Relentless (Fallon Sisters Trilogy: Book #1)

by P. J. O'Dwyer

  Her hard gaze softened, and she rolled her lips in. "Don't make me feel something for you. Because I can't."

  He released her leg. The pain in her soft brown eyes made him hurt. "I was just playing with you. I didn't mean to upset—"

  "I've been plenty upset. So don't worry yourself." She pointed toward the windshield. "Make the next right. We can park in the club's parking lot."

  Rafe made a sharp right and pulled in.

  "Park in front and pull in forward."

  He chose an area where the parking lot and grass were level, giving him easy access to Route 68 if he needed to make a quick getaway. To be inconspicuous, he parked in between two cars. "This good?"

  "Perfect." She nodded in front of them. "It looks pretty quiet. We'll see the trailer when it pulls in. Then I'll call my people."

  Rafe laughed. "You have people?"

  She cracked a smile. "A whole underground network."

  "Ah." Rafe nodded and turned off the ignition. "So do you and your underground network have secret meetings?"

  "Most definitely," she said with mock sincerity. "Seriously, you don't think I run the rescue myself. Grace has volunteers and a board of directors."

  She didn't have to elaborate on their names. He'd made a point of checking out this nonprofit—specifically the board of directors—after he'd come to Clear Spring and found out that the man he'd been seeking by the name of Tom Ryan had been dead for nearly a year. Except he suspected, based on the ruse of a date, that Daniel Fallon and Paddy Ryan would not be among her underground network tonight. Now, the vet and his wife, he couldn't discount. They were tight with Bren.

  Her teeth chattered, and she lifted her chin toward the heating vent. "We still have at least an hour. We'll freeze without the heat."

  Rafe reached behind him into the back seat and grabbed the package he'd yet to open. The two porch rockers he'd planned on painting to match the forest-green swing he'd hung on the porch could wait. "You might want to zip up your coat."

  "Turn the truck back on, and I won't have to."

  He pulled a can from the package and handed it to her. "So, can you keep a secret or not?"

  Bren gripped the can. "You're serious?"

  "Whatever Bren Ryan wants, I'm here to see she gets."

  "What happens if we get caught?"

  "Not planning on getting caught." He nodded to the can of forest-green spray paint she gripped in her hand. "You in or not? Or you all talk?"

  Bren grabbed the door handle, and Rafe reached for her arm. "Hold up. Ground rules. We cross the highway. You see any cars, we head for the woods until it's clear. Then we do this thing and head back to the truck. Once we hit the parking lot, we play it cool."

  "Good plan."

  Rafe released her arm and prepared to open his door. It had been a long time since he'd done anything so juvenile. But he'd be lying if he said he wasn't enjoying himself. He'd been angry for so long after he'd found out his life was a lie. He was angry with his parents—jealous of his brother Trey. But the lie that had brought him to Clear Spring, albeit a year too late, he now embraced, along with a friendship he hadn't expected in Bren.

  "Hey," Bren whispered, her fingers squeezing his hand that held the other can of spray paint. "Remember what I said about feeling things for you?"

  "Yeah."

  "It's too late."

  Before he could respond, she was out the door.

  Chapter Thirteen

  She was giddy. Damn it. Worst of all, she couldn't keep her inside thoughts where they belonged. If he asked her to explain, she didn't think she could. Her feelings for Rafe came at her too fast to define. But the one she could pinpoint with accuracy was friendship, and for that to happen she had to like the man. And she did—too much.

  Rafe came around the truck and grabbed her hand. "Let's go."

  Relieved he didn't seem interested in exploring her statement, she squeezed his strong hand, possessively covering hers, and darted across the highway. He directed her behind the enormous, brightly lit sign of Sweet Creek Stables.

  They were breathing hard, more from adrenaline than anything else, when they crouched down in a thicket of landscaped hollies, the points of the leaves poking her bare skin. "Ouch."

  "Shh."

  "Sorry. But they're poking me." She eyed his thighs pressed against a pair of dark blue jeans. "You have pants."

  "You want them?" He made a move to unbuckle his belt.

  "No!"

  His hand clamped down on her mouth. "We're going to get caught if you don't keep that beautiful mouth of yours shut."

  Bren nodded, and he released his hand.

  He leaned into her. "We do this fast. No words."

  Bren frowned.

  "Save it, darlin'. I'm good at reading you. Your friend the sheriff would be on your doorstep. So refrain. We can't prove Connelly's a murderer—yet."

  She swallowed. That was the word she had in mind, and it shook her senses to learn just how in-tune he was to her thoughts. She moved away from him, unwilling to admit it. "Give me some credit."

  "Wait here." Rafe came around the sign and picked up two large rocks that fit in the wide palm of his hand. Within seconds, breaking glass shattered the calm of night, and the sign, once illuminated, fell in darkness. He came back around and nodded. "Now."

  Bren shook her can and uncapped it. Rounding the landscaped hollies, she pressed the trigger. The paint made wide strokes and crisscrosses. Determined to empty her can before Rafe, she kept her finger trained on the nozzle.

  He shook his head at her and smiled as he, too, broadened his strokes. So intent on her mission, she missed the headlights cresting the hill before the turn into the club. A steely grip knocked her off her feet, and she fought to regain her balance as Rafe dragged her back behind the sign.

  "That was too close."

  "Do you think they saw us?" Bren squeezed the can so hard it hurt. The dark sedan passed. The metallic markings of a red-and-gold shield reflected off the door panel.

  "Shit. A state boy."

  Rafe held her arm in place, and they waited. But the expected U-turn never came.

  "Let's get the hell out of here." He pulled her up with him. "Remember what I said. When we get to the parking lot—walk." Rafe took what remained of the spray paint and shoved it inside the waistband of his jeans.

  Bren held on to his hand and flew across the double lane road. Once they reached the grass, they slowed. Their eyes connected, and they began to laugh. Rafe looked back from whence they came. "Guess ol' Wes will have some cleaning up to do."

  "You are crazy, Langston." Bren breathed heavily. "But a good crazy." She reconnected with his hand, and they casually walked the rest of the way.

  A group erupted from the front door of the club, their voices floating on the crisp air, and Bren stiffened.

  Rafe caught her eye. "Relax. We haven't done anything wrong. Right? Just act casual."

  Bren dropped her shoulders and kept a steady pace toward the truck. The group huddling under the portico cleared the front of the club where the parking lot light lit them up. She gasped.

  "What?"

  "It's—it's—" Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. "Wes."

  "Where?"

  She lifted up their joined hands and motioned to the five individuals moving in their direction. "There." Wes, Robert, and Susan she recognized. The other couple she didn't.

  "Shit." Rafe jerked her forward. "Keep quiet." They raced to the truck, and Rafe opened the driver's-side door.

  Bren pulled back. "Not the front seat. They might recognize us."

  Rafe shut it and opened the back door, throwing the cans on the floor. "Get in." He hoisted her up and scrambled in behind her. His hand cleared the seat of Walmart bags, the contents clanking together as they fell to the floor. "Lie down and make room." He pointed to the back seat. His broad shoulders loomed above her before he came to rest next to her.

  Bren opened her mouth, and Rafe covered it with his
hand and shook his head.

  She nodded and tried to control her breathing.

  "They didn't see us. I'm sure." He peeked up above the window, the strong column of his neck stretching to see. "What car do they drive?"

  "Either a black Chevy truck or black Mercedes."

  He slipped back down. "That's good. We're not parked by one." He gave her a wry smile. "Guess the switch isn't happening tonight."

  She pursed her lips.

  "Darlin', don't look so disappointed. I don't think he's going to miss our paint job."

  Bren perked up and then sank into the seat. "What if he catches us?"

  "This truck doesn't stand out. I've seen plenty of black pickups in town."

  Their voices sharpened, and Bren grabbed for Rafe. "They're close."

  He lifted his head, and Bren pulled him back. "You want to get caught?"

  "The windows are tinted. They can't see in."

  He lay back down next to her, adjusting his body to the side. Facing Rafe, her chest, still heaving, moved up against the solidness of him. The suede skirt that usually fell above her knee rode high against her thighs, the material of his jeans tantalizingly rough against her skin. Ignoring the tingle she had come to associate with Rafe, she breathed deeply through her nose. "Where are they?"

  "What the—Robert, you pinching pennies again?" Wes's voice, a jovial taunt, had Bren listening hard.

  "Dad?" Bren didn't miss the confusion in Robert's voice.

  "Susan, you sure you want to marry this penny pincher?" Wes laughed as he said it.

  Bren shifted and whispered into Rafe's ear. "Maybe he won't notice."

  Rafe wrapped his arm around her and pulled her closer. "Stop talking. And stop squirming."

  The sudden contact of Rafe's arm against the small of her back made Bren bite her lip.

  "I'm sure Susan's parents appreciate a future son-in-law who pays attention to the bottom line," Robert said.

  She didn't know how much more she could take. She'd gleaned enough to know that the older couple was Susan's parents. What she really wanted to know was if her and Rafe's defacing of Wes's personal property was going to get them a one-way pass to jail.

  Their footsteps quickened. Or were they closer?

  Rafe popped his head up. "Shit. Do any of them drive a Highlander?"

  She pulled him back down. "I don't know. Why?" Bren searched his face. The grim expression told her all she needed to know. "They're parked next to us." The words no longer a question as they left her lips.

  He nodded. "Don't worry. They'll be out of here in a minute."

  That thought came and went in a rush.

  "Son of a bitch!"

  A gathering of voices gasped.

  "Dad!"

  The shuffle of feet passed. "Are you blind, Robert? The sign."

  "Rafe?" Bren pulled on his sleeve.

  He brought his face even with hers. The lights from the parking lot glanced off his face, his green eyes smiling at her.

  She narrowed her eyes. "It's not funny."

  "You may want to call your dad."

  "Shh. They'll hear you."

  Rafe glanced up. "You've got a few minutes to make that call. I don't want him to worry. I like your dad. But I have a feeling we're going to be stuck here for a while."

  "Great. What are they doing now?"

  "I can't be sure. But they crossed the highway. Wes is on the phone. I think he's calling the cops."

  Bren pushed him away. "I'm going to murder you, Langston."

  He laughed and kissed her hard and fast. "You're growing on me, too, Ryan."

  "You are so damn lucky." Bren continued up the steps of what was now Rafe's home. She wagged a finger in his direction.

  He hopped up on the step next to her and grabbed her finger and wrapped his hand in hers. "No. We're lucky. Your friend the sheriff did a good job pacifying Wes."

  "That's only one side of him—the politician. Trust me. If Kevin had recognized your truck or knew I had anything to do with the sign, you'd have seen a whole new side to him."

  They continued up the steps. Rafe's fingers loosened, and she instinctively tightened hers.

  "I need to unlock the door." He gave her a curious look.

  Bren released his hand quick. "Sorry. The step was loose." The board creaked beneath her feet, and she hoped he bought her excuse. But the reality only cemented what she feared—her self-imposed punishment not to love again bordered on collapse. They were becoming a pair. She smiled—a shameless pair. He had involved himself in her business willingly. Believed her when no one else would. And now she'd begun to depend on his strength, enjoy his humor, hold on to him tight. Or was she letting go—letting go of Tom?

  Not ready to go there, she blocked those thoughts and concentrated on the man standing next to her.

  When he'd kissed her in the truck, the contact, although brief, still lingered hot and tingly. He never made a move after that to continue to explore her mouth or her body, a true gentleman, considering their positions in the back seat. He'd only spoken to her quietly about her life with Tom and his in Texas—the ranch he called The Brazos. Problem was, she'd grown closer to him in that hour it took Kevin to take a destruction-of-property report than if he had tried his hand at seduction. Or maybe he was covert. He'd touched her hair that had fallen across her cheek and pressed it behind her ear. He'd yanked her skirt down to keep her warm, his hand skimming against the back of her thigh. But nothing to suggest the tight quarters had heightened his awareness of her as a woman.

  Rafe followed in behind her and shut the door. He didn't turn on the foyer light. She shivered, the darkness only adding to her confusion where Rafe was concerned. He tugged her back. This time she did lose her footing and fell into his broad chest.

  "What did you mean when you said it's too late?"

  She steadied herself and placed her hands against his shoulders. A wall of strength greeted her palms, and she pressed her fingers into his tight, muscled chest, warm beneath his brown corduroy blazer.

  He remembered.

  "Why did you kiss me?" she asked, tossing that hot potato right back in his lap.

  "Because I wanted to. Because I needed to." His voice was low and rough.

  She touched his lean cheek, scratchy with whiskers. "Rafe. I'm a very selfish woman. God's paying me back in spades. Tom's dead, if for no other reason than my stubbornness. I don't deserve your friendship. I don't deserve to feel, period. I shouldn't have said that to you."

  He kissed her palm, his eyes closing. "Then we're a perfect match." He opened them. A hardened glint replaced the softness that had once been there. "I'm selfish, too, darlin'." He yanked her off her feet, the taut, lean muscle of his arm flexing under her bare thighs where her skirt rode up. Cradling her in his arms, he supported her weight easily.

  Bren's arms clasped around his neck. "Rafe, put me down."

  Holding her tight against him, he said nothing. He cleared the hallway, into the family room. The hardwood floor, shining bright under the moonlight, spilled in from the sliding glass door. He sidestepped a rugged pair of brown leather couches, then knelt down and placed her on white, thick shagged carpet between the couch and fireplace. She sank into its softness. He lay down next to her.

  He swept her hair into his hand. "I lied. I'm partial to redheads." He let her hair fall through his fingers. "You're nothing like the women I'm used to."

  His fingers tightened, directing her face toward his. Their lips, a breath away, made her heartbeat quicken.

  "I'm afraid to ask what you're used to."

  "I'm not good at sweet talk."

  She shook her head. He didn't need flowery words to convince her. Her hand trembled when she raised it to his face. She stroked his roughened cheek. "I'll only hurt you. Don't make me hurt you, Rafe."

  The words died when he touched his lips to hers.

  She moaned against his mouth, "Please don't."

  He whispered against her lips. "I won't if you don't
want me to."

  Those firm lips brushing up against hers, the strong yet tender drawl of his voice drove her to distraction. God, she wanted him, too. Her body trembled at the touch of his long, rough fingers. But she'd only ever known Tom's touch. Was she ready for sex with another man? What if she disappointed him?

  His lips trailed heat down her neck to her bare shoulder, and she cursed herself for shedding her coat in his truck.

  "Tell me what you want, darlin'." He nipped at her shoulder, and she arched her back. Her breast grazing the buttons of his shirt caused her nipples to harden. All conscious thought escaped her but one. He'd said women—lots of experienced women. Beautifully refined southern Texas women is what he meant to say—not a rough western Maryland farm girl who had a penchant for raising hell.

  Bren pushed hard on his shoulder. "How many women have you had?"

  His eyes widened, and he laughed. "Does it matter?"

  "Yes, you stupid cowboy. It matters."

  He made a move to touch her cheek, and she slapped his hand away. "I've had only one man. Tom."

  Those damn green eyes searched hers. "Tom was the love of your life. I can't compete with his memory, Bren. I know that." He leaned back on his elbows and snagged a strand of her hair between his fingers. "There have been women in my life. I won't deny it. And I wasn't comparing you to them. There is no comparison. You're going to have to trust me." He let his fingers brush her bare shoulder. "I didn't plan on this, either. I've tried like hell not to feel things for you. But it's not working."

  Her honest cowboy, complete with manners, and a heart the size of... yes, Texas, warmed her straight through. If she didn't move away from his sexy, long-legged body, she wouldn't be able to deny him.

  "I should—"

  The distinct ring of her cell phone had her clamping down on her hip, searching for it. She'd had it when she came in. "Rafe, help me find my phone. It must have fallen off."

  He sat up, pulling her with him, and skimmed the shag with his hand. "Got it." Sitting her down on his lap, he handed it to her.

  Bren struggled to flip it open without verifying the caller. "Yeah." She gave Rafe a nod. "It's Jeremy. He was out on an emergency call and passed Wes's place."