No Turning Back

by HelenKay Dimon

  “I wouldn’t have kissed you if I did.” When he leaned in this time she touched a finger against his lips. “Not yet.”

  “I was afraid you were going to say that.” He mumbled the words against her skin.

  If they were going to play a game of show-and-tell, it was his turn to offer information. Leah guessed she could have asked anything in that moment and he’d answer. She went straight to the subject that intrigued her the most, one that had nothing to do with the cons but everything to do with the man Declan turned out to be. “Tell me about your mom.”

  As if he knew it was coming, Declan launched into an explanation without hesitation. “She was young, like nineteen, when Charlie swept into her life. She knew about small towns and jobs that paid crappy hourly wages. She never had any thought of college. Her goal was to work as a teller at the bank. But then Charlie sold her these big dreams and took her from California to Oregon to live this life she thought would be perfect.”

  Just as she tried to imagine her mom getting caught in Charlie’s web, Leah now imagined Declan’s mom, being that small-town woman when Charlie walked in with those sparkling blue eyes and perfect face. “Talk about a bait and switch.”

  “When he left years later, after giving her a taste of friends and a solid roof over her head in this small ranch house over on Pine Street, he took the money and saddled her with three young boys and no way to support them. Callen, who was still in elementary school, watched us at night while she worked her second job. Food consisted of government cheese and peanut butter. She loved us and worked hard and then one day Charlie swooped in and took Callen away.”

  Dread pulsed through Leah. “What happened to her after that?”

  “She broke.”

  “Broke down?”

  Declan swallowed hard enough to be visible. Sadness weighed down his features, showing in the dip of his mouth and dullness in his eyes. “No, that’s not what I mean. Crying would have been good. She went blank. Sat there and didn’t say a word.”

  “Depressed.”

  “A pretty extreme case. It wasn’t until the water got turned off and upstairs neighbor threatened to call Child Services that mom snapped out of it. It took months and some help from the local free clinic for her to be able to function. She entered some sort of special program and eventually, after a few false starts, earned her teaching degree.”

  Leah’s heart ached for the woman who struggled so much after Charlie stole almost everything. Being a victim of his con was one thing. Being the mother of his children was such a foreign idea to Leah that she couldn’t reason it out. “Did she fight to keep Callen?”

  “She says she didn’t know where Charlie had him.”

  A memory pinged in Leah’s head. Some of those blanks in her timeline fell together. “You don’t believe her?”

  “I do, but Callen doesn’t. Their relationship is strained. Can’t blame either one of them. Just chalk it up to more Charlie Hanover roadkill.”

  “But you’re close to Callen now.” For some reason, it was important to Leah that it be the truth. She didn’t even trust Callen, certainly didn’t like him, but the yearning for normal shot off Declan in waves, and if Callen could give him that, she wanted it for Declan.

  “Depends on how you define the word. It was years before he showed up again. By then he’d changed.”

  So much of who these men were made sense now. Reading files and notes had failed to capture the events with all their emotional pull. “And you went into the Army to escape.”

  “I had nothing but a terrible attitude, complete with expulsions from two schools, to show for my high school experience. After a . . . let’s call it ‘incident,’ the court tagged me as having a severe anger issue. With that kind of background, the Army was the best choice. A decent recruiter who knew how to downplay the negative things on a record got me in. Staying in probably saved me from living under a bridge with everything I owned in a shopping cart.”

  There was only so much of his past that she could ever find. The juvenile records proved tougher than expected to crack. “Are you exaggerating?”

  “Actually trying to play it down a bit so I don’t scare you.” He lifted her hand to his mouth and placed a warm kiss on her palm. “Good news is my life went another way and my anger is under control.”

  “What about me?’

  His arms slipped around her waist and his mouth hovered over hers. “Oh, I sure as hell can’t figure out how to control you.”

  “You want to?” Please have him want to.

  “Only in the bedroom.”

  Her nerve endings jumped. The thrill racing through her had nothing to do with the new information. It came from his touch and his closeness, his warm breath and the bend of his neck as his mouth inched along her jawline in tiny, nibbling kisses.

  She tilted her head back to give him greater access to her neck. “Is that an offer?”

  “Want to see my workroom?”

  Laughter bubbled up inside of her. She dropped her forehead to his shoulder. “That’s a terrible line.”

  “So, yes?” He whispered the question against her ear.

  Oh, the temptation.

  All she wanted was right there, under her hands and surrounded by his arms, but reality crashed in when her stomach grumbled. “I have to go to work. Like, my actual job. I’m on lunch break right now and have meetings and boring calls scheduled all afternoon.”

  His palm slipped down until it covered the indent of her lower back. “Poor baby.”

  She never knew that was an erogenous zone until his fingers found the spot. “That response is much better than the silent treatment.”

  “I didn’t do that.”

  “Felt that way.”

  The smile that burst over his mouth lit up his face. Gone were the dark shadows that passed through him while talking about his past. “You do understand what you’re saying, right? We absolutely are dating. Like seriously, only each other, dating.”

  No way was she ready to use that word. “We’re testing.”

  “You can call it whatever you want so long as we get naked soon.”

  Her thoughts exactly. “Depends on whether you get better about keeping in contact.”

  “Keep your cell on.”

  “Are you trying to impress me?”

  He smacked her ass then stepped back. “Oh, you’ll be impressed.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Any chance you’re in the wrong place?” Callen’s gaze scanned the room as he talked. When he’d moved in less than a week ago, he’d set up his things, what little there was, on the house’s third floor.

  The former attic had been renovated, though that might be a strong word. With some paint and weeks of work, hammering and drywall, it would house a bedroom, small sitting room and bathroom. That was the plan. Not the one Callen had harbored when he stepped foot on the property, but the one he’d accepted when it became clear Declan needed this house.

  The reason didn’t matter. If Declan wanted a home, Callen would help him get one. It was the least he could do after having failed his brothers for so long.

  Despite what it could be, now the floor was home to stacks of his grandmother’s storage boxes, along with his duffle bag and the twin mattress he dragged up the staircase from one of the back bedrooms on the second floor.

  And her. Petite, and hot and brunette . . . and very hot. Long hair, bright eyes and a round face with a full mouth. Callen didn’t know what was going on with the women in this town, but something good, because each was prettier than the one before.

  “Excuse me?” The woman dropped the box in her hands and spun around fast enough to lose her footing. He reached out to keep her from falling down, but she grabbed onto an older rocker for that.

  The details didn’t matter, so he
skipped to the main point. “This is my house.”

  The woman smiled. “So, you’re the oldest. Callen, right?”

  He hated this sort of thing. People knew him, judged his bloodlines, and then the accusations flew. Outside was one thing. In his house, temporary or not, was another. “You clearly have the advantage. You are?”

  “Sophie Clarke.”

  That told him nothing. “And, Sophie Clarke, why are you in my room?”

  She bent down and picked up a bucket filled with cans and sponges. “Cleaning.”

  “Cleaning?” No way was he buying that one. “Looked like you were searching.”

  Sophie’s smile faltered. “It’s called dusting.”

  “Who hired you?”

  “Declan did. Is there a problem?” Beck gave the explanation as he walked into the room.

  Callen made a mental note to tag this floor as off-limits without knocking. “Not if you have a problem with people going through your stuff.”

  Sophie’s eyes went wide. “I didn’t—”

  Beck’s went wandering. He lounged in the doorway, arms folded over his chest and his gaze stuck on Sophie.

  “Any chance you’re being paranoid?” Beck asked Callen but continued to look at her.

  Well, damn. Callen wondered what kind of spell the women in this damn town had cast on his brothers. A week here and they were all googly-eyed. It was pathetic, really.

  Still, there was something about the glances Beck was throwing this woman, like he wanted to look but wanted even more not to. Callen recognized a hard case of lust when he walked right into it. “Ah, I get it.”

  Beck’s gaze shot to his brother. “What?”

  “Do you want me to say it out loud?” Callen watched as Beck finally got it.

  He stood up, no more leaning or relaxing. He was on alert now. “You’re wrong.”

  “What is it with you and Declan and your choices?”

  Before Beck could say anything, Sophie shifted. She went from the boxes stacked near the window to standing right in front of Beck. She hitched her thumb over her shoulder. “Beck isn’t any happier to have me here than you are.”

  Now, that was telling. “Is that right?”

  “Declan is paying her,” Beck explained. “He suggested we keep her on. She worked for Grandmother.”

  That didn’t make a lick of sense in light of the old woman’s finances. But something bigger was happening here. Something potentially dangerous. Callen looked back and forth between his unwanted guest and the brother who clearly wanted to sleep with her. She’d wandered up here, abandoned her bucket and started shifting boxes around. If she cleaned houses for a living, Callen would eat his duffle bag.

  But Beck’s wide-legged stance and set jaw said he wasn’t ready to hear the truth, whatever that was. And Callen wasn’t in the mood for some fancy legal argument. Damn, he hated lawyers.

  He put his position in the clearest words he could find as he pointed to the door. “Then, Ms. Sophie Clarke, you can clean my brothers’ rooms but stay out of mine.”

  Beck frowned. “Is that necessary?”

  Since Callen guessed he couldn’t kick her out without Beck going apeshit . . .

  “Yes.”

  ***

  Leah spent the entire afternoon rushing around after leaving Declan’s house. The work excuse had been real. She had meetings and phone conferences. Despite that, she found plenty of time to think about him. The scene at the swing set played in her mind. When he talked about his parents, especially his mom, the last bits of doubt fell away.

  She wasn’t the only kid who suffered at Charlie’s hands. Declan had. Maybe his brothers had, but Declan’s calm retelling of his mother’s pain and the love shining in his eyes when he talked about her pretty much did Leah in. It was hard to hate a guy who loved his mother and treated women well.

  Declan was not Charlie.

  She’d just rounded the corner from the bathroom and stepped into her small office when she felt someone behind her. Turning around, she stared right into the red face of her father.

  “I’ve been trying to call you.” Her father walked into the office behind her and slammed the door.

  He acted like he owned the place. That wasn’t new. He made it clear more than once that she owed him for her job. He convinced the Council to take her on. He lobbied. Him, him, him.

  “I was busy all afternoon.”

  “Too busy for your father?”

  No way was she jumping on that guilt trip. She walked around the small oak desk and sat down. “What’s going on?”

  “I need a progress report.”

  He didn’t need to finish the sentence. The house. The Hanovers. That’s all he cared about. “I’m working on it.”

  “When are they moving out?”

  That was the piece of information her brain refused to process. Declan talked about possible future negotiations, but she sensed that was all bunk. The bank and paperwork . . . the Hanover boys were staying. She had no idea how to broach that possibility with her father.

  “I don’t know.”

  “How can you not know?”

  “We are talking. I can’t exactly force him to go.”

  Her father swore under his breath. “I knew you couldn’t handle this.”

  The avalanche of guilt crushed down on her. It had always been this way. He’d set these goals for her, impossible goals, and when she failed to meet them he withheld his affection. “That’s not fair.”

  “Stop going to dinner and hanging around your car with him in the driveway—”

  The air rushed out of her lungs and left her gasping. “What?”

  Anger burned in his dark eyes. “From now on when you meet with this Hanover you take Ed with you, or me.”

  “No.”

  Her father knocked his fist against the top of her desk. “This isn’t for debate, Leah. Your time is running out.”

  Her breath still hiccupped and faltered. So many threats over the years. So much disappointment. The difference now was that she was the one who felt let down.

  “What does that mean?” she asked, knowing the answer.

  “Set up a meeting and we’ll get this done.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Declan waited until he reached the edge of his patience before storming over to Leah’s house that night. Irrational as it was, he’d resented the hell out of her job as he spent the afternoon working off some extra energy in the yard and generally grumbling in a haze of sexual frustration. He took a few minutes after lunch to fantasize about what he planned to do with her and nearly impaled himself on a stack of split and rotting lumber when he wasn’t looking.

  That sure would have killed the mood.

  Women. Make that one woman, Leah. When he thought about that hair, the face, the smoking body, his dick got hard while his brain went soft.

  Somehow he’d held off the whole way to seven that night without dropping by. He thought about texting, asking her to dinner, but he knew they’d never make it to a menu. His body was primed and his brain calculating the fastest way to get her clothes off.

  He leaned on the doorbell, letting it chime four times before easing up. That would annoy the hell out of any sane person. The goal was to get her to the porch as fast as possible. He didn’t care who saw him standing out there. He just wanted in.

  He listened for sexy heels clicking against the hardwood floor, but nothing happened. His hand was halfway to the bell again when the door flew open.

  She wore a disgruntled what’s-wrong-with-you scowl. “Declan?”

  “You expecting someone else?” If she said yes and some dude appeared behind her, he’d probably beat the guy senseless.

  “I wasn’t even expecting you.” She angled her body in the small
opening and showed no signs of letting him inside. “What are you doing here?”

  A non-welcome. Interesting. He refused to let it sidetrack him. “I thought we settled this earlier today.”

  “Yeah, but, I didn’t know you were coming tonight.” A hand went to her hair and she combed her fingers through the strands.

  Ah, that could explain it. Maybe the stunned expression had to do with some girly thing about not fixing her hair first. As if he gave a shit about that. “You actually thought I was going to stay away?”

  Her hand wrapped around the doorknob, blocking his entrance, as she bit her lower lip. “Not really.”

  The lacy slim-fitting shirt she had on caught his attention before his gaze skipped down to her bare feet and toenails painted a color so dark they looked black. “Remember the talk about licking and touching—”

  “Have you eaten?” she asked at the same time.

  The dirty comment hung right there but he let it drop without touching it. No need to be crude and that wasn’t really his style anyway. Talking to a woman wasn’t the same as talking to a guy in his unit and he was just civilized enough to know that. “I’m not hungry.”

  “Declan.”

  “Yes, Leah.”

  “We should think this through before we—”

  Enough of this crap. “Stop talking.”

  With a hand against her stomach, he swept her inside the house and followed. A backwards kick and the door slammed shut. A second later, he had her pinned to the family room wall with her arms next to her head, his fingers laced through hers and his mouth traveling over her lips. Need rumbled through him like brushfire bursting into flame.

  His tongue licked over her lips then dipped inside, meeting hers. The kiss, deep and demanding, continued until her hips pressed against him. He’s been half-hard all day and the touch of her soft body against his, the brush and the friction, sent his nerves revving.

  He kissed her until a tiny moan escaped her lips and her body twisted against his. When he couldn’t stand even the thin barrier of clothing between them, a hand slipped over and dove into her hair. Soft and silky, just like the rest of her.