But this afternoon, she hadn’t needed direction. She hadn’t rolled over, either. She’d stepped in, stepped up, and solved the problem.
This same sort of action would work in other areas of her life, too, she decided, as she drove back to her house. Instead of faking sleep, she should have faced Noah and asked the questions she wanted answered.
What now?
And why had he treated her like she might break? Did he worry she couldn’t stand up to a man’s passion?
Without giving herself time to fret about the confrontation, she marched straight from her garage to the guesthouse. In the tiger’s den, she’d take him on.
Its door opened the instant her knuckles left the wood. Oh. A dark-haired, gray-eyed man was on the other side.
Oh, hell. She’d forgotten about Dean. He stood gazing at her, and over his shoulder she saw Noah. He was looking at her, too, but she couldn’t decipher the expression on his face. She could only remember the whiskery roughness of his kiss, the sure touch of his hand, the seductive sweetness of his dirty words: I’m going to do you so good.
Her knees wobbled and she had to grab the threshold of the door. What was her face telling him? she wondered.
But before she could come up with an answer, a familiar, yet unwelcome voice cut through the silence. “Stepmama! Hey, boys, it’s going to be a foursome for our little barbecue after all.”
Thirteen
Gravitation cannot be held responsible for people falling in love.
—ALBERT EINSTEIN
Marlys planned on taking Dean to her bed. That’s what she’d decided after their little late breakfast/early lunch rendezvous. So she’d showed up at his place after the boutique’s closing hours and demanded to be fed. Later tonight, serious was going to be supplanted by sex.
Of course, she was going to torture him first by using all her skills to tease him out of his mind. She owed him the abuse for showing up in her ordered, man-free life and making her feel all female. Soft.
Sex would give her a hold over him.
To that end, she sat on the arm of his chair in Noah’s small living area, while Juliet took a place on the nearby sofa. Marlys let her fingers run through the hair at the back of Dean’s neck. The dark stuff was thick and bristly, but already longer than the day they’d met. He shot her a glance, and at her innocent smile, he grimaced and reached up for her hand. Ticklish, huh?
She bussed a little air kiss in his direction and was satisfied to see his gaze drop to her mouth. Yeah, baby, keep on looking.
But she felt other eyes on her, too, and it was no surprise to find that her father’s wife was staring, her weird, bicolored gaze betraying surprise. The goody-goody likely had her granny panties in a twist over Marlys’s not-so-subtle signals that she intended to do the dirty with Dean, a man she’d known for only slightly longer than a couple of drinks at a dance club.
Fine, it surprised the hell out of her, too, because Marlys didn’t easily shed her layers—of clothes, emotional armor, what have you—but it was either take Dean to her sheets or chance finding him someplace much more dangerous. Shameful as it was to admit—and unprecedented—she was afraid for her heart.
She slid her thumb from Dean’s grasp and stroked the edge of her nail against the top of his hand. The long muscle on his forearm hardened, lifting against his skin in reaction. Smiling, she flicked him another suggestive glance, but the expression in his eyes snuffed her amusement. They were molten silver, and they seemed to promise wicked payback—when she was the one who was supposed to be holding all the weapons.
The skin at the back of her neck prickled, and with haste she redirected her attention, focusing on Noah, who had come from the kitchen with a round of cold beers. He passed one to Juliet—the perfect lady drank beer?—and then to Marlys.
After he handed over a bottle to Dean, he toasted the man with a clack of glass to glass. “Enjoy it while you can, friend.”
“Planning an abstinence kick?” Marlys asked, then nudged Dean’s ankle with her foot. “I hope you don’t mean to extend that to other sorts of sins.”
“He’s being deployed,” Noah answered. “Once his leave is over, he’ll be heading to another danger zone.”
“Oh.” Juliet’s mouth turned down in distress and her gaze jumped to Noah’s face and then back to Dean. “Give us your address,” she said, “and we’ll be sure to send care packages.”
We? Though there was an uncomfortable chill rolling over Marlys’s skin, that odd word registered. But then it was gone, as her body trembled with a full-on, this-sounds-like-trouble shiver. Deployed. Danger zone. Dean.
His hand squeezed her cold fingers. “What about you, angel? What will you send me?”
She made a grab for her composure and managed to lift the corners of her mouth. Then she leaned down to whisper. “Play your cards right, and I’ll send you away with some very sexy memories.”
This close, she could smell his skin. Her lashes falling, she drew in the scent, holding it deep in her lungs so she could focus on each note—and not anything else. Fresh, green—sage?—it made her think of clean snow and mountain air.
The mountains and cold of some dangerous, undisclosed location.
Oh, God. If she didn’t get him in her bed and out of her system, something very bad could happen here. She might find herself destined to sick worry and hours glued to CNN.
“Marlys?”
She jerked back at the sound of his concerned voice and made another grand effort at an effortless smile. No way would she let him see her alarm, her dread at what might turn into a daily scouring of military websites and a fixation on counting down the days to the end of his deployment.
She couldn’t care that much.
For the first time in her life, she felt an inkling of sympathy for her mother.
“When do you leave?” Juliet asked, leaning forward to put her bottle on the narrow coffee table.
Dean brushed back Marlys’s bangs with his free hand, then turned to Juliet. Whew. And another first—a dollop of gratitude toward her evil stepmother.
“I’m off for another couple of weeks, but I have a few short visits to make here and there. Tacoma, maybe, before I report.”
At his place beside Juliet on the couch, Noah froze, his beer halfway to his mouth. “Why Tacoma?”
“You know,” Dean answered, his easy voice a distinct contrast to the other man’s sudden palpable tension. “I thought I’d check on Tiny Tim.”
“Tim?” Noah shot to his feet so fast, beer bubbled out of the bottle he held. “Why the hell would you do that? You know there’s nothing to see.”
Dean took a breath. “Noah—”
“Never mind. Shit.” He ran his free hand over his face, then looked around at the startled company. “Shit,” he said again, then he mumbled an apology and left the house, leaving the three of them staring in the direction of the slammed door.
“What’s with Private?” Marlys asked, bewildered.
Juliet slid to the edge of her cushion and shifted her gaze to Dean. “His roommate in Iraq, right? He told me about him.”
“Yeah?” Dean appeared surprised. “Noah’s usually close-mouthed about that.”
“He told me Tim’s permanently disabled.”
Dean grimaced. “A traumatic brain injury. In this case, an extremely traumatic brain injury.”
Marlys’s stomach jittered. She didn’t know this Tim, but she kept abreast of military news. Brain injuries were common in this generation of soldiers. Surgeons managed to save their bodies, but couldn’t restore damaged gray matter so much. Without thinking, she slid off the arm of the chair and into Dean’s lap. She needed his heat and the reassurance that he was whole to ease her stomach-tumbling disquiet.
As if he read her mind once again, he wrapped an arm around her middle and drew her closer into the curve of his body. Marlys leaned her head against his shoulder, and despite how weak it showed her to be, she turned her cheek to press a kiss against his
soft cotton sleeve. His arm gave her an answering squeeze and it was just silly how comforting she found it to be.
Juliet gazed toward the door again. “His friend’s injuries hit Noah hard,” she said, then frowned. “What a dumb thing to say. Of course they hit him hard.”
“It’s worse because of the promise he made.”
“What promise?” Juliet’s odd eyes went laser as they re-focused on Dean’s face.
“Before Tim transferred to our squad, he’d witnessed firsthand the result of an IED attack. Maybe he had a premonition, maybe it was just plain bad luck, but Tim agonized over ending up severely injured like this other guy he knew. So he forced a pact on Noah.”
Juliet’s hand crept toward her heart and pressed there, maybe to make sure it was still beating. “What kind of pact?”
“A promise that Noah wouldn’t let him become a vegetable. That if his injuries looked serious, Noah would delay medical help and let him go in peace.”
Juliet paled, and Marlys felt a little clammy herself. She pressed even closer to Dean. “That wasn’t fair.”
Dean shrugged. “Love and war, angel.”
“So Noah feels like he failed his friend,” Juliet mused. Color was returning to her face, and her eyes were so bright Marlys figured those were tears she was blinking away.
“Probably,” Dean admitted. “But really, there was a medical officer on scene, so the choice was out of his hands. It was out of everyone’s hands.”
Setting her mouth in a line, Juliet pushed up from the couch. “I’ll go talk to him.”
Marlys turned to look at Dean. “Shouldn’t it be you?”
His gaze on Juliet, he hugged Marlys close. “I think I’ll stay here. Tell Noah I’ll be ready to put my famous chicken on the barbecue in half an hour.”
The new silence within the walls of the guesthouse only deepened Marlys’s disquiet. Danger. Promises. Injuries. Tears.
Damn it! This was all she didn’t want.
Twisting on Dean’s lap, she glared up at him. “I don’t like feeling this way.”
A smile kicked up one corner of his mouth. “And you think I do? That’s out of our hands, too, angel.”
No, it wasn’t. Marlys had only been powerless twice before—when her parents divorced and when her father had died. Other than that, she took charge of her life, she owned it, and she dealt with its dilemmas with cold-blooded selfishness.
She always did what was right for Marlys Marie Weston, hang how it might affect anyone else.
And right now, Marlys Marie Weston needed to get back to her original plan. She needed to take this man to bed. This minute.
Winding her arms around Dean’s neck, she pressed closer. “Who cares about your famous chicken?” she said against his mouth.
He put two inches between them and smiled. “I’ve had marinating breasts waiting in the refrigerator since three.”
Marlys’s fingers went to the tiny buttons that closed her sweater and she gave him a saucy smile. “Well, let me tell you how long my breasts have been waiting for—”
His kiss stole the last word from her. It stole her breath. Like every other time their flesh met, heat sparked, blood fired, the surface of her skin seemed to drum in time with her double-quick heartbeats. She dug her fingers into his thick biceps and hung on to ride out the thrill.
He lifted his head to stare down into her face. “Tell me again why I wanted to barbecue.”
“Because I hadn’t issued my much better invitation yet.” Her second cat smile didn’t seem to offend him.
He stood, keeping her close, and groaned as her body’s good parts touched all the hard ones of his. “Let me get my coat.”
“And I’ll bid adieu to the others for both of us.” Yeah, this was the way to handle the situation. She’d sex him right out of her head, her life. Practically licking the cream from her lips, she poked her head out the guesthouse door.
Entwined figures were backlit by the greenish glow from the pool. Marlys blinked. Who the hell had invaded Juliet’s backyard?
Then the man groaned, soft and low, and she recognized the couple. Oh, my God. She knew who the two sucking face were now.
Her mind reeled. She stumbled outside, her knees going soft, just as her mind honed to a razor’s edge. Juliet and Noah. Her father’s wife and her father’s aide. Juliet and Noah.
She must have said it out loud, because they broke apart as if cleaved in two. Sickness filled her, making her mouth dry and causing her stomach to pitch and heave like an un-moored boat.
“You…you…” There were a dozen accusations she wanted to hurl at them, but her throat was too tight to release a single one.
“Marlys…” Juliet started.
“You whore!” She found the words and flung them toward the beautiful blonde, the perfect lady her father had adored beyond reason. Beyond Marlys. “You bitch.”
Noah stepped forward. “That’s enough, Marlys.”
“Don’t say a word to me, Private. You’re no better.”
“Neither of us has done anything to apologize for or be ashamed of,” Noah said, his voice steely. “And now I think it’s time you leave.”
“I can’t stand the sight of either one of you anyway,” Marlys replied, striding past them to the side gate exit. There were hot tears in her eyes and she was glad the darkness hid them. Seeing her cry would make them think she was weak, but she was strong in her righteousness, in her sense of outrage on her father’s behalf.
Juliet and Noah.
She whirled to glare at her father’s wife. “How could you? You’re still holding tight to my father’s ashes and yet you’re out here holding tight another man. Kissing him.”
Juliet stayed cool as she delivered the sharpest blow of all. “The ashes are gone now, Marlys. As your father wanted, I released them into the ocean.”
Marlys backed away, her hand creeping into her pocket to feel her silver pendant. Still there.
Dean emerged from the house. “Marlys?” His voice was puzzled. “What’s going on? Are you leaving without me?”
Just the silhouetted shape of him made her ache. She didn’t want to leave without him. She wanted what she’d wanted when she’d come to him that evening after work. She wanted him in her bed, wrapped around her. Worse, she wanted to run to him now, damn it. She wanted to fling herself into his arms and beg him to help her find her way clear of this tangle of treachery and grief. But that smacked of emotional dependence, and Marlys Marie Weston would never be so weak.
Later that night, Marlys’s doorbell rang. She would have liked to ignore it, but Blackie was going nuts, jumping around just like her stomach and barking with fierce intent, communicating exactly what she wanted to: I’m ruthless and strong and you should beware of bad, scary me.
It was Dean outside, of course, she was as certain of that as she was certain he wouldn’t easily give up if she pretended deafness and didn’t answer the door. So she kneed Blackie aside and promised herself to get rid of him quickly.
When Dean stepped in, he greeted the dog with a brisk body rub. The caresses didn’t quell the canine’s excitement and he continued his sharp barks and excited leaps. “Blackie,” the man said, his voice hard. “Take it easy.” The animal halted for a moment, then hopped about again, his yaps more demanding.
“Blackie.” Dean eyed him with stern disappointment. “No.” Then he shifted his gaze from the dog and ignored him altogether. Blackie bounced his front paws off Dean’s thighs, barked again, but then seemed to realize his antics were doomed to failure. His doggie eyes still trained on the man’s face, he sat back on his haunches in sudden silence.
Dean immediately leaned down to rub Blackie’s ears. “Good dog. Good boy.” Then he straightened, and glanced around the shadowy, spacious foyer. “Big digs,” he said to Marlys.
“Ancestral home.” She was staring at her animal, who was cuddled up to Dean and doing his best—and first—imitation of man’s best friend. “Blackie likes tunneling for t
he treasures that former Weston canines left behind.”
With that, she turned to stroll through the dark house, toward the large kitchen that was the only room with lights blazing. Dean was behind her; she sensed his presence, but for such a large man he moved with an assured quiet.
She was halfway across the black-and-white tile floor when she turned to find that he’d halted in the kitchen doorway. Wearing a strange expression, he was staring at her.
“What?”
“That isn’t…Good God, it is…That’s a boy band on your robe.”
Frowning, Marlys tugged the fleece lapels closer around her throat. She wasn’t going to apologize for being in a pair of flannel pajama pants, a T-shirt, and one of her old robes. She hadn’t invited him over. “Their memorabilia goes for a mint on eBay. This looks nearly brand-new and it’s over ten years old. I’m thinking of putting it up for auction.”
Dean looked beyond her to the dozens of cardboard boxes piled on the round kitchen table and the others stacked in a Jenga-like pile in a corner of the room. “Is that what you’re searching for, angel? Items to sell on eBay?”
Marlys shoved her hand in the pocket of her robe and rubbed her thumb over the silver pendant. “I’m gathering together mementoes of my father’s life. A friend of the family is putting on a big party to celebrate the publication of his autobiography. I said I’d provide his special keepsakes for exhibit.”
“Juliet must have some, too.”
Marlys knew the name would come up. She willed her expression to remain unchanged. “She’s not invited to the event.”
It was Dean who looked unruffled. “Family friend puts on a big do for the general’s book and his widow’s not invited?”
Beneath the fleece decorated with photos of the four pretty boys, Marlys’s spine steeled. “I asked Helen to keep her off the guest list.”
“Christ, Marlys—”
“I have my reasons!” To her own ears, her voice sounded shrill. She swallowed, and tried smoothing out her tone, though obviously she had even better reasons to keep Juliet off the list now. “And Helen agreed with me.”
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