Tucker (Texas Rascals Book 5)

by Lori Wilde

  But abruptly, Tucker ended the kiss. Blinking, as if emerging from a trance, he jumped up from the sofa.

  “This is wrong,” he croaked. “I should never have done that.”

  “No,” she said, bereft at their separation. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “The hell I don’t.” He rubbed his hand across his forehead and dropped his gaze. “I was taking advantage of you. Playing on your sympathy.”

  “I wanted you to kiss me,” she insisted. “Please, don’t beat yourself up.”

  “I have to go.” Tucker hurried over to the couch, picked up his blue jeans, and crammed his legs inside.

  “You can’t leave. It’s three o’clock in the morning, and there’s a winter storm raging outside.”

  “Good. I need cooling off.” Tucker plowed both hands through his hair and searched the floor for his boots.

  Tension corded his neck muscles. His face was a mask. Impassive. He moved as jerkily as if he were carved from wood.

  “Please.” July stood up. Touched his arm again.

  Tucker yanked away. “Staying here was a bad idea.” He stuffed his feet inside his boots.

  “Where will you go?” She wrung her hands.

  “That’s not your concern.”

  “Tucker, I can’t help but worry about you.”

  “I can take care of myself. I don’t need you.”

  I don’t need you.

  July’s soul ached. Despite his comments, it was obvious he had not been taking care of himself. He needed someone. Desperately. He just couldn’t see it.

  “There is absolutely no reason you can’t stay here until dawn. It’s only a few hours away.”

  He raised his head and looked at her at last. “Oh, yes, there’s a very good reason I should leave right now.”

  “Tell me.” Upset, she sank her hands on her hips. He was being ridiculous.

  “Around you, I have no self-control. I don’t trust myself with you.”

  Their gazes intertwined.

  His chest rose and fell in a ragged rhythm.

  July felt an odd catching sensation at the apex of her heart.

  “I’ll go back to bed and lock my door,” she promised.

  He shook his head. “Not good enough.”

  “Why not?”

  “I want you too badly, but you deserve far better than the likes of me.”

  “Oh,” she said softly. Of course, Tucker didn’t believe he deserved love. It was his childhood pattern all over again. “I see.”

  “I don’t want to be your project. I don’t want to change. I like me just the way I am. Got it?”

  She gulped and nodded. She’d overstepped her boundaries. For shame, July.

  Tucker got to his feet and fed his belt through the loops of his jeans and fastened the buckle. “Thank you for everything.”

  July shrugged, battling the tears that threatened behind her eyelids. She hated that she couldn’t get through to him. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Yes, you did. That’s why I have to go. You’ve shown me nothing but kindness.”

  “Is that such a bad thing?”

  “It’s good thing, July, and I’m just not used to good things.”

  She lifted her chin, scared to look him in the eyes again, but she did it anyway. She tried to read the emotions hidden beyond his pupils, but Tucker dropped his gaze before she had a chance to see what was there.

  “If you’re so insistent on going out into the storm, at least take a blanket with you.”

  “It’s not necessary.”

  “Please, I’d feel better.”

  He looked like he wasn’t going to wait, but he finally said, “All right.”

  “Wait right here.” Hands shaking, she went to the hall closet and lightly fingered her lips, her mind replaying the memory of his mouth—the warm moistness and his minty taste.

  Turning on the light, she stared into the closet, her mind fogged.

  She blinked. What was she looking for? Oh, yes, a blanket. For Tucker. So that he could go out into the cold snow.

  Her gut wrenched. What a fool she’d been. Now, because she’d given in to her desires, he was leaving, preferring to huddle in the freezing weather than risk another moment in her warm apartment.

  Blindly, she reached to the top of the closet and tugged down a thermal blanket. His mind was made up, and July could see no way to convince him to stay.

  “Here we go,” she said as she returned to the living room. She forced a smile on her face and a cheerful tone in her voice.

  He reached for the blanket, and their fingers touched.

  Static electricity shocked them both with a sharp snap. July sucked in her breath.

  “It’s just the weather,” Tucker said in the way of explanation, but it didn’t alter the tingling in her hand.

  “Yes.”

  He shrugged into his leather jacket, retrieved his Stetson from the hat rack by the door, and settled it onto his head. Tucking the blanket under his arm, he said, “Goodbye, July. Have a nice life.”

  “Does this mean I’ll never see you again?” Oh Lord, did that sound pathetic or what?

  “Probably not.” He offered her a faint smile.

  “In that case...” She rose to her toes and planted a kiss on his chin. “I hope you find what you’re looking for, Tucker. I hope you can let go of the past and start living again.”

  He gave her a strange look, and then wrested open the front door.

  An arctic blast blew up the tail of her nightshirt. She shivered. The snow was falling faster, heavier than before.

  Without another word, Tucker turned and disappeared down the stairs, taking July’s aching heart with him.

  Her bottom lip trembled. Her eyes ached. Her mouth tasted salty and dry. I will not cry.

  She shut and locked the door against the cold. Her knees wobbled as she made her way over to the rocking chair and sank down.

  Good heavens, what was happening to her? How could she be feeling such a strong reaction to a man she barely knew?

  Especially a man she had no business falling for? She had to respect him for having the good sense to leave before they both did something they regretted.

  Even so, that did nothing to alleviate the pain squeezing her chest. When his lips were on hers, nothing had ever seemed so right.

  July whimpered and brought a fist to her mouth. “Go back to bed, July. Tucker isn’t your problem,” she scolded, but she couldn’t make herself get out of the chair.

  She kept thinking about Tucker, alone in the cold. From his behavior, his attitude toward life, he dwelled in lonely isolation. Warmth and smiles and closeness made him uncomfortable.

  He was a solitary wolf, too battered by life to join the pack.

  A tear rolled down her cheek. How did one go about showing tenderness to a man who had never been loved for himself? Where did you start?

  She wanted to fling open the door and run after him. She wanted to cradle him in her arms and never let go. She wanted to tell him how she felt and search the depths of his brown eyes.

  Don’t be stupid, July. You don’t have a special connection with Tucker. You’re just upset because he was a lost soul you couldn’t save. Remember Dexter?

  Remembering her old boyfriend gave July pause. Yes. She had to remember the mistakes she’d made in the past so that she wouldn’t repeat them. Mistakes, such as giving far too much far too soon.

  It hurt to catalog her own faults, but it was necessary to slow herself down. She needed to be cautious. She tended to seek out challenging relationships, to try and change the other person to suit her image of them.

  Like she had with Dexter.

  Painful memories curled into her.

  She’d met Dexter in college. He’d been an accounting major in his junior year and she a freshman taking basic courses. He’d first attracted her when she’d spotted him in the campus cafeteria.

  He’d always sat alone, seated at a corner table surrounded by
his books and calculators. July and her friends had sprawled across the large table in the middle of the dining room, laughing, joking, and generally having a good time.

  July had noticed him right off the bat. Studious-looking but handsome in an understated way, Dexter would often glance over at her boisterous group with pure longing on his face, as if he wanted nothing more than to join them but was far too shy to ask.

  In that respect, Tucker reminded her of Dexter. Both of them outsiders looking in, wanting to belong but afraid to risk closeness. Only, she did not know Tucker’s motivations.

  She shifted on the couch, recalling that first giddy moment when her eyes had met Dexter’s. He quickly looked away, but to this day, July remembered the exact thought that had run through her mind.

  I could help him.

  The attraction had been based on Dexter’s neediness and her desire to help. July knew that now. She’d gotten up and walked across the cafeteria and asked Dexter to come sit with her and her friends.

  He’d been hesitant at first, but she’d turned on her hundred-watt smile and coaxed him into it. During the next few months, their romance had blossomed as July did her best to draw him out of his shell.

  She took him shopping for trendy clothes. She complimented him frequently. She had bought him presents and lavished him with affection—cute cards left on his bathroom mirror, sweet treats placed strategically throughout his apartment, daily texts just to let him know she was thinking about him.

  She taught him how to make small talk, to dance, to kiss. In the beginning, her mission was to draw out a shy young man, but before long, July found herself falling in love.

  And then something happened…

  July’s strategy worked too well.

  Dexter transformed from a timid introvert into the life of the party. He sharpened his flirting skills and started drinking. He bought a sports car and let his hair grow longer. He exchanged his wire-rimmed glasses for colored contact lenses and took up jogging. The drastic changes brought attention from other women.

  July tried to tell herself the new Dexter was an improvement over the old one, and yet, the sweet man she’d fallen for seemed to have vanished, leaving in his stead a shallow, glossy version.

  One day when July had gone over to Dexter’s apartment after her sociology class, she found him lip-locked in an embrace with a beautiful, statuesque blonde. An incredible cover-model type who’d made July feel like a stubby gray field mouse.

  July stood in the doorway, her mouth gaping, his door key clutched in her hand, her heart wrenching in her chest.

  “Dexter,” she’d squeaked, forcing him to untangle himself from the blonde and face her. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m glad you found out,” he’d said calmly. “I’m tired of sneaking around behind your back. I’m in love with Jennifer. She doesn’t make me feel inadequate the way you do. It’s over between us, July.”

  His words had shattered her. She couldn’t believe Dexter would treat her this way after all she’d given him. Or that she’d made him feel inadequate for being who he was in the first place. That stung. Her “helping” had backfired.

  Even now, five years later, July was deeply ashamed of what she’d done next. She’d clung to Dexter’s arm and begged, “Why? Where did I go wrong? I did everything for you.”

  “That’s precisely the problem,” he’d replied coolly. “You give too much. It overwhelms people, July.”

  His words had crushed her. How could someone give too much? Especially when you were in love. Wasn’t that what love was all about?

  July gulped against the memory, her face flaming hot. Despite what had happened, she still couldn’t seem to stop giving away too much of herself. It was a basic flaw in her makeup. She wasn’t happy unless she was making others happy.

  She’d been to enough counseling sessions since then to come to grips with the truth. Because of her childhood, she’d become a people-pleaser, and she had to be careful to set strong boundaries and take care of herself first. She couldn’t help others if she came from a place of neediness.

  Was she doing the same thing with Tucker that she’d done with Dexter? Thinking she knew best, trying to remake him into her image of him?

  She needed to step back and let the man figure out his own life. Who was she to say what was best for him?

  Let the man be.

  Resolutely, July got to her feet. She stepped to the front window to close the curtain, but movement in the courtyard caught her attention.

  A man, bundled in a heavy winter coat and ski cap, carried a large cardboard box on his shoulder.

  Tilting her head, July studied him.

  It was one of her new, unfriendly neighbors. Why was he traipsing around in this storm at three-thirty in the morning?

  Curious, July stayed at the window.

  The man swiveled his head left, then right. He reached in his pocket for keys, then stepped onto the landing. He hit an icy patch beneath the snow. His feet flew out from under him, and the box he carried crashed to the ground. He lay stunned, staring up at the black sky.

  “Oh, my goodness,” July exclaimed and slapped her hand over her mouth.

  What if the man was hurt? He’d hit his head on the step. Was he knocked unconscious? He could be bleeding. He could go into shock from the cold.

  Without hesitating, she ran to her bedroom, jammed her feet into slippers, struggled into her coat, and ran outside to help her fallen neighbor.

  8

  Tucker knew his words had wounded July, and he felt bad about it. But what choice had he had? Too bad he’d lost control and kissed her.

  Once he started kissing her, he’d realized that he was in over his head. The truth was that he had wanted her so badly, he couldn’t think straight.

  So he’d said the first thing that came to his mind. The one thing guaranteed to push her away. He’d told July he didn’t want to change. Didn’t want her help.

  Even now, recalling the damaged expression in her big green eyes, he wanted to bite off his tongue. But his lie had worked. It had gotten him out of her apartment and out of her life. She didn’t know it now, but she was far better off without him.

  Tucker shivered against the cold and tugged the blanket tighter around his shoulders. It smelled of her. Lemony, fresh, mouthwatering. In the midst of the ice and snow, he inhaled the scent of summer.

  Shifting his weight, Tucker sighed. His cowboy boots crunched against the soft snow. July was embedded in his head. No matter how much he tried to brush her aside, his thoughts kept straying back to her.

  His plan to use her as his cover had been a terrible one.

  Regret surged through him. It wasn’t fair for him to treat such a wonderful woman in such an underhanded manner. Another reason he’d needed to leave.

  He huddled by the apartments’ back staircase, using the building as a windbreak, his Stetson pulled down low over his forehead. If he stepped forward, he could peep around the corner and see the Stravanos brothers’ front door while still remaining out of their line of sight.

  The light burned in their apartment. Tucker leaned against the bricks and sighed. Already, his toes were numb. Wistfully, he thought of July’s couch.

  Okay, Haynes, concentrate on the task at hand. Remember why you’re here in the first place. This is a job. You’ve got criminals to apprehend.

  But no matter how he lectured himself, he couldn’t stop his mind from drifting back to July. Her bubbly smile was etched into his brain. The taste of her lips burned into his memory.

  The feel of her soft skin haunted his fingers. Tucker rubbed his thumb against his forefinger, aching to touch her again.

  He’d done the right thing by leaving. Even if he’d hurt her feelings. Better to hurt her feelings a little now than a lot later.

  This way, she would never discover the truth. He had planned on using her as a smokescreen.

  From inside the courtyard, he heard footsteps coming up the sidewalk. Heavy footste
ps. Male footsteps. Only slightly muffled by the snow.

  Was it one of the Stravanos brothers?

  He heard a cough, keys jangling, then a loud expletive and a sudden thud. Tucker scuttled forward and peered around the corner.

  A hundred yards away, Leo Stravanos lay on the ground on his back staring at the sky, a large white packing box split open beside him.

  Tucker’s pulse jumped.

  What to do? He definitely didn’t want to be spotted. Crouching, he threw off July’s blanket and reached for his duty weapon that wasn’t there.

  Dammit.

  Before he’d come to July’s door, he’d taken off the shoulder holster and gun and stashed them in his pickup truck parked several blocks away. His thoughts had been so wrapped up in July, he’d forgotten to retrieve it.

  From the front stairs, he heard a clattering sound.

  Oh no. Please don’t let that noise be what he feared. Not July on another rescue mission.

  July popped into view, barreling from the stairs into the courtyard. Her curly hair in disarray, the tail of her nightgown and bare legs sticking out from beneath her coat, fuzzy pink bedroom slippers on her feet.

  Tucker stifled a groan.

  “Mister!” July raced over to the prostrate Stravanos. “Are you okay?”

  “Dammit, July,” Tucker muttered under his breath. “Get away from him.”

  From his position on the ground, Leo Stravanos grunted.

  “You poor thing,” July gushed and squatted next to Leo.

  It was all Tucker could do to keep from intervening, but showing up on the scene now would only make matters worse. He’d sit still, watching and waiting. If he sensed she was in the slightest danger, he’d be out there in a New York minute, not caring if he blew the stakeout.

  “I saw you slip,” July chattered. “And you hit your head. You took quite a spill. Does it hurt?”

  “What do you think, lady?” Stravanos growled, bracing himself up on his elbows.

  “Don’t move,” she cautioned, raising her palms.

  “Why the hell not?”

  “You could have a head injury.”

  Leo Stravanos wobbled but finally managed to sit all the way up. “I feel just fine.”