Love So Tempting
The Lawson Brothers: Book Four
By
Marquita Valentine
Love So Tempting
Copyright © 2015 by Marquita Valentine
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without express permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or any events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Cover Design by Lindee Robinson Photography
www.marquitavalentine.com
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Love So Tempting (The Lawson Brothers, #4)
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
Up next in the Lawson Brother Series, LOVE SO PERFECT, coming January 2016.
Prim and proper beauty queen Lemon McCoy is at her wit’s end when one night of passion leaves her pregnant by Jessamine’s favorite ladies man, Tristan Lawson. Forced to turn to her childhood tormentor in her time of need, she convinces Tristan to marry her to keep the gossip in their small town at bay.
Marine turned hometown librarian Tristan Lawson has secretly loved Lemon McCoy for years but they can’t seem to be around each other without trading insults. When Lemon finally spends the night with him, it’s a dream come true, and he hopes, the start of something more. But the very next morning they are back to their bickering ways that forces the two apart. Until Lemon confesses that she’s pregnant with his baby, giving him a second chance he never expected.
Although Tristan agrees to a marriage of convenience, he is confident he can show Lemon they are right for each other. But can Lemon trust him with her heart, or will their past be too much to overcome?
Chapter One
Growing up, Tristan Lawson had always pictured himself holding a sword or huge gun when he finally became a Marine. His dress blues would be pressed, his shoes polished, and his chin tipped high in pride.
Instead, he held a box full of plastic lemons covered in hot pink kisses while his entire body was covered in dust and his utilities smelled like the back end of the donkey his dad kept with the cows to protect them from coyotes. Since they hadn’t lost a cow to one, he figured that, at least, was a good sign.
Not to mention that for the first time in his life, he sported a beard. It wasn’t much, but he was only twenty-one and still had years ahead of him to achieve a more manly one.
If he survived this war.
Last night, a roadside bomb had taken out three guys he’d sat with at lunch earlier the same day. They’d talked trash about one another, showed off pictures of their women, and ate food thinly coated with moon dust—their slang for the soil in Afghanistan.
Everything about war had shocked him, more than he thought it would. The locals didn’t trust them, insurgents constantly tried to kill them, and most civilians in the US had forgotten about them.
He missed his family—his twin brother Mason most of all. The two of them had done the unthinkable by joining different branches of the service. Though he wouldn’t admit it, not being with Mason felt like someone had cut off his arm.
Despite all the training he had, all the ways the Marines had broken him into pieces and put him back together, he felt off-kilter. At the oddest times, he would have shooting pains in his leg, his abdomen, or his thigh. Physically, there was nothing wrong with him. Mentally, he couldn’t say the same.
Yet none of that explained why he’d written a letter to Lemon McCoy of all people.
Dear Lemon,
I miss your tart mouth.
Fondly,
Tristan
Apparently, the box of lemons covered in hot pink lipstick kisses was her reply. He rifled through the box and found a letter on the bottom. With a grin, he set the package on a picnic table in their makeshift chow hall and began to read.
Dear Tristan,
It was so good to be reminded of your absence from our town. So much time has passed since you last called me an empty-headed beauty queen that I’d nearly forgotten about your existence.
He winced a little. Yeah, he had called her that, but in his defense, she’d called him a manwhore first. Although, she had a point—he was dating twin sisters... at the same time.
I do hope you enjoy the package I’ve sent you. Although, I can’t say that the government is looking out for your best interests when it comes to scurvy since I was not allowed to send real lemons.
He barked out a laugh.
In any case, please enjoy the lemon-flavored candy and feel free to share with all your friends.
As ever,
Lemon
He searched through the plastic lemons and found a bag. Pulling it out, he opened it. “That little witch,” he said with a grin.
She had only sent one piece of candy.
But that was the start of a relationship he never imagined would have happened. For so long, he and Lemon had been like sandpaper, but he guessed, they’d been rubbing each other the wrong way for so long that everything had finally smoothed out.
***
Dear Lemon,
Thank you so much for the thoughtful package. The guys in my platoon enjoyed using the lemons for target practice. Anything to make time fly by.
He glanced up at the wall opposite him. In the middle of the only shelf was a container holding every single lemon she’d sent him. His brothers had wanted to use them as target practice but he’d refused. No way would he destroy all the kisses she’d sent him.
I have to share that I’m disappointed you didn’t say you’d pray for my safety. Bad form, beauty queen.
Tristan
*
Dear Tristan,
Actually, I pray daily that you’ll be deployed to Antarctica as soon as possible. I hear the weather is delightful.
My apologies to the men in your platoon. Hopefully, the goodies I sent have made up for that.
Lemon
*
Dear Lemon,
I’m thankful for your daily prayers, but I thought you’d forgotten all about me?
How are my parents?
Tristan
*
Dear Tristan,
They are doing well. Your mother is a brave woman. I admire her greatly. Two sons at war... I can’t imagine how she copes.
Please stay safe. For your parents’ sake. Your brothers, too.
Next week is the annual Pumpkin Festival. I’m presiding over the biggest pumpkin contest. Too bad you’re not here for it because I’m positive your head would beat out every single gourd.
Lemon
*
Dear Lemon,
The life of a beauty queen is full indeed. How do you manage it all?
By the way, I won’t be able to write you back for a while. We have to go on a mission.
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Thanks for the rum-soaked pound cake. It was gone in less than five minutes.
Don’t forget—the shinier the crown, the closer to God.
Tristan
*
Dear Tristan,
I wasn’t aware we’d become pen pals. I only replied because it was rude not to.
Also, you are blasphemous. You should write Adam instead of me, so his entire congregation can pray for your soul.
Lemon
*
Dear Tristan,
It’s been five weeks since I last heard from you. It’s severely bad manners not to reply to a lady’s letter.
I swear, Tristan Gilbert Lawson, don’t make me fly to Afghanistan and get you.
Please write back and let me know you’re okay. I’ll be nice. Promise.
Lemon
*
Dear Lemon,
My apologies for not answering sooner, but I’m now back on base and well enough to resume my duties. A little worse for wear, but I’m mostly intact.
The mission went horribly wrong. So damn wrong. We were sent to guard a convoy of soldiers as they traveled deeper into enemy territory, but got called away. There was a gunfight. Rockets, stones... every fucking thing imaginable was thrown at us.
The things they called us. The things we had to do to survive. I don’t know if I’m fit to be called a human being anymore. I thought...well, I know we’re here for a reason and I would never desert my brothers, but death is nothing like what you expect. What I expected.
Someone once said that a true soldier fights not because of what he hates, but because of what he loves. For me, that can be the only possible reason why I’m still here. Why in those moments of violence I saw the faces of those I love.
Tell me something good, Lemon. Give me a reason to look forward to coming home.
Tristan
*
Dear Tristan,
Jessamine experienced its earliest frost in years. The apple trees in my yard look like a wreath decorated with rubies. The smell of fall—bonfires and hot dogs for high school football games—permeates the air. The roar of the crowd can be heard every Friday night like clockwork.
I’m almost done with my final year of community college. When I’m finished, I plan to open a nail salon in Jessamine. I want be a businesswoman, like Apple, so everyone will start taking me seriously. She’s become rather infamous around here with her scathing commentary in the local paper, and even has spread the rumor that she might purchase it.
Meanwhile, Cherry is content to live off our parents’ money and has started dating your brother, Brody. He doesn’t seem to mind that she dates other men as well.
Sometimes, I think I was born in the wrong family. I know what’s expected of me, but I can’t be like Cherry and Apple. All I want is a white cottage with a blue door by the Pamlico Sound, a husband who loves me, and two kids who adore us both.
Silly, probably, but that’s what I want.
Tristan looked up from Lemon’s letter. He didn’t think it was silly at all. In fact, he was astounded she would admit her dreams to him of all people. Then again, he’d bled on the pages and for once, she hadn’t tried to make his wound deeper.
Rubbing his beard, he tried again to decode the hidden insult that had to be in her letter. He came up with nothing. Smoothing out a few more letters that came after that one, he poured over those as well.
Still nothing. It was almost as if they’d become friends.
“Lawson.”
Tristan glanced up, folding Lemon’s letters and tucking them in his pocket. “Lieutenant?”
The LT grinned at him. “Chow’s ready.”
Tristan looked at his watch. “Sorry, sir.”
“Guess that sweetheart of yours writes compelling letters. Be sure to thank her for the eight-layer chocolate cake she sent. Hadn’t had that in years. Only lasted an hour.” The older man chuckled.
“She’s not my sweetheart,” Tristan insisted. “She’s just a girl from my hometown. We’ve never gotten along—until recently, that is. Now we’re friends.” Or something like that.
“War has a way of bringing out the best and worst in people. Sounds to me like you got the best.”
They walked past a makeshift basketball court where several guys played and a couple of others stood around, their guns at the ready.
“I guess.”
“Trust me, son, there are too many guys around here getting Dear John letters from the women who they did get along with before they got here.”
A grunt saluted the LT and shot Tristan a look of envy. Their lieutenant wasn’t the type to get all chatty with a grunt, which included Tristan, but that mission he’d gone on with the LT had changed everything.
“Maybe when we get back, I’ll talk to her,” Tristan said.
“Life is too fucking short for maybe’s.” He headed inside the chow hall. Tristan followed close behind him. “You need to go home and marry that girl before someone else does.”
“Yes, sir.” Only two more weeks and they would be going home. Once there, he would have to make the decision to reup or get out and use his GI Bill for college. He always wanted to be a librarian, after being Marine, of course. Would Lemon want to be the wife of a Marine? Would she—he gave himself an internal shake.
His lieutenant, though well meaning, didn’t know their history. Didn’t know that years of animosity and jabs couldn’t dissipate simply due to letters. Letters that contained the secrets of their hearts. Their dreams. Their desires. Their private Facebook chats, which they had recently started to do.
Lemon: Why weren’t you ever this nice to me growing up?
Tristan: Because my brain got in the way.
Lemon: You have a very nice brain...when you use it for good.
Tristan: From now on, I promise to use it for good. For solving problems like Maria and world hunger.
Lemon: I have confidence...in you.
Tristan: I’ve must have done something very good to get this time with you now.
Lemon: Talking to you is one of my favorite things.
He froze, one hand clutching a tray of grub. Son of a gun. He’d gone and fallen in love with her while they referenced The Sound of Music song titles.
Without another word, he marched to the table and sat down, shoveling food into his mouth while looking at absolutely nothing.
What had he done? What had they done? Did she feel the same way? Did it matter?
Hell if he knew, but as soon as chow was done, he would go back to his—
“What are you humming?” a guy beside him asked.
Tristan gave him a hard look, even as cold embarrassment getting caught spread through him. “Nothing.”
“Pretty sure it was something.”
Tristan thought for a moment. “Don’t you work with artillery?”
“Yeah. So?”
“So, your hearing is compromised.”
“They give us ear plugs, dickwad.” Then he went back to his meal, mumbling under his breath about wanting to do a Julie Andrews marathon.
Tristan grunted before canting his head side to side. “Okay, so you got me. And if you’re interested, I have an entire collec—“
A bomb rocked the base.
Dust flew into his eyes and nose.
The ground shook.
Orders were yelled.
Tristan stood, his tray falling to the ground. He grabbed his gun. Another bomb whistled through the air. This time, it hit the basketball court directly across from him. Wood and metal hurled through the air. Something struck him in the head.
The Julie Andrews fan grabbed Tristan by his uniform and started dragging him away.
“Stay with me, man.”
“I’m here,” he attempted to say, but liquid kept filling his mouth.
“INCOMING.”
The ground rocked under them again.
His world went black.
Chapter Two
Tristan woke up to darkness. Wai
t, his eyes weren’t opening.
Open.
Mercifully, they obeyed, but his vision was shot all to hell. Everything was blurry. Pain ricocheted through his head, and he groaned loudly.
A blob of tan and green rushed to him, pulling up his lids and shining light directly into the center of his eyes. “Welcome back, Marine.”
“How long have I been out?” His voice was gravelly. Rough. He didn’t sound like himself at all.
“A few hours. Hold still.” The medic dropped liquid into each eye. “Now blink.”
Tristan did as instructed, and the world came into focus. Around him, medics rushed in perfectly structured chaos.
“Sit tight. We’ve got you under observation for the next twenty-four hours,” the medic ordered.
Tristan nodded and then winced at the pain shooting through his head.
“Yeah, your head’s going to hurt like a son of a bitch. Sorry.”
He looked around the room and found the lieutenant beside him, stretched out on a cot, unnaturally still.
“Time of death?”
“Twenty-two hundred.”
Tristan blinked and blinked again as the medics began to clean up.
“He’s dead.” Tristan’s heart hit so hard against his chest that he was surprised it didn’t break free.
Another medic covered the lifeless body with a sheet. “We tried, but his injuries...”
A lump formed in Tristan’s throat so fast that he could barely breathe. Just minutes ago, the lieutenant had been joking with him, telling him to marry Lemon and thank her for the cake. They only had two more weeks before they went home. Fourteen days and he would have held his wife in his arms, his kids, too.
Involuntarily, his jaw worked and his eyes watered. “Fuck,” he breathed. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Of all the people taken, why did it have to be someone with a family? Why wasn’t it him? He didn’t have wife. Didn’t have kids. He didn’t even have a sweetheart.
Lemon’s face came to mind, just like it had before when they’d been attacked. Not his family. Not even his twin. Her. The bane of his existence.
The soother of his soul. The writer of letters that kept him sane in a world gone mad and red with blood.
He touched his head, sucking in air as his fingers came back dripping with blood. A fucking head injury hadn’t done him in, but the captain... hardly a drop anywhere.
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