“Nothing, sweetheart,” John said at the same time Brandon asked, “Will you tell us about Taggart?”
Lara’s blood froze in her veins as she stared at Brandon. “Harold Taggart?” When he simply nodded, compassion and concern filling his eyes, she asked, “How do you know about him?”
“Damn it, Ace,” John muttered, drawing her attention to him.
She glared at John in disbelief. “You know about him, too?”
“Kenneth told me the bastard has been stalking you in Washington. Hell, stalking you wherever you go. He said Taggart has been showing up whenever you go out, calling you, putting letters in your mailbox, and leaving obscene gifts on your doorstep.”
“I told him all of that in confidence.” Kenneth was the only person she’d told besides her father. She’d known he would share it with Charlotte and Marcus. She’d expected that. She hadn’t known she’d tell John and Brandon. “He told you at dinner the other night, didn’t he?”
Though the six of them had stayed together most of the night, there had been about ten minutes when the men had separated from her and Charlotte to check out Marcus’s antique gun collection. That had to be when Kenneth had told them. Except, John was shaking his head.
“I knew before you even stepped onto the island, baby.”
Lara closed her eyes and then opened them again as she looked at Brandon. “And you?”
Brandon eyes filled with guilt. “Marcus caught up with me on the Naval base.”
Which explained his sudden appearance on the island. She remembered that moment so clearly, the way even John had been surprised by Brandon showing up. He apparently hadn’t known Marcus had called Brandon.
A heavy weight settled in her belly as the last week all started to come together. She’d not only told Kenneth and Marcus about Harold Taggart, but she’d also told them years ago about the two SEALs who’d rescued her in Cambodia. It explained why John and Brandon had been sticking to her like glue since she’d stepped off the excursion boat. They were no different than the men her father often employed to be at her side. They were protecting her, readying themselves to be her rescuers once more, and, hey, why not get a little sex out of the deal as payment for their time and trouble?
“How did you meet Taggart?” Brandon asked, his tone so compassionate and sweet it made bile rise in the back of her throat.
Sweet fucking SEAL my ass.
They were no different than Joshua Snyder. He’d been employed by her father to watch over her in Billings when she’d overseen the opening of The Hampton Center for drug and alcohol abuse. Joshua had come on to her, said all the right things, and made all the right moves. She’d fallen for it all right up until the moment she’d realized it had been nothing but lies.
John and Brandon had tricked her just like Joshua had. They’d made her believe they really wanted her, made her feel safe, and made her…
No, you are not in love with them.
But she was and she knew it. She’d been desperately longing almost from the start to stay on the island, wishing what they had between them didn’t have to end, and knowing when it did she would be completely destroyed. She’d bought a butt plug, for Christ’s sake. She never would have done that if she hadn’t wanted to please Brandon. She’d wanted to give him and John the pleasures they’d been giving her. They’d said what they wanted most was to fuck her together, both of them inside her at once. She’d gotten the plug and began training her ass so she could make it happen for them.
Fuck you together. That’s your key word, Lara. Fuck. Not make love to you.
The plug in her ass suddenly didn’t feel good anymore. She needed it out of her. She needed to get away so she could think, but she knew, if she attempted to leave now, they would only follow her. Her eyes burned and she blinked, refusing to let the tears come. She couldn’t look at Brandon, couldn’t look at either of them, so she stared toward the water, wanting nothing more than to swim so far out to sea she’d never have to see either of them or that bastard, Harold Taggart, again.
“I met him at a political function.” She remembered the night so clearly. “It was more of a charity event, really. It was shortly after the university shooting. The function was organized to raise money for the grieving families and to rally for gun control. Harold introduced himself and brought me a drink. He wasn’t the first guy that night to do it, but he was the last.” She hadn’t realized until later that once she’d talked to Harold, even though she hadn’t spent more than twenty minutes with the man, no other guy had come near her that night.
“You know his sister was killed in that shooting?” John said.
Lara briefly met his gaze. “I know, and my heart goes out to him, but not enough that I don’t think he’s a freak for the way he’s stalking me. I never did anything to encourage this. He asked if he could see me again. I told him I wasn’t interested.” She’d gotten a weird vibe in those twenty minutes, a bone-deep knowledge that she didn’t want to be around the man again. “I thanked him politely and went on about my business.”
“But he didn’t let it end there?” John prompted when she fell silent.
She shook her head and looked away, still not able to hold his or Brandon’s gaze. “He got my phone number, called, and sent roses to my house. Again, I thanked him politely and told him I wasn’t interested. He kept on, calling and sending flowers. Then I started seeing him at places. I’d be out for lunch with my girlfriends and I’d feel someone watching me. You know that sensation you get?” She didn’t wait for either of them to answer. “That’s what I’d feel. I’d look around and he’d be there. After a few weeks, I started finding the letters in my mailbox. No stamp or return address. They were obviously hand delivered.”
“What did they say?” Brandon asked.
She shook her head again, not willing to echo the letters word for word. “They started out sweet, if you want to call it that. But they eventually got twisted and perverted. And the gifts he dropped off on my doorstep…” She shuddered. “Some people are into that kind of stuff and that’s their business. I’m not. It freaked me out. He put more letters in with the gifts, telling me how he wanted to use them on me.”
“When was the last time he sent you anything?” John voice sounded tight with anger.
She glanced at him and saw the muscle ticking in his jaw. He was so handsome. Why did he have to turn out to be such a sneaky prick?
“The last gift he left on my doorstep was two days before I came here. He hasn’t stopped calling. I just don’t answer the phone.” She’d taken to leaving her phone at the cottage as soon as she’d gotten on the island. If her father needed her, which she figured was highly unlikely considering the strain on their relationship, he knew he could reach her through the Winters brothers.
“He was spotted across the Gulf in Silver Springs last night.”
Lara whipped her head toward Brandon, pinning him with a wide-eyed stare. “How do you know that?”
John took the liberty of answering her. “I’ve passed his picture off to all the business owners on the island, my deputies, the security on the mainland, and shared it with the SSPD. One of the officers is fairly certain it was him he saw last night.”
Lara bowed her head. “He knows I’m here. Hell, anyone who watches television or reads the newspaper or magazines knows I’m here.” She shrugged and lifted her head. “I haven’t wanted to think about it, but I’ve been surprised he hasn’t showed up on the island yet.”
“He won’t get near the island.” There was so much confidence in John’s tone that she almost believed him. “I can promise you that.”
She managed to smile at him as she pushed her chair back and prepared to stand. “Thank you for keeping me safe. If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I’m going back to my cottage now.”
“Lara, wait.” Both men jumped out of their seats, but it was Brandon who spoke.
She’d already turned her back to them and closed her eyes, silently willing herself
not to cry. When she was pretty certain she could hold it together, she turned and gave him a shaky smile. “I’ll be fine. I just need some space. Stay. Enjoy the rest of your beer. Drink mine, too, if you want.” She’d barely touched hers. “I’m done drinking for the day.”
“Lara,” Brandon tried again, but she turned and walked from beneath the roof of the island bar.
“Let her go,” she heard John say as she was walking away. “We’ll keep an eye on her. We’re on an island, remember? She can’t go too far.”
* * * *
It started raining. One minute there had barely been a cloud in the sky and, the next, Lara found herself walking back to her cottage in the middle of a torrential downpour. She didn’t bother to run, though she did speed up her walking pace a bit. She bowed her head as she trudged along, only half-aware of the people coming in from the beach in a rush to escape the rain.
By the time she reached her cottage she was soaked to the bone, chilled to the core, and ready to burst into tears. She did just that as she slammed the cottage door behind her, leaned against it, and buried her face in her hands. At least she’d made it home before her dam broke.
Home. She lowered her hands as her blurry vision traveled around the small living room, the dining area, and the tiny kitchen. This wasn’t home. It was a rental cottage on an island where she didn’t belong.
You thought you did.
She found it amazing how one hour of her life, one conversation, and one realization had shifted everything into a different perspective. Yes, she had thought she belonged here. She remembered the moment she’d first walked into this cottage, the rush of sensation that had moved over her, and the feeling she’d never really had before that she had found her place. She was at home.
How could she have been so wrong? She headed for the bedroom thinking the cottage was little more to her now than that hut in Cambodia had been. It was a prison, a place someone had put her to wait until she was rescued. Kenneth had put her here, a man she’d trusted half her life, a man she loved as much, or maybe even more, than her own father, and a man who had betrayed that trust. He’d put her in this cottage directly across from John’s house, his brother had called Brandon for assistance, and they’d all watched over her making sure they wouldn’t have to bother with saving her again.
“Stupid. Stupid. Stupid!” She ground her teeth as she stalked to the bathroom and forced herself to calm down long enough to perform the task of removing the butt plug from her ass. She tossed it in the sink on her way back into the bedroom without a glance, not needing it as a reminder of how badly she’d been played.
She yanked her luggage from the bottom of the enormous bedroom closet and threw both bags on top of a bed she’d never slept in. Well, that served as a reminder, now didn’t it? She’d fallen into John’s bed easily enough and had taken Brandon right along with her.
“At least you had a good time,” she muttered, scowling as she pulled the first drawer from the dresser and upended it into one of the suitcases.
Yeah, she’d had a good time, all right. Worse, she’d let herself fall in love with both of them. How could she have been so naive?
“Just pack your bags and get off this island,” she told herself as she replaced the dresser drawer and snagged the next one. “Get back on your turf and put both of them out of your mind for good.”
She could do it. She was strong. She could forget about them. She could go on with her life. And Harold Taggart? She could handle him, too. He scared her. She didn’t doubt he was dangerous. His escalations thus far had proved that. He’d eventually come after her. He’d rape and torture her, but he wouldn’t kill her. Not that she’d give him the chance to do any of that. Forget the fucking media scandal going to the police would create. She had the letters, the call log of blocked numbers, and even the wretched gifts he’d left on her doorstep. She’d take it all to the police and demand action. Her father would just have to deal with it.
Feeling slightly better now that she had a plan, she glanced at the clock on the bedside table. The next excursion boat off the island wouldn’t run for another two hours, provided the weather didn’t delay its arrival and departure. She’d be at the docks waiting for it regardless, and soon she’d be back home where she belonged.
* * * *
“We never should have let her walk off like that.”
For a man who was height challenged, Brandon’s strides could eat up pavement when he was pissed. John hastened his steps to keep up with the man as they made their way through the rain toward his house.
“You and I both know she’s gone to her cottage. She likely got wet as hell getting there just like we are, but she’s there. We’ll give her some time to cool off and then we’ll go talk to her.”
“We should’ve talked to her days ago,” Brandon grumbled. “We should’ve told her we knew about Taggart long before today.”
John closed his eyes as he tipped his head to the sky and let the rain beat on his face. He understood why Lara had left them at the bar. She was scared, she was pissed, and she was hurt. He’d seen her attempting to hold it together in front of them and knew she’d been on the verge of tears. He damned himself for that and for hurting her the way he’d done. He wanted to be angry with Brandon for bringing up Taggart. If the man had kept his mouth shut, today would have ended far differently than it appeared it was going to.
Still, deep down, he knew Brandon was right. They should have brought up the subject of Taggart to Lara her first day on the island instead of pretending they didn’t know anything. He’d wanted her to feel safe here. Hindsight being what it was, he realized now she likely would’ve felt even safer if they’d told her they knew. Brandon was a SEAL. He was a former SEAL and the island sheriff. Of course she would have felt safe with them around.
“What is it you want, Ace?” John went for point blank and asked the question that had started plaguing his mind of late. “What are hoping will come out of this thing we’ve got going with Lara?”
“Right now, I’m hoping she’ll talk to us without the threat of castration.”
“And after she talks to us with our dicks still attached?”
Brandon slowed his strides. The rain had started to let up a little, but no longer mattered. They were already soaked to the bone.
“You heard her before she got so pissed at us. She loves it here.”
“And she can’t wait to get back to Washington and tell everyone she can get to listen about it,” John reminded him, though he’d heard the sadness in her voice when she’d said those words.
“Come on, man. You know as well as I do that was a lie. She wants to stay here. I want her to stay here.”
They stopped walking in the middle of the street between Lara’s cottage and John’s house.
“What about you?” John asked. “Are you thinking you want to stay here, now?”
Brandon shook his head. “I can’t. My tour isn’t up and I have no intentions of leaving the team even if it was. I figure she’ll move in with you. I’ll spend every minute that I can when I’m stateside with the two of you, and you’ll take care of her when I’m gone.”
A weight John hadn’t fully realized he’d been carrying around for days lifted off his shoulders. Brandon had made one hell of a turn-around in the last week, going from a man damn near adamant about not sharing Lara to wanting to share her forever.
Thank God, you came to your senses.
John nodded. “That could work.”
“I know it will work.” Brandon was convinced. “And I don’t care what you say about giving her some space. I’m going over there right now and tell her how we want this to go.”
* * * *
Lara heard the rapid-fire knock at the front door and sighed. She didn’t need to look through the peephole to know who had come to visit. It surprised her it had taken John and Brandon this long to show up on the cottage doorstep.
She didn’t want to see them. If she could get off the island w
ithout having to look at them again, she’d be far better off. She’d left a few things at John’s house, some earrings and a pair of shoes for sure, but nothing she couldn’t replace when she got back to Washington. She’d packed her bags in record time and still had close to an hour and a half before the excursion boat would arrive to take her back to the mainland. She’d found a complimentary bottle of wine in the kitchen fridge and decided she’d kick back with that and wallow in self-pity until it was time to leave. She could give herself that much time to throw a pity party before she forced herself to return to normal.
Three more sharp raps sounded at the door and she took a deep breath for patience as she walked through the living room. “Go away.”
“Lara, it’s Brandon.”
She rolled her eyes, though she knew he couldn’t see her. No shit, Sherlock. What a surprise!
“Open the door, love.”
Love. He said the word a lot, only not in the context she wanted to hear it. He used it as a form of endearment. He said things like, “Turn around so I can fuck you from behind, love,” or “Will you let me fuck you in the ass one day, love?” Christ on a pogo stick, he was supposed to be her Sweet SEAL and yet he was just as perverted and crazed as every other man on the planet.
“I told you I needed space, Brandon.” She raised her voice so he could hear her through the door and the continued drumming of the rain outside. “Go across the street to John’s or your own cottage next door and get out of the rain.”
“Come on, Lara. Please open the door. I have some things I need to tell you and I can’t do it from out here.”
Lara closed her eyes as the tears returned. She shook her head as a single tear slid down her cheek. It wouldn’t do her any good to listen to what he had to say. If anything, it would no doubt make matters worse. What did he think he was going to say, anyway?
I’m sorry.
Yeah, he should be.
Thanks for the great sex. It’s made protecting you for the last week worthwhile.
Safe and SEALed with Ecstasy [The Heroes of Silver Island 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 14