Seducing Liselle

by Marie E. Blossom

  “No! Don’t call them, I’m on my way.” John said, already in his truck. He tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder so he could buckle up. He paused as he shoved the key in the ignition. “Where are you?” Shit, his shoulder was knotting up. He ignored the pain. No time to deal with it now.

  “Rainer Motel, out on 78.” The man hung up.

  “John! Where are you going? You didn’t finish your lunch,” Janet called, walking barefoot down the porch steps.

  “No time, gotta go, sis,” he said, turning the key and shutting the door. He was frantically typing the location into his GPS. He had no idea how long it would take to get there, dammit.

  “It’s Sunday. Why are you working today?” Janet came up to his truck. She’d wrapped his sandwich in plastic.

  He looked out the open window. “I’m sorry Janet, something came up.”

  She shook her head, shoving the food at him. “Here, at least take this with you.” She stepped back and folded her arms over her chest. “I told them not to bother you about Beth’s aunt.”

  He stuck the GPS back on the dash and looked at her. “You knew about the postcards?” Everything in him was urging him to hurry, hurry now, but his oldest sister was looking at him as though she knew exactly what he was doing and he couldn’t ignore her. She was the one who’d done the most to put him back together after Afghanistan. And then again after Matt.

  “Yes, of course.” She cocked her head. “You really liked her.”

  He shrugged, ignoring the way the movement pulled on his bad shoulder, still tight and painful from the muscle spasm he’d gotten during the phone call. He shouldn’t have stuck the damn cell between his ear and shoulder. Stupid.

  “Yeah,” he admitted.

  She pursed her lips. “You do what you’ve got to do, but you should think about why a woman you met one day months ago still means so much to you.”

  He stared at her. How the hell did she know these things? “Yeah,” he said again, at a loss to explain what he was feeling.

  His sister just nodded and stepped back. “Okay. Love you. Be careful.”

  He put his truck in gear, not even trying to hide what he was feeling from her. “Love you too.”

  Three hours later John pulled the truck into the dusty parking lot of the most dilapidated motel he’d ever seen. It was just off the interstate, but clearly it wasn’t a popular stop because the sign was broken and only three of the buildings were in habitable repair. What the hell was she doing here? he thought, worry gnawing at his gut. He got out of the truck and slammed the door. Jesus. Even the golden hues of twilight couldn’t make the place look any better. He straightened his spine, wincing at the crack his upper back made, and went inside.

  A man slouched at the counter, desultorily paging through a worn car magazine. He was middle-aged and balding and his t-shirt had seen better days. He looked up as John walked over. “Yeah?”

  “I’m here for Lisa.” He nearly stumbled over the name, remembering at the last minute that she’d used a fake one.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The man looked down, flipping a page in his magazine as if John wasn’t standing right in front of him.

  John took a deep breath. Punching the guy wouldn’t help. He fished out his dog tag. “This look familiar?”

  The man looked up slowly, then sat up straighter when his eyes landed on the sliver of metal dangling from John’s fingers. “That thing say John Steele on it?”

  John leaned over the counter, holding it out. “See for yourself.”

  The man stood up for a closer look. “Yeah. That’s the one,” he said under his breath. He straightened up. John stepped back, trying not to cough at the reek of cigarette smoke that drifted off the man.

  “Glad you’re here. She didn’t look so great this morning.” The man reached under the desk and pulled out a key, an actual metal key, not a key card. John didn’t know whether to be horrified or thankful.

  “Why didn’t you call an ambulance? Or the police?” he asked, following the man back outside.

  The guy shrugged. “She begged me not to. I’ve got a soft spot for the ladies.”

  John tamped down his anger. “A soft spot?” Yeah, more like soft in the head.

  The man stopped, obviously sensing his hostility. “Look, my sister was married to a guy who thought it was fun to knock her around. I punched him once, and she got mad at me, the stupid twit. Wouldn’t leave the asshole. So I know what that kind of shit looks like, and if a girl who looks like that begs me not to call the goddamn cops, I don’t.”

  John clenched his teeth. “Then why did you call me? For all you know I was the one who hit her.”

  For the first time the man looked away. “She was hanging onto that tag around her neck like it could save her from the world.”

  John’s heart gave a hard thump. “She was wearing it?”

  The guy flicked a contemptuous glance at him. “That’s what I said.” He started walking again. “Come on. She’s in number ten.”

  “Why the hell did you get close enough to her to read the tag?” John was still angry. If this man had hurt her…

  “For God’s sake, give me a break. I’m the one who called you, remember? She did something to her ankle, so when she came in to get a room, she fell. The string holding the tag around her neck broke. I picked it up for her. That’s all.” He knocked on the door.

  The man was either lying or his appearance hid a sharp mind. John wasn’t sure he cared as he stared at the flaking paint peeling off the door in front of them. The man knocked louder.

  “Lisa? You got a visitor.”

  “Who is it?” Liselle’s voice sounded weak. John had to fight not to push past the guy and just knock the door down.

  “It’s Gary. From the desk. I’ve got your friend here.”

  “My friend?”Liselle asked, sounding a little stronger.

  “Liselle, it’s me,” John called out, ignoring the sharp look the guy sent his way when he used her real name. “I’m coming in.” He turned to Gary when she didn’t reply. “Give me the key.”

  Gary frowned at him, then handed it over when John glowered. “I’m going to call the cops if you do anything stupid.”

  “I’m not going to hurt her,” John replied, growing more pissed as the minutes ticked by. She could be seriously injured and he had to stand out her talking to this guy. “I would never hurt her.”

  The man must have seen something in John’s face because he backed off. “Fine. I’ll just wait here.”

  John shoved the key in the door, unlocked it, and pushed it open. The curtains were drawn and it was dark inside, but he could make out Liselle on the bed. She looked pale and she had her eyes closed like she hadn’t just been talking through the door at them.

  “Jesus, is she okay?” Gary called.

  John hurried to the bed, put a hand to her face. She was cool, but pale. He switched on the bedside light. She had dark circles under her eyes.

  “You said she hurt her ankle?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” Gary said, inching just inside.

  John pushed the covers away from her legs, recoiling at the sight of the dirty bandage covering her thigh. She had on shorts and a t-shirt. He inspected her leg, looking for streaks or bruising, but didn’t find anything. Her ankle looked a little swollen. He touched her foot. She jerked awake, swinging her leg away from his hand.

  “Shhh, it’s okay. It’s me, John,” he said, cupping her knee.

  She stared up at him, eyes glassy. “John?”

  “Yeah. Hey, what happened?”

  She shook her head, eyes drifting shut. “Hungry,” she muttered.

  Shit. “When was the last time you ate?” he asked her.

  She grimaced. “Maybe … yesterday?”

  He growled under his breath. “Gary, do you have something to eat? Canned soup or juice or anything?”

  “Do I look like a restaurant to you?” the guy asked.

  John glared
at him and the man sighed. “Yeah, yeah, okay. Give me a minute.” He walked out of the room and John turned back to the bed.

  “Hey, can you sit up?” He shoved some pillows against the headboard and propped her up. “What happened, Liselle?”

  She shook her head, looking exhausted. “My dad found me somehow.”

  John grunted. “He did this to you?” He gently touched a yellowing bruise high on her cheekbone.

  She nodded. “I had to run. All I had was my duffle.” She gestured weakly at the bag near the dresser.

  “Jesus. Why didn’t you call me? I would’ve helped you.” He took her hand in his. It was cold, even though it was a warm night.

  She shook her head. “Not your problem.” To John’s frustration, she slid her hand away.

  “Here. My wife’s chicken soup,” Gary said, walking in with a mug.

  John looked at the man, and Gary nodded toward the bed. “See that she gets better,” he said gruffly, then left.

  John held the mug to Liselle’s lips. “Drink. You’re probably dehydrated and hungry.”

  She sipped at the soup. When she’d finished most of it, he let her lie down again. “I’m taking you home with me,” he said. He wasn’t sure she heard him, but it didn’t matter. He couldn’t leave her here like this.

  Chapter Seven

  Liselle woke slowly, every muscle in her body protesting as she experimentally moved her arms. She groaned and tried to roll over, then gave up. She was warm, at least, though her leg hurt. She grimaced, then opened her eyes and gasped. This wasn’t her motel room! Adrenaline shot through her, making her wince as she put weight on her bruised arm.

  “Hey, take it easy, you’re okay,” a woman’s voice said.

  Liselle swallowed and let the gentle hand push her back down. She looked around, calming down marginally when she recognized the space: she was in John’s bedroom. The windows at the far end of the room were dark, but the room was brightly lit with two lamps and an overhead lamp. She felt like total crap, but happily she remembered where she’d heard that particular voice before.

  “Janet?” she croaked. “What—” She broke off, coughing. Her throat was very dry. “How did I get here?”

  Janet smiled as she deftly taped down a fresh bandage on Liselle’s thigh. “You’ll have to ask John. He called me to come look at your leg.”

  Oh, Liselle thought. That’s why my thigh hurts. My dad pushed me into the wooden fence back in Arizona. She swallowed again, forcing her sluggish brain to wake up. “John brought me here?”

  Janet scooped up the wrappers from the gauze and nodded. “Yeah. He said you’d been hurt and wanted me to take a look at it.”

  “Oh.” Liselle plucked at the shirt she was wearing. It wasn’t hers, but it was incredibly soft, as if it had been washed a million times. She ducked her head down and sniffed. It smelled clean and a little bit spicy. Like aftershave. “Did you undress me?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Janet replied, amusement coloring her voice.

  Liselle flushed. That meant John had done it. And his sister knew. How embarrassing. She frowned when Janet put a finger on part of the tape that had come back up, sticking it back down again on Liselle’s skin.

  “Is the scrape okay? Why did John call you?” She looked around, realizing she had no memory of the trip from the motel to John’s cabin. “What day is it?”

  Janet stood up. “It’s fine, healing well. It was shallow, so you did the right thing with the bandage and antibiotic ointment. No infection.” She smiled and Liselle found herself relaxing a bit. “And John called me because I’m a retired nurse. It’s Monday night. You slept Sunday away. I gave you an IV yesterday. You were really dehydrated and out of it. You probably don’t remember but John fed you soup last night, too.”

  “I … thank you,” Liselle stumbled over her words, trying to figure out what the hell she was supposed to do now. Did Janet know about her dad? She hoped not. She didn’t want to get Beth or any of her family involved in her mess of a life. “Um, where is he?”

  “I’m right here,” John said, carrying a tray with sandwiches on it over to the bed.

  Liselle blushed. She was almost naked and lying in his bed. Thank God he’d left her panties on, or she would’ve died of embarrassment. Janet hadn’t said anything, but Liselle could tell the woman was curious. “How did I get here?” she asked him.

  He set the tray down on the nightstand and sat on the bed. The crows-feet around his eyes went momentarily deeper as he smiled at her. God, he’s pretty, she thought.

  “You don’t remember me picking you up at the motel?”

  Liselle shook her head. She tugged on the comforter, trying to pull it up over her legs while getting herself under control. Just one smile and she was melting. John helped her, smoothing the soft fabric over her hips.

  “Well, I’m not surprised. You were pretty out of it by the time I got there,” he said.

  “I called you? I don’t remember calling you,” she muttered, sure her face must be flaming by now. She’d tried so hard to deal with everything on her own and now here she was, back in John’s bed, and not for fun. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want to burden him.

  “Hey, relax. I can see you tensing up,” he said, rubbing a thumb over her arm.

  “I didn’t call you,” she said clearly, looking him in the eye.

  “You didn’t,” he agreed.

  “Then how did I get here?”

  “And that’s my cue to leave,” Janet said, walking to the steps. “John, call me tomorrow, okay?” She paused and gave Liselle and concerned glance. “You’re safe here. And if you need to talk, I’m only a phone call away.”

  Liselle nodded slowly. John’s sister, his whole family, really, was incredibly kind. “Thank you.” She felt like a fraud. They took her in, bandaged her wounds, literally, and she still felt angry. What was wrong with her?

  Janet smiled and walked downstairs. Liselle eyed the sandwiches on the tray, then picked one up and began eating. She was ravenous. John didn’t speak until the front door opened and closed, and then he frowned. “You should have called me as soon as your dad showed up.”

  She swallowed and shook her head. “And then what? I was in Arizona. I had a new name, a new apartment. I have no idea how he found me.” She sighed and slumped down against the pillows. He handed her a glass of water. She drank and then finished her sandwich. He waited until she was done before speaking again.

  “I would’ve come.”

  She stared at him. “Why? You don’t even know me.”

  “That’s bullshit,” he said, voice going hard. “I know you better than you know yourself.”

  She felt like throwing something at him. “How did I get here?”

  He sighed. “The guy at the motel called me.”

  “Gary? You’re joking.” Since when did random motel owners care enough to do that?

  “Nope, not joking at all.”

  “How did he get your number?” She was really confused now. “I don’t even have your number.”

  John looked at her for a long moment. “He got my name from my dog tag.” He reached out and plucked the string out from under the neck of her shirt. John’s tag dangled at the end of a … what the hell? A gold chain? Liselle’s heart flipped over. She took it from him, staring at the familiar metal tag, then ran a thumb over the gold chain that had somehow appeared around her neck.

  “I don’t understand,” she murmured, running the necklace through her fingers.

  “The string you had it on broke,” John said, his voice very, very gentle.

  She swallowed, afraid to meet his eyes. “So you gave me this?” Was this man for real?

  He touched a hand to her cheek, tilted her face up. His green eyes weren’t laughing now, they were warm and serious. The heat in them made her skin prickle. “Yes.”

  “John—” she began, but he quieted her with a finger on her lips.

  “Shh. Just … shh.” He leaned over and kissed
her. His lips were slightly chapped. “I thought my head was going to explode when I saw you in that motel room. You were so pale, Liselle. God.” He kissed her again.

  “I’m not worth this,” she said, trying to turn her head away. He wouldn’t let her.

  “Bullshit.” He kissed her again. “Why won’t you let me help you?”

  She blinked back tears. “This isn’t your job. I don’t want you to get hurt. Or Beth, God forbid.”

  He sat back. “Liselle. Don’t you understand? I want to help you. Why won’t you let me?”

  She licked her lips. He looked so frustrated and all at once she realized he was completely, utterly serious. She remembered the nightmare he’d had, months ago, the night she’d slept with him. She remembered the way he’d tossed and turned, calling out names. He’d lost a lot more than the use of his shoulder in that mission he’d flown, years ago. He’d lost people, too. And given the way he so naturally took care of her, the way he took care of his niece and his sisters, it was likely that losing his men had damaged some essential part of who he was. He needed to take care of her as much as she needed his help.

  Suddenly, she was ashamed of herself. She’d been stumbling through life for years now, never trusting anyone even as she told herself she was better than her dad. Better than her brother. Feeling so self-righteous about her choices, but really, she’d been fooling herself all along. She’d refused to trust anyone, assuming she’d suffer for it, pretending that it was better for them to keep out of her life. But not every man was her father. John wasn’t her father. He was a good person. Every time she refused to let him help her it was as if she was telling him he wasn’t good enough. That she didn’t trust him. She was hurting him more by refusing his help and he didn’t deserve that.

  “I’m sorry,” she breathed, tears rolling down her cheeks. “John, God, I’m so sorry.” She was sobbing now, reaching out for him just as he leaned in and gathered her close.

  “Shhh, it’s okay.” He smoothed her hair. “You’re tired. Everything will look better in the morning. You don’t have anything to apologize about.”