meant strangulation. “Not really. But I’ve gone out on my boat a few times this week.”

  “That is incredible.”

  “It did feel good. Brody went to all that trouble to have it cleaned and brought out to my place at the beginning of summer, so the least I can do is put it to good use,” he admitted.

  “Maybe even invite him to go out with you.”

  “Don’t think so.”

  Though Reggie kept his face neutral, Mason could tell from his body language that he was disappointed with his answer, which meant he would keep him here even longer.

  “But I did ask Skylar.”

  “Your neighbor.”

  “Yes.”

  “The one who helped you.”

  “Yes.”

  “The one whose HVAC you had replaced.”

  What the hell? “Get to your point, Doc,” Mason growled.

  “Tell me why you invited her and not anyone else?”

  “She’s tolerable.” Sexy as hell. Phone voice like a wet dream. He also thought her smile was sweet. “Doesn’t push me to talk.” Plays beautiful music for me at night. He knew she did—her music had changed since they talked, like she was playing pieces that wouldn’t make him anxious.

  “Would it be a bad thing to talk to her?”

  “Talked at dinner. That wasn’t too bad,” he admitted.

  “You are allowed to reveal as little or as much about yourself as you want, Mason.”

  He swallowed. “I used to enjoy that part of the dance—you know, between a woman and me while we got to know one another. Now…I’m rusty. Broken.”

  “Rusty isn’t broken. Out of practice maybe, or needing a bit of polish…but not broken. You’re here in my office, willingly talking about a woman who made an impact on you. That’s a man on the mend.”

  “It’s not right. I’m—they’re not.” Mason clenched his jaw, struggling over the words. Anger and frustration built.

  Bomber nosed his hand, and then came around to lay his head in Mason’s lap. “Good boy,” he whispered.

  “You might not think it’s right or fair that you’re here and your brothers in arms are not, but that’s the reality,” Reggie began. “You can choose to be miserable and bitter, or you can choose to accept that you’re alive and attempt to honor those men’s memories by living.”

  A lump the size of the entire Appalachian Mountain chain formed in his throat. “It’s not that easy.”

  “Of all the things I’ve said to you, easy has never been one of them.” Reggie leaned forward in his chair, the tattoos on his wrists a dark contrast against his light brown skin. “I’ve been there, son. I was you, and I chose to honor them. You can too. One day, one hour…hell, one breath at a time.”

  *

  Choose
to honor them. Reggie had a point, and it actually meant something to Mason because he knew that the doc had dealt with similar circumstances. Reggie didn’t feed him some mumbo-jumbo, new-age love-your-feelings bullshit, but he also didn’t tell him to man up and remember he was a SEAL. As if that was enough to get him through.

  They both knew it wasn’t.

  Just like he knew Skylar wasn’t the cure to his problems not matter how good it felt to be around her, or how much pleasure her music brought him.

  However, that didn’t mean he couldn’t attempt to live his life. He could do it on his terms, no one else’s.

  One breath at a time.

  Closing his eyes, Mason tipped his head up to the sun and let it warm his face. Then he adjusted his SCUBA tank and plunged off the back of his boat and into the water.

  Chapter Eight

  ‡

  That evening, Skylar waited until she heard the sound of Mason’s boat before she walked to his house. She made her way to his dock and stood, waiting for him while he tied up.

  Bomber jumped over the side and onto the pier, bounding toward her with his tongue hanging out.

  She smiled at him and knelt down, “Hey buddy, how was the water today?”

  “Sale on crabs again?” Mason asked. His footsteps were heavy and made the dock shake a little.

  Glancing up at him, she almost swallowed her tongue. There he stood, in all his glory, bare chested and wearing a pair of board shorts that emphasized how cut he was. The wind blew his messy hair around, the pale strands glinting in the sun. Here and there, he had faded white scars and…oh sweet baby Jesus, tattoos. Surely, he had to have flaws somewhere. She glanced at his legs—tanned and muscled. Maybe really ugly feet.

  Oh, dear Lord.

  The man had sexy feet, hands…she tipped her head back just as he pushed his sunglasses back. Nothing on that man was a flaw. He was flawless.

  Heat ran through her, desire for him nearly knocking her down.

  “Don’t keep me in suspense,” he prompted.

  “Steak, this time. Didn’t go as crazy, but I thought you might want the rib-eye I bought by accident. I would have returned it after I realized my mistake, but it seems weird to take food back to the grocery store,” she said.