by Avery Flynn
Her beauty—and the outrageous behavior she got away with because of it—had always been a tool, a weapon, a wall to hide behind. Men looked at her and saw big tits and a perky ass, but there was more to her than jiggly assets and a wild time. There had to be. If anyone would see that, it would be Mateo.
Grabbing on to her courage before she let the opportunity slip away, the words spilled out of her. “I was thinking that after you got back, maybe we could try this out on a more frequent basis—maybe even go out on regular dates.”
His eyes went wide before his gaze skittered away from her. “Olivia…”
An icy wave of disappointment washed over her before a flaming swell of fiery embarrassment threatened to drown her. She’d walked down runways in little more than glittery strings pretending to be a bikini, but she’d never been as exposed as she was right now.
Rolling away from his touch, she sat up and forced her lips to curl into a beguiling half smile that had landed her multiple magazine covers and hidden far more heartbreaks. “Don’t freak out. I’m not talking marriage.”
“We talked about this in the beginning,” he said, his tone soft and too kind. “We agreed to certain boundaries.”
“Things change.” She barely got the words out before emotion pinched her throat shut.
“Not for me.” The gentleness in his voice hurt more than if he’d laughed in her face.
He cared—but not enough.
And she cared too much.
She stood up on shaky legs. “I gotta go.”
Not waiting to see what he’d do—or not do—she rushed into the living room. Her dress lay in a puddle in front of the window. Putting it on took a millionth of the amount of time taking it off had, even with her trembling fingers fumbling the zipper. She hustled to the elevator door and punched the down button. Then pressed it again. And again. And again.
“You need this,” Mateo said from behind her as he slipped his room key into the slot above the button. “I’m sorry, Olivia. I never meant to give you the wrong impression. I’m just an asshole Marine who lives on adrenaline and MREs. I’m not the kind of guy people like you should depend on.”
The elevator doors opened and she hurried inside.
“We had fun, Mateo. Let’s leave it at that and pretend the rest never happened.” Raising her chin, she inhaled a trembling breath as the doors began to close. “Stay safe during your deployment.”
He opened his mouth but the elevator doors closed, cutting off whatever he was going to say.
Olivia sank back against the wall and fought against the tears she refused to shed. She should have known better than to fall for a pretty boy like Mateo Garcia.
She hadn’t cried this morning when her modeling agent told her she’d walked her last runway because the trend was for slimmer, less-curvy models. She hadn’t cried growing up when practically everyone in her hometown of Salvation had treated her and her family like dirt. And she sure as hell wasn’t going to cry now—no matter how much she wanted to.
So she would start her new post-modeling life without the man she loved. She could deal with that. She clamped her jaw tight to stop her chin from trembling and sniffled back the threatening tears. It didn’t matter. She’d find the place in the world where she belonged all on her own. No one knew better than a Sweet from Salvation that life rarely gave you what you wanted. You had to fight for it.
Chapter Two
Today
Tucking Handsome into her red-and-white polka dot trench coat to protect the overweight three-legged cat from the spring downpour, Olivia Sweet pushed open the door of her bright-yellow Fiat and stepped out onto uncertain terrain. A flash of lighting illuminated the soggy night, followed by a boom that rattled her teeth and scared the bejesus out of the mangy cat, if the claws suddenly embedded like tiny daggers in her boob were anything to go by.
“He empties the bank accounts and the apartment but leaves you. What a prince of a douchebag ex-boyfriend.” She pried Handsome’s razor-sharp claws out of the very flesh that used to pay her bills.
Her back tires mired hopelessly in the mud just off the highway, Olivia looked up the hill toward the dirt driveway leading to Uncle Julian’s house on the outskirts of Salvation, Virginia. Even in the limited light from her Fiat’s headlights, it was evident that the rain had turned the drive into a squishy, slimy mess.
Great. She had a good quarter-mile walk in this mess, uphill, in the dark, in heels, with a snarling, not-quite-tame L.A. alley cat clutched to her chest, and no one was expecting her. Hopefully her sisters would be happier to see her than Mother Nature, who—it turned out—was a royal bitch.
Grabbing her purse and the keys with her free hand, she slammed the door shut and half slid/half skidded her way up. She’d managed three lurching steps before the thick mud swallowed her canary-yellow stiletto whole. Only the top of her ankle bone poked out of the muck.
It was times like these when only a girl’s inner Samuel L. Jackson could fully express her frustration. “Motherfucker.”
The shoes that would have been worth some real money if she could find a buyer online were now impractical decoration. Just what she needed more of in her life.
Handsome twitched and made that weird mrowly-cat-growl noise.
“Watch those claws, fur ball, or I’ll leave you out here.”
The cat hissed.
Olivia balanced her weight on her still-free right foot, flexed her left foot, spreading out her toes inside her Jimmy Choo for a better hold, and tugged her leg upward. The mud released her foot with a wet slurp, but retained custody of her obnoxiously expensive shoe.
As she stood with one leg up like a half-drowned, bedraggled flamingo, another flash of lighting and bang of thunder snapped what was left of Handsome’s tentative grasp on reality. The cat lost his shit—clawing and squirming his way free from the confines of Olivia’s trench coat.
He perched his fat, furry ass on her shoulder for a heartbeat before using her as a launch pad to propel himself into the darkness.
The force of his leap knocked Olivia off kilter. She whirled her arms around, her heart pounding against her ribs as she fought to stay upright in the slick mud. Backward. Forward. Backward again. The earth and the sky repeatedly traded places. She wibbled and wobbled, clawing at the raindrops for balance before toppling forward.
Faster than a lumberjack called timber, she was face first in the sloppy sludge. The cold, dank mud went up her nose and into her open mouth.
That.
Was.
It.
She propped herself up on her elbows, spit out a mouthful of mud, and wiped the back of her hand across her lips. Handsome was one dead cat. Of course, she’d have to catch the surprisingly fast three-legged monster first.
Rising to her feet, and now covered from nose to kneecaps in muck, she lifted her face to the sky. At least the rain would be good for cleaning her face. The torrent washed over her, taking with it the tension locking her shoulders tight since she’d left L.A. in her rearview mirror. Sure, she was still broke, homeless, jobless and her shithead of an ex had posted naked pictures of her to a revenge-porn site, but at least she would be with her sisters—as soon as she could get her ass up this hill.
Lightning flashed, showcasing the quarter-mile mud pit between the highway and Uncle Julian’s house.
Well, almost.
First, she had to slog her way up the driveway.
Girding herself for what would undoubtedly be an ugly trek, she pulled her purse strap tight and flicked off her useless right shoe. Mud and only God knew what else squished between her toes.
“Meow.” Handsome strutted over to her—as much as he could with his signature loping style on two front legs and one back leg—and sat down on her bare foot.
She wiggled her toes. “So you figure I’m better than the local wildlife, eh city boy?” Olivia hefted the cat up and tucked him back into the opening of her trench coat. “Don’t get too comfy. I’m still mad at you.�
�
His purr vibrated against her damp skin.
Picking her foot placement carefully, she marched forward, intent on conquering the last quarter mile. She’d spent years as a model stomping in five-inch heels down the catwalks in New York and Paris, once in little more than a diamond-encrusted bra and panties. Surely she could manage to overcome a little mud. Using the house’s front porch as a beacon, she continued onward and upward.
It wasn’t the prettiest sashay she’d ever taken, but eventually she made it to the wraparound porch. She’d no more than squished down one mud-covered bare foot on the wood before Handsome sprung from her hold and scurried away—probably to cleanse himself of his dirty humiliation in private.
If only she could be so lucky. Per usual when it came to being a Sweet in Salvation, she had to take her medicine in public, but she wasn’t the same flaky wild child who’d left this place after high school graduation. She was stronger, smarter, more with it—fingers crossed, people would see past the layers of mud and see past the retired model to the real Olivia underneath.
Stopping in front of the door, she took a deep breath and pressed her wet finger to the dry doorbell.
Hands at ten and two and one foot riding the brake, Mateo Garcia rounded the bend on Highway 28. The rainstorm had gone from a low-level pain in the ass to white-knuckle worthy three curves in the road ago.
What he wouldn’t give for a Humvee and night-vision goggles. Even on high speed, windshield wipers couldn’t keep up. The police-department-issued SUV’s tires hydroplaned every time he ran over a puddle. Worse still, he had two miles of twists and turns to traverse before he hit the straightaway into Salvation, Virginia.
“Out-fucking-standing,” Mateo grumbled.
His headlights reflected off an abandoned yellow car half a click ahead. The tail end stuck out onto the roadway, forcing anyone driving by to slow down.
His heart clogged his throat, expanding until he couldn’t take in any air.
An explosion of lightning lit up the area, showing the rugged Afghanistan countryside instead of Salvation County’s lush rolling hills.
Mateo blinked and the raindrops turned into blood splattering against the windshield.
The thunder became an IED explosion, a roar louder than anything he’d ever heard before, followed by a deafening silence.
His team was dead, their bodies torn apart by the blast, and it was all his fault. If he’d followed protocol instead of his gut reaction, Ferrante and the rest of them would still be alive.
A high-pitched whine jerked him back into the present time and location. The scroungy mutt he’d picked up as a favor to his sister, the Salvation Humane Society director, cowered in the passenger seat.
“Just a car stuck in a storm. Nothing to worry about, dog.” He reached over and scratched behind the pup’s floppy ear, the action calming his nerves as much as the dog’s, and slowed down to take a closer look at the car as they passed. “Looks like somebody ran into trouble.”
The headlights were on. He couldn’t see any damage from his angle. Stuffing his jangling nerves into a dark hole, he turned on the cherry tops and pulled the SUV over.
Shining his searchlight at the vehicle, he couldn’t see any movement or sign of anyone inside.
He grabbed the in-dash radio. “Dispatch, I’ve got an eleven-ninety-six on Highway 28.”
“I thought you were off tonight, Chief.” The Salvation Police Department’s lone night dispatcher, Simons, could be heard loud and clear over the static.
“Affirmative.”
“No rest for the weary, I see.” Simons easily fell into the informal rhythm of small-town policing. “Need backup?”
“That’s a negative. Looks like they got stuck and abandoned it.” With front tires deep enough in the mud he could only see the top part of the hubcap. How did that even happen? Idiot drivers.
Lightning bounced across the dark sky and the dog whined. “Sounds like you got backup already. Is that the dog from the kill shelter?”
“Affirmative.”
“Dog” wouldn’t have been the first word he’d have used to describe the skittish, forty-pound ball of matted fur. Mateo’s scarred reflection in the rearview mirror snuck into his peripheral vision and he averted his gaze. Not that he had room to talk.
“Be sure to bring him by tomorrow.” Simons sighed. ‘My granddaughter is dying for a dog.”
Mateo nodded. “Ten-four.”
He replaced the radio and leveled an assessing look at the yellow Fiat. The rain had tapered off to merely an annoyance. Pushing open the door, he grabbed his flashlight, holding it close to the base, and stepped out onto the rain-drenched pavement.
Cold spring rain snaked its way down his neck and under his black T-shirt as he approached the car. It was just an abandoned vehicle, not a potential IED, but the double-fisted death grip on his gut didn’t abate. Knowing and knowing were two very different things. He tried the handle—locked—and shined his light through the window. The car was empty except for three bright-blue suitcases covered from wheels to handles with some fancy designer logos.
Figures.
He pointed the flashlight up what used to be a dirt driveway and now looked like a good excuse to go mud skiing. Well, that explained how the car got stuck. No way were those tiny tires getting any traction.
Still, he couldn’t leave the car’s ass out in the road. Another vehicle coming around the bend could easily clip the Fiat’s fender and spin out.
Time to break out the hitch and the four-wheel drive. Of course, he needed to make contact with the vehicle owner first.
He pivoted to return to his SUV and his flashlight illuminated the mailbox next to the driveway. Written in bold black letters across the side was a single word.
Sweet.
The Sweet triplets were nothing but trouble wrapped up in bodies built for sin, with smart mouths and quick brains. They’d provided more private torment for men of a certain age in Salvation than there were days in the year. The older two had been in town for months now. Miranda drove a Lexus. Natalie had some fuel-efficient subcompact.
Mateo glanced back at the yellow Fiat with the fancy luggage in the back.
That left Olivia. Just her name was enough to recall the smoothness of her skin, the taste of her kiss…and the look on her face when he’d turned down her offer for a more permanent relationship rather than just a long, hard fuck in a fancy hotel room when their paths crossed.
Now the last woman he’d touched was going to see the beast he’d become.
His gut twisted. Of all the Sweets in Salvation, the car had to belong to Olivia. “What a clusterfuck.”
As tempting as it was to drive off, it wasn’t an option because even though he hadn’t always, he now understood the importance of following the rules—written and unwritten. He’d learned that lesson the hard way and would never forget it again.
Grumbling under his breath, he stormed back to the SUV, yanked the door open, scooped up the ragamuffin pooch and humped it up the driveway.
Her ear still ringing from her sisters’ surprised squeals, Olivia emerged from the bathroom with freshly washed feet, her long hair tied back with a borrowed ponytail holder and wearing a dry pair of yoga pants from Miranda and a T-shirt from Natalie.
“The three musketeers, back together again.” Miranda handed her a glass of beer from the Sweet Salvation Brewery, which they’d inherited from their uncle, along with the house. “With a few additions, of course.”
Logan Martin and Sean Duvin raised their beers in a toast. Logan and Miranda were getting married in a couple of months, and Sean had declared his love for Natalie on national TV. Saying her sisters were off the market was putting it mildly.
And she was the fifth wheel who didn’t belong. Nice. Unease crept across her skin. “Sorry for crashing the double date. I would have called first but—”
“Don’t worry about it.” Miranda gave her a quick squeeze. “We know to always expect the unexp
ected with you.”
Right about now, Olivia would sure love a hell of a lot less of the unexpected.
“So what got you here early?” Natalie narrowed her gaze, her blue eyes as questioning as always. “Is everything okay?”
Damn. Natalie never missed a thing.
“Why would you think it’s not?” Telling her sisters what had happened was going to be embarrassing enough—nothing like having to admit how low she’d fallen to feel as though she really was the devil-may-care pretty girl who lived off her looks everyone thought she was, instead the motivated woman with a brain she really was. There was no way she’d be spilling her guts in front of the dudely duo of Logan and Sean. “Can’t a girl surprise her favorite sisters?”
“We’re your only sisters,” Miranda deadpanned.
“Lucky me.” Even to her own ears, her words sounded strained.
Natalie focused her gaze as if Olivia was a puzzle to be solved. Miranda opened her mouth, no doubt to start the questions, but a sharp rap on the door saved her from a full-on, spotlight-in-the-face interrogation.
“I’ll get it.” Olivia practically sprinted to the front door. Whoever was on the other side was her new favorite person in the whole wide world.
She flung it open and the chilly wind brought in a smattering of raindrops that pelted her cheeks.
A man holding what looked like the end of a mop—if mops could shiver and whine—stood half in the shadow. The lighting kept his face mostly in the dark, but something about his take-no-shit stance and the breadth of his wide shoulders tickled a memory and jacked up her heartbeat.
“Hello, Olivia.”
That voice. Deep and low, it poured over her like warm honey and reignited a fire she’d thought she’d put out years ago. “Mateo.”
After his little sister and her best friend, Luciana, had told her about the roadside explosion while he and his team were on some hush-hush mission, she’d left messages at the VA hospital and sent e-mails and care packages. He’d ignored them all. She’d tried to visit but the nurses turned her away, saying she wasn’t on his approved visitors’ list. After a year, she’d given up. She wasn’t the smartest Sweet sister but she wasn’t an idiot either. “It’s been forever.”