by Tessa Bailey
She tipped her head forward and found Vaughn watching her intently, with undeniable heat—and something closer to an apology—as his mouth moved higher. His hands, too. They skated up her rib cage to fist beneath her breasts. “Vaughn, stop. You have to stop.”
“I’m sorry.” He laid his lips against her scar one final time and stood, those devastating hands still beneath her shirt. “I’m sorry for the pain that went into that scar. I’m sorry you did it alone.”
Don’t come any closer. She needed to say it, but the heat, the physical contact, was decadent after being cold and bereft so long. “I wasn’t alone,” she whispered. “I had Jasmine…my family—”
“You needed me, though.” Their foreheads met, and one muscular arm slipped between the small of her back and the car. “You needed me, and I was long gone. I’ll never make that up to you.” He tugged her up into his big body then pressed her against the car, so securely the vehicle swayed. “Can I comfort you now, Riv? For just a minute?”
Her gaze found his waiting mouth, so sculpted and masculine, a white scar at the right corner, courtesy of a bar fight. “If you think this will comfort me, you’re wrong,” she breathed, watching as his expression darkened, grew more like she remembered it. Restless. Hungry for her. Always hungry.
“You’re right. There’s nothing comforting about what happens when we touch, is there?” His thumb brushed her nipple, and she jerked between his body and the car, sucking air in between her teeth. “Will you settle for wet and worked up?”
River had no time to respond because Vaughn tilted his head a few degrees, those deep, brown eyes blazing, and went in for the kill. The impact of the kiss didn’t occur just at her mouth. No, she felt it square in the chest, deep in her midsection, closing in from all sides. Every single component of her being rose like a tiny phoenix and clamored toward the man who’d awakened her once upon a time, each ready to beg for another round. All of that took place with their mouths fused close, so tight, but not moving. And when Vaughn’s sturdy frame shuddered and he widened his lips along with hers, teasing the tips of their tongues together, her center of gravity tilted and dropped, right along with her belly.
He pulled back. “Your scar is beautiful,” he said, his low declaration shimmying through her fingers and toes.
And then he invaded her mouth like he owned it, like he’d never been gone, not for a second—as if they’d been suspended within the kiss for four years, just waiting to proceed. His hand closed around her breast, the opposite arm tightening at her lower back, pulling her against him. They groaned into the contact, thighs shifting in restless, writhing motions against one another, mouths beginning to move with feverish intent.
A jagged warning slashed in River’s head when his hips began to roll, one booted foot edging between hers to widen her stance. So he could take her outside, in broad daylight? Ahhh. Heat rushed between her legs, preparing, even as common sense attempted to intrude, reminding her a coworker could emerge at any moment. A car could—
Vaughn changed tactics, giving her a gasp-inducing upthrust, elevating her against the car, rocking the vehicle as he growled. “I don’t know what to do with this fucking urge, Riv.” His words were agonized against her swollen mouth. “It’s like my body needs to thank yours for bearing our child. Just want to get between those legs and give. Give.”
River’s vision doubled before everything swooped back together. Reality was unwelcome when her body sang for more touching, more touching from this specific man, because apparently her hormones and her heart didn’t regularly communicate. And forget common sense—that traitor had taken a vacation. “No. No, Vaughn.” It took an effort to squirm free of his determined grip, but when she finally managed it, her hand moved of its own accord, cracking against Vaughn’s cheek. Any other time, she would have been shocked by her own violence, but anger built with a vengeance, leaving room for nothing else. When she spoke, her voice was whisper-thin. “How dare you kiss me like that?”
“Riv…”
She could see the scene play out behind his eyes, although she only knew it from her own point of view: Vaughn, dead-eyed and unfeeling, turning his back on her and walking out, leaving her in the motel room—their motel room—where she hadn’t moved until the manager booted her out two days later. Not that he knew it. Not that she would tell him. She didn’t need to. Not with the meaning behind her question hanging in the air like rotten fruit. How dare you kiss me like that when you left me shattered, without even glancing back over your shoulder?
He would walk away from their child without looking back, too.
When shame began to filter into his expression, River turned away, walking on shaky legs toward the bumper. “I don’t need to be thanked. I don’t want it either. Being a mother to her has been all the reward I need.” She took a deep breath and met his hooded gaze. “But I’ll make you a deal.”
His throat muscles shifted. “Do I want to hear this?”
She ignored his question, focusing on the dull thump of her heartbeat. “I’ll let you meet Marcy. But only if you leave town afterward and don’t come back.”
Chapter Five
A significant part of Vaughn had hoped the Third Shift, Hook’s resident dive bar, would have bitten the dust by now. But no. The scene of countless fistfights—starring him—still hung on by a thread, neon signs flickering in the window. Yeah, he’d thrown so many punches in the place, he’d earned the distinct honor of Hook’s first banned customer. That title had been bestowed the year before he’d joined the army, when he’d spent countless nights propped on a creaky stool, attempting to deaden the guilt over keeping River as his girlfriend. Those evenings she’d been taking night classes at the closest junior college¸ secure in the rightness of her course.
“I’ll get my associates degree, just to make Mom and Dad happy. Just until they can see staying in Hook is the right thing. You and me.” She reached out and adjusted the heat in his truck, rubbing her hands together for warmth until Vaughn gathered them in his own, performing the task for her. “They met at our age,” River continued, blushing with pleasure over the gesture. “They’ve just forgotten what it’s like”—her gaze dipped—“to love someone more than anything in the world.”
Vaughn coughed to hide the way his breath whooshed out. “You know I love you, too, doll. That’s why I would be right here waitin’, not matter what you did, or where you went. To college, to study abroad…” He released her hands in favor of tipping up her chin, trying to impress upon her the sincerity of what he was saying. “I can’t let you regret being with me.”
Maybe if she went and did those things, she’d finally have no choice but to admit there was more out there for a girl like her. So much more. Everything.
Perceptive as they came, River’s shoulders tensed at something she’d read between the lines. Something accurate, if he could only find the willpower to do the right thing for once in his worthless life. “Promise me you won’t leave. Promise me you won’t ever leave me. Unless you quit loving me,” she added, voice barely audible. “I won’t stop you then.”
His stomach dove to the driver’s side foot well. “I promise, Riv.”
The painful flashback propelled Vaughn into the Third Shift, where he came to an abrupt halt. Out of necessity—Hook’s crown jewel of spilled beer and blood was packed to the gills. Arguments, shouting, and shitty music slapped him in the ears, sounds that would normally grate, but were a welcome muffling of his current thoughts of River. But the bar only saw this large turnout when someone died, retired, or got married, so there was a high likelihood he would be recognized. Meaning he would have to converse, explain where he’d been. And that was something he definitely couldn’t stomach after seeing such sadness in River’s eyes that afternoon. Best to blow this—
“Don’t even fucking tell me that’s Vaughn De Matteo over there looking like a slapped ass.”
Vaughn’s hand paused halfway to the door handle, dread and amusement fighting a
war under his sternum. He knew that brash, booming voice, and he knew it well. It came from quite possibly the only person in Hook—apart from River—that he would let call him a name without an emergency room visit.
Schooling his features, Vaughn turned from the exit and presented his middle finger. “Ask your mom about my slapped ass.”
Duke Crawford threw back his head and laughed, easily drowning out every other sound in the bar, and receiving more than a few eye rolls from the sparse female clientele. The veritable giant wound his way through the crowd toward Vaughn, a bottle of Budweiser looking so at home in his fist it could have been an additional appendage. Now a mechanic at the local factory, Duke had once served alongside Vaughn in the army, and was the only man on the planet Vaughn would consider calling a brother. He was one of the most generous men Vaughn had ever met, but also the type to say fuck you for pointing it out.
Vaughn braced himself a second before Duke’s massive paw came down on his shoulder. “Well, shit, bro. You don’t call, you don’t write.” Another low, rumbling laugh brought back memories. The smell of gun oil and heated earth, the feel of the ground shaking. “How the hell are you?”
Noticing curious eyes flashing toward him, and whispering behind turned backs, Vaughn rubbed a hand over his hair. “Been better. Been worse.”
Duke tipped back his beer, regarding Vaughn down the length of the bottle. “You come here to get shit faced? I can help you with that.” He jerked his chin toward the crowd over his shoulder. “Everyone’s tying one on tonight—might as well join our ranks.”
“Any particular reason? Or is it a day ending in Y?”
“Still a ball-breaker, huh?” Duke pounded him on the back. “Good. You’ll need it if you’re sticking around.”
Vaughn lifted an eyebrow. “You sound pretty sure I’m here to stay.”
Duke started backing toward the packed bar, waving at Vaughn to join him. “You escaped Hook once. Don’t think it’ll let you get away with it twice.”
Vaughn didn’t question his friend’s sanity for referring to the town as a living entity that decided who stayed and who left. Hell, maybe he was right. Vaughn had never entirely let the town relinquish its hold, had he? When they bellied up to the bar, wedged in between men he identified as factory workers by the grease on their hands, Vaughn cursed under his breath. Of course the bartender that banned him way back when happened to be working tonight. Nothing ever changed in this town.
Except for River. She’d changed, hadn’t she? Gotten stronger out of necessity, because he’d left her to fend for herself. Strong enough to resist him physically, which she’d never been able to do before. Maybe it made him an asshole, but her lack of willpower around him had been a source of pride when they’d been together. After that afternoon, one thing seemed clear. She really didn’t want him, or need him around. Those weren’t just words she’d been saying—they were truths.
“I need something stronger than a beer,” Vaughn managed around the strangling sensation in his throat.
“Hearing you loud and clear, soldier.” Duke narrowed his eyes when the title made Vaughn flinch, but the mechanic must have correctly interpreted Vaughn’s mood, because he let it slide. “How long have you been back?”
“Since yesterday.” Vaughn cast a glance at the milling crowd. “Seriously, what’s the occasion? Is the pope in town?”
Duke propped an elbow on the bar, and Vaughn swore the damn thing sagged under his weight. “The factory got sold. New owner—some New York fucker in a suit—just waltzed in today and gave a speech from the platform, while we all watched from the floor.” He drained his beer and made an ahhh sound. “So yeah, I guess you can say there’s a new pope in town. They’ve got the same level of importance around here.”
Vaughn was too busy processing the news to laugh at the comparison. The same man had owned the factory since they’d learned to walk. What did the changing of the guard mean for River? “Is he going to close the doors?”
“Only for two weeks—he’s going to replace some of the machinery. Wants to ‘make it green’ whatever the fuck that means. He’s bringing along his important clients and their expensive contracts. Plus we all get to keep our jobs.” Duke pounded a fist on the bar. “Hence the impromptu party. We all just got two weeks paid vacation.”
Relief blanketed Vaughn’s alarm just in time for the bartender to reach them. “Fellas, what’ll it be—hey.” Recognition dawned beneath two scraggly gray eyebrows. “You here to cause trouble, De Matteo?”
Vaughn gave a single headshake. “Just here for the whiskey.”
The bartender pointed at Duke. “I can ban you just as easily, Crawford. You’ll be held responsible for any damages.”
Duke straightened from the bar, giving the salty older man an exaggerated salute. “I won’t let you down, captain.”
Two whiskeys were slid in front of them, the bartender walking away muttering about prodigal sons and insurance policies. Vaughn and Duke gave each other sarcastic, sidelong glances before draining the first halves of their rocks glasses. From Duke’s narrow-eyed scrutiny, it was obvious to Vaughn he had questions, so he set down the whiskey with a sigh. “What?”
“What?” There was enough disbelief and anger in that single word to power the factory. “You just blew out of here without telling anyone where you were going. Not even your uncle—and he’s long gone now, too.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “I looked for your ass, man. There was, uh…circumstances. You kind of left a little something behind—”
“I know about River and the baby.” The words had to travel through a razor blade forest to get out. “That’s why I’m back.”
“Fuck.” Duke blew out a gust of breath. “I’m glad I wasn’t the one to tell you.”
“Yeah.” Vaughn drained the remaining whiskey from his glass, battling a fierce impulse to smash the object in his fist. Failure. You fucking failure. “I appreciate you trying. I’m going to handle it now.”
“Is River aware of that? We know each other’s business around here. And it’s common knowledge River doesn’t even take charity from her brother who, no offense, could buy and sell us both.” The humor had returned to the mechanic’s voice, but he retained a thread of seriousness. “You know, half this town is in love with her, but everyone’s too afraid of you returning from the dead to ask her out. Were those guys right to be cautious?”
Jealousy sent a hot tremor coursing through Vaughn. “If you were one of those guys, we’re going to have a problem.”
“Nah.” Duke winked. “Women are too much damn trouble. Anyway, I never could see her with anyone but your ugly ass.”
Vaughn forced his fingers to uncurl, placing his palm flat on the bar. “No, they weren’t wrong to leave her alone.” His mouth dried up. “Even if I can’t have her back, I’d want to inflict pain on every one of them.”
Even if a second chance with River wasn’t a pipe dream, too many ghosts still floated around them. Too much left unsaid or unexplained. Communication had never been one of his skills. Even if he’d stayed, would he have told River about his battle to overcome the flashbacks? The survivor’s guilt from his time in Afghanistan? Or, hell…the fateful visit he’d been paid by River’s father the afternoon of the day he broke it off with her and left town?
The lie he’d told.
So many secrets and shadows around a relationship that represented clean, white light to him. Ironically, now that he yearned to come clean to River, to tell her everything, she was well out of his reach. His family had been built without him. However, down deep in his bones there was a yearning to care for River and Marcy. To be the missing piece, even if he’d always been a piece that didn’t fit anywhere. The puzzle would never truly feel complete without calling River his own again, but he’d take whatever scrap they threw his way and be goddamn grateful.
“She said I could meet Marcy, so long as I get lost afterward. Leave town,” Vaughn said, feeling the weight of that decision as if it re
sted on his own shoulders. “After everything she’s been through, I hate to push for more. Jesus, what do I know about being a dad, anyway?”
“You’re here. That’s a damn fine start.” They both rolled their necks, neither of them big on sharing. “You know, if you want to earn some brownie points with River,” Duke said, breaking into Vaughn’s thoughts. “You could start by preventing her hangover.”
Vaughn’s head came up. “What?”
Duke gestured with his glass of whiskey toward the back of the Third Shift. “I wasn’t kidding when I said we’re all tying one on.”
The crowd parted just enough for Vaughn to catch sight of River’s unmistakable blonde hair flipping…as she put away a shot of tequila.
“Christ.”
…
Oh God. What was she doing here? She should be home, using the unexpected night off to clean the house or finish that novel she’d started reading…when? Last year? She’d just phoned the babysitter to let her know she’d be an extra hour. And that hour’s end was fast approaching. According to Helen, she was happily knitting on the couch with Marcy sound asleep upstairs. River never went out unless it was a special occasion, so why did she feel so guilty?
Maybe because drinking tequila was an attempt to get the taste of Vaughn out of her mouth. The kiss still lingered, the intensity of it kicking around in her belly every time she replayed it. Which her wiser self insisted she should not be doing. Hence the tequila. If she didn’t take a proactive approach in eradicating the new memory, she would relive it all night long—as if thoughts of Vaughn didn’t already take up way too much of her consciousness.