Man of Honor (Battle Scars)

by Diana Gardin

  I don’t say anything, only watch him. I imagine my expression is sad; I’m heartsick. Despairing. I’m already grieving the loss of him, because there’s no way he’ll want to be with me now.

  And then he’s clutching me to his chest with a ferocity I don’t understand.

  “I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t know the rules.”

  I wrap my arms around his neck and pull back so I can look him right in the eye. “I know that. It wasn’t fair to hold you responsible. Up until that moment, it was the best experience of my life. I was loving it. I was into it, right there with you. It’s the messed-up shit inside my own head that messed me up that day. Not you. It’s not your fault.”

  His eyes are almost savage as he shakes his head. “You’re not messed up. I wish I had known, but whatever’s going on inside your head is because of a ghost. It’s not your fault either.”

  I think about that. Because of something he hadn’t even realized he’d done, I pushed Drake away. And then I treated him horribly afterward because I couldn’t stand to look at him and remember that day. But it’s not because I was scared of him. It was because I was scared about the way he made me feel.

  Out of control.

  Drake reaches inside my head and plucks out my thoughts, as if I’d spoken them aloud. “You’re in control here, baby.” He leans back against the pillows, never dropping my gaze. He holds me captive with his eyes, and his hands are strong and sure as he hands me the condom. Positions me on top of his ready hardness.

  He waits.

  Glancing down, his dick jumps against my most sensitive spot and I’m a live wire again. With just a few words he’s said everything I’ll ever need to know. I slide the condom on his tip and roll it down over his impressive length.

  I lift myself up, and then slowly sink down on top of him. We both groan at the sweetly illicit contact. I can see every muscle in Drake’s jaw twitching, and feel his strain as he holds himself back.

  His hands gently cup my bottom as I lift up and fall back down again. “This is your ride, sweetheart. And it’s perfection.”

  Letting my eyelids flutter shut as a flurry of pleasure drifts though my body, Drake’s gentle command has them flying open again. “Look at me, Mea.”

  I do, and I begin to find a rocking rhythm. He hisses out between his teeth, but he doesn’t make a move to unseat me or flip me over. He just keeps holding my gaze. I watch with fascination as a bead of sweat, evidence of his effort, rolls down his chin and drops onto his chest. It disappears into the hairs there. I lean forward and lick him, following the same trail the bead of liquid just had.

  “Fuuuuuck,” he grinds out. “Mea.”

  I bob faster, feeling the rigid hardness inside me stretching me out, filling me up. I could be floating. I could be flying. I’m empowered, because I’m not forcing the control here. It’s not something that I’ve designed because of my rules and manipulations and independent decisions.

  I have control because Drake freely handed it to me.

  And I’m only just beginning to understand the difference.

  Finding myself through Drake’s eyes, discovering who I am from the way he views me, I ride him until I’ve climbed so high there’s no other option but to fall. Drake’s gentle hands find my breasts, and he tweaks my nipples between his thumb and forefingers. His eyes are still locked on my face, and there’s a sense of wonder and longing in them I can’t quite understand. But when he speaks, I know I’m home.

  “I got you, baby.”

  At the peak of pleasure and the brink of something unknown, I crash down under the weight of waves of ecstasy. I lean forward, collapsing onto Drake’s chest. His hands smooth up my back as his body shudders beneath mine and my name slips from his lips.

  When he’s still, except for the heaving of his chest, he moves me so that I’m lying beside him. Then he slides off the bed and into the adjoining bathroom. When he returns, he’s carrying a wet washcloth. With steady and gentle hands, he flips me onto my back and proceeds to clean me up. When he’s finished, he returns the towel to the bathroom and slips back into bed.

  Pulling the comforter over us, he pulls me against his chest. His lips brush against my head.

  We don’t speak, because at the moment nothing more needs to be said. He just told me more with his body than any man has ever said to me with words. He showed me how he feels and what he thinks with his caramel eyes as I broke apart above him, and that was more than enough.

  Snuggling in close to his side, drawing in the warmth from his body, I sleep.

  “A pub crawl?” The excitement in Berkeley’s voice is matched by the rosy flush in her cheeks, and I know my idea for my best friend’s last girls’ night out before she gets hitched is a good one.

  “With ghosts,” adds Greta. “It’s Savannah; don’t forget the ghosts.”

  Berkeley claps her hands together, glee apparent on her gorgeously perky features. “Oh, my God.”

  Rolling my eyes, I guide her toward the limo waiting for us. It idles on the curb in front of the house with suited driver standing in wait. It meant taking money out of my savings, contributing with the other girls for this special night, but when it comes to Berkeley and Greta, every cent I spend is worth it. Their friendship is invaluable to me.

  “And if you’re worried about your man, don’t be. He’s taking the crawl starting at the other end of the tour. We arranged this especially for you two with the tour company. So you’ll get to kiss at the bar in the middle, and then keep on truckin’.”

  She squeals in delight as she ducks into the limo. Grinning wickedly at Greta, I accept the white-and-pink “Bachelorette” sash she hands me, along with the tiara. Berkeley’s been sort of a princess her whole life, but tonight we’ll be turning her into a whole different sort of royalty.

  “Put these on!” I thrust the dress-up items in her lap as I climb in beside her. The driver closes the door behind Olive as she brings up the rear, and she takes it upon herself to pull a bottle of champagne out of the automobile’s mini-fridge.

  “Well, girls…should we get this party started right?”

  Handing us each a flute, she pours the bubbly liquid into our waiting glasses. “Thank you for letting me come on this trip with you. I’m having so much fun getting to know you all. Cheers to new friends, new beginnings, and a new chapter for Berkeley!”

  Raising our glasses, we all yell, “Cheers!”

  “So,” Berkeley begins, leaning back and making herself comfy in the leather seat. “Mea.”

  Her whiskey-colored gaze lands on me and I know I’m in trouble. I’ve given Berkeley that look myself so many times before I can read it like my favorite book. She’s out for information, and if she doesn’t get it she’ll only settle for blood.

  “Hmm?” My nervousness at whatever she’s about to ask is only amped up by the vibration of my phone in my clutch.

  I realize only then that it’s the first time today that I’ve thought about Mikah’s call last night.

  My stomach muscles harden into a wall of coiled steel, and I have trouble catching my breath. Spending the afternoon with Drake kept the fear and the dread at bay, but now it’s back full force. I’m left reeling from the ferocity of it and I wish so badly that Drake was here to be my escape again.

  “Mea?” Berkeley’s face changes expression as soon as she notices my impending panic. “What’s wrong?”

  Shaking my head, I gather myself along with a deep cleansing breath. I can’t allow this to ruin Berkeley’s night. Whatever Mikah has to tell me can wait until her special occasion is over.

  “Nothing. Everything is fine. Are you ready to get your drink on?”

  Her normally large eyes narrow. “I looked for you this afternoon. I didn’t want you to be bored or lonely, but you weren’t in your room when I checked. Where were you?”

  Olive’s gaze shifts from Berkeley to me with interest, and Greta’s elbow lands in my ribs.

  “You’re holding out on us? Were y
ou with a certain hulk of a mechanic, oiling his engine?” She bites the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing, but a giggle escapes anyway.

  “Greta…please don’t ever, ever make an analogy again. Ever!” She blushes at my playful scolding but holds her ground. She and Berkeley are a united front on this one, and I can’t escape the limo.

  I huff out an impatient breath. “We’re all adults here, right? What happens in Savannah stays in Savannah.”

  “Mea! You know that if it were either one of us you’d need all the details. I demand to know what’s going on with you and Drake. Is it just sex? Or do you like him?”

  Her question firmly plants a picture of what Drake did to me earlier in his bed at the front of my mind. Thoughts of my fingers twisting in his hair, tugging on the strands until his urgent groan met my ears. Thoughts of the way his glistening skin felt sliding against mine in the most intimate possible way. Thoughts of the feelings he evoked in my body when his hands and his tongue and his cock brought me to the brink of pleasure more than once.

  I use a hand to fan myself, and Berkeley zeroes in on the motion, a blond poodle with a bone she can’t put down.

  “I knew it! You are definitely screwing him!” Her triumphant voice fills the limo and the other girls’ heads snap to attention. “But…you have rules. You never sleep with the same guy twice. And you never spend time with the guy. Because we’re all friends, Drake is automatically different, right?”

  I tilt my head to the side, considering. Is that the only reason things are so much more with Drake? Because we have the same circle of friends and we’re familiar with each other? The way Drake makes me feel: safe, surrounded by warmth, keyed up with sexual energy…those aren’t familiar emotions for me. He’s the only one who has ever inspired them. And I know, deep down inside my soul, that it’s not just because we’ve known each other for a few years now.

  It’s more than that.

  Greta’s searching my expression, and sees something in it that makes her reach out to squeeze my shoulder from her place across from me. “How do you feel about him, Mea?”

  Shaking my head slowly, I gaze at her in utter disbelief. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I tried as hard as I could to prevent it, to stay mad at him for something that wasn’t even his fault. But he got to me…somehow.”

  Berkeley’s voice has gentled, and she grasps my hand in hers with fierce friendship shining in her eyes. “And?”

  I have to admit it. For myself as much as for my friends. “And I think I’m falling for him.”

  17

  Drake

  It’s my turn to buy Dare’s drink, so I grab his order request and head for the bartender in the back of the old, classically “haunted” Savannah dive. I had my doubts when Mea first suggested this idea, but I have to admit it’s turning out to be a great night. We let the girls leave first in a limo, and then we followed in a stretch Hummer to the opposite end of the riverfront.

  Knowing that in a little under an hour I’m going to see Mea’s gorgeous face lighting up everything around her again is enough to have me sweating in anticipation. After our afternoon together, my body is spent in the best possible way, and my brain? Filled with memories of how amazing she looked while she fell into pieces in my arms.

  I know how lucky I am. I know that although Mea might not be a stranger to sexual partners, the fact that I got to see her all vulnerable and free the way she was today is something that I should cherish. I’m always going to remember the way she looked. Always going to want to replicate the way I made her moan.

  And the way she made me feel? It’s unmatched by anyone who’s ever come before her. I know for a fact that no matter where I go or whom I’m with, I’ll never have another experience like that one. That’s why I’m going to try my damnedest not to let her go. I need to be enough for her, and I want to be more than she needs.

  The female bartender heads over with a flirty grin. Leaning over the bar, she sends me a wink. “Your turn to buy, huh?” She glances over at Dare, who’s clearly been having a good time tonight, and then back at me. “He’s the groom? Let me guess…” She allows her eyes to slide around my torso, taking in my build and flicking over my face before she finds my eyes once again. “Best man?”

  I’m surprised, but I don’t let it show in my features. “How’d you guess? And yeah…he wants a Killian’s.”

  She turns to grab the bottle of beer, and when she slides it across the bar to me she grins. “It’s my job to know. You, though…you’ve caught my attention. Want to swing back by here after your party is all done?”

  I’ve never really been a player; it’s not my style. I’ve been with women, sure. But I don’t jump from woman to woman like some of the guys I know. And to each his own, I don’t judge anyone for their choices. I’ve just always known that in life, a revolving door of women, isn’t for me.

  “Sorry.” I grace her with a rueful smile. “I’ve got plans after this party.”

  She leans into her hand and offers me a sad half-grin. “She’s a lucky girl. What can I get to top you off?” She gestures toward Dare’s beer.

  I look down at the sole beer in my hand, and then look back up at her. “Nothing. I’m good.”

  And I am…good. One beer, just like the me before I lost my mom. Alcohol doesn’t drown out the pain. It just numbs it for a little while. But now? I know there’s a better way to deal with things. Especially knowing that being drunk meant I wasn’t there for Mea when she needed me.

  Never again.

  Pulling a folded bill out of my jeans pocket, I leave it on the bar and rejoin my group. Jeremy and Chase seem to be getting along really well, laughing at the same types of jokes and ribbing Dare with everything they have. Ronin, quieter than the other guys, eyes me as I return. I don’t know Ronin well, but I’ve noticed that his eyes miss nothing. He’s shrewd, and he has a reason for every move he makes.

  There’s been more than one friendly gathering where I noticed Ronin and Mea with their heads together. I’m a guy, and I can read the hungry expression in another man’s eyes when it comes to a woman. Back then, there was nothing I could do about it. I’d be restless as hell, wanting to slam my fist into his face just for talking to her with intent, but I couldn’t without looking like an asshole.

  That’s not the case now. Mea is mine.

  I hand Dare his beer along with a clap on the shoulder, and then I take up a relaxed stance beside Ronin. He acknowledges my presence next to him with an incline of the head, but we both stare straight in front of us.

  “What’s up?” I stuff both hands into my pockets, for lack of anything better to do with them other than clenching them tight.

  Ronin takes a sip of his highball, swallowing before he speaks. “So. You and Mea? This a new thing?”

  My blood heats up as it races through my veins, but I fight to keep my cool. Ronin is asking. There are a lot of guys who wouldn’t do that. They’d just try and take what they want. So I nod.

  “Yeah.”

  He flicks his mossy eyes toward me quickly before looking away again. But I don’t miss the seriousness in them, the question in his gaze. “Casual?”

  I shake my head. He needs to be well aware of where I stand with Mea. Because no guy with brains in his head would turn down a prize like her if he thought he had a chance. “Not for me.” I look at him when I say it, and he turns his head so that our gazes meet.

  He stares at me for a minute, and I don’t back down or look away. When he finally gives me one brief nod of his head, I know we have an understanding. “Treat her right.”

  Blowing out a quiet breath through pursed lips, I give him a curt nod. “Plan to.”

  Our tour guide returns to us then, leading us out of the bar and onto the brightly lit, busy Savannah riverfront street.

  “The next place is extra creepy,” he informs us as we walk. He’s really gung-ho about the ghost thing but can also read the vibe from our group. It’s telling him that we don’t
give a shit about ghosts or haunted bars, but we like a good drink from a good pub, so he’s left us alone to enjoy that for the most part.

  It’s not lost on me that I’ve only had one beer tonight. I don’t have the strong urge to get lost inside a glass of whiskey, and I know exactly the reason why. The sweet obscurity of Mea is still swimming through my system, and its power gives me more strength than a drink ever could.

  It gives me hope. Just because my mother was a drunk and now she’s gone, it doesn’t mean that I now need to turn to alcohol to cope. It just causes more problems, especially with Mea. I’ve always wanted my own life separate from the shitty one she gave me, and I’ve made that in Lone Sands. The fact that she passed away rocked me through and through, but I can’t change who she was or what she lacked as a mother. I can only live for today, and right now a big part of my today includes this small tornado force of a woman.

  We pause outside the next stop. “This is the Tucker Inn,” our tour guide informs us. “It’s said to be haunted by the ghost of a lonely man who used to frequent the pub at the turn of the century. Come on inside and we’ll tell you the rest.”

  The dude is so excited about the prospect of this ghost that he speeds inside. Jeremy is shaking with laughter, and Grisham elbows him hard in the ribs as he leads the way into the dim tavern.

  We hear the girls before we see them. They’re making a ruckus right at the front of the place. Apparently, the little group has been taking turns buying Berkeley her drinks as well, because she’s spinning in a slow circle in the center of them, wearing a pageant sash and tiara. When she spots Dare, she books it across the bar and leaps into his arms.

  Catching her easily, he buries his face in her neck and begins murmuring something that I can’t and probably don’t want to hear. Removing my eyes from the spectacle, I search out Mea.