by Josie Hunter
“Give it a chance. It will be therapeutic.”
“Therapeutic, my ass. I don’t know what you have brewing in that head of yours, but I’ll get my therapy tomorrow. Rusty and I are going to—”
He snapped the laptop closed. “Tomorrow is tomorrow. It’s a beautiful day, and I want to show you something. Besides”—he looked at her shoes, and she followed his gaze—“those shoes would go a lot better with shorts and a T-shirt.”
She pursed her lips, ready to argue.
“I know you have clothes in the hall closet. I snooped around since I’ve been here.” When she opened her mouth to give him one of her patented Stephanie arguments, he pulled her from the chair and pushed her in the direction of the hallway. “Go change.”
She went grudgingly. When he heard the restroom door closed, he got his workout clothes from his gym bag and went into the men’s room.
Their doors opened simultaneously. She looked adorable in a pair of blue short-shorts and a threadbare Thumper T-shirt. He recognized it immediately. He’d bought it for her birthday one year.
After she waved a quick good-bye to Rusty, she went to her desk and dumped the contents of her purse into a canvas bag, tossed it around her body, and turned to him. “I’m ready. Though I still don’t—”
He took her hand and wrapped his fingers around hers. “Can you stop protesting long enough to have a good time?”
Her fingers tightened on his as she nodded.
They walked through the park toward the boardwalk. They didn’t talk much except to comment on things they saw and people they met on their way. Dylan simply allowed himself to enjoy the warm sun filtering through the trees, the sounds of children laughing as they ran toward the playground, and the sight and scent of the woman beside him. It felt good to finally feel normal, to feel good sensations running through his body instead of residual fear, memories of pain, thoughts of hopelessness. For the first time in a year, he was beginning to feel alive, and he realized he wanted to live.
He also wanted Stephanie back in his life. If he could have that, he might be able to become Dylan Winston and push Brandon Carlisle into the dark shadows of forgetfulness like he’d been told to do.
* * * *
“Here we are.”
When Dylan reached the bottom of the staircase and turned to her, Stephanie glanced around. They were actually at the river. Not the boardwalk, but on the sidewalk right next to the riverbank. The water lapped against the shoreline in lazy little waves as paddleboats and canoes moved past.
“When you said the river,” Stephanie said, “I thought you meant we were going for a drink.” She pointed back up the stairs. “We could go to Ricardo’s. It’s a really nice outdoor bar, and they have excellent—”
“We can have a drink later.” Dylan took her hand and led her down the sidewalk.
“I was going to say excellent quesadillas. I’m starving.”
“Aren’t you always?” he asked with a smile. “I’ll buy you a quesadilla and all the margaritas you can drink. But, first, I want to go kayaking.”
She should have known when he said river. Dylan had been an avid rower, going out before dawn several mornings a week in Boston to cruise on the Charles.
“I haven’t been in a kayak in years,” Stephanie said.
“It’s like falling off a log.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she muttered.
“Come on, don’t be a timid little rabbit.” He turned as they reached the rental kiosk and smirked. “What color do you want?” He spread out his arm to the rows of small boats.
“Red please,” Stephanie said. “That way if I upend, I’ll stick out like a sore thumb.”
“Red it is.”
He paid for the rentals, and they hauled their kayaks to the small pier floating on the surface of the water. He steadied hers while she settled, and before she’d even adjusted her paddles, Dylan was already moving away from the pier.
She followed him, trying her best to keep up, but as usual, his strong upper body meant he could paddle much faster than she could. When he realized she was lagging behind, he slowed down, gliding to a near stop until she caught up.
“You’re getting soft on me,” he said with a laugh.
“Oh really?”
She dipped her paddle back into the water and dug into it with all her strength, giving it as much power as she could. She shot away from him and sped up the river against the current, the sound of his laughter growing fainter. It didn’t take long until he was abreast of her again, but now that they’d each shown off their abilities, they slowed down to a companionable speed.
When they passed the edge of town, and the boardwalk was behind them, they paddled about another twenty minutes until the river widened a bit. Here the water was overhung with thick branches from trees on the bank. Some of the leaves had even begun to change colors in the relatively cooler environment. The Texas oaks had turned to a vivid red, and the sycamores displayed a beautiful golden color. They moved under the cool blanket of the leafy boughs, enjoying the respite from the sun, and then they darted through a shallow rapids area where the water divided around a tall oak on a small island in the middle of the river. The limbs of the ancient tree bowed so far the leaves trailed in the water.
A bit farther down the watercourse, the rays of the sun peeked through the limbs, dotting the pockets of shadow nestled around the rocky banks with pinpoints of golden light. Stephanie saw movements in one of the darker recesses, and after studying it for a moment, she pointed out a beautiful black swan gliding over the smooth glassy surface. The swan paused in its movements, lifting its red bill toward them with a certain disdain.
The bird’s eyes seemed to glow red trapped within the dark feathers of its face. Stephanie felt goose bumps dot her bare arms. The swan began to glide toward them, its gaze locked on them with serious intent.
“I don’t think she likes us near her pool.”
“Probably not. Swans are very territorial, but she’s beautiful. Wish I had my camera,” Dylan said. When Stephanie turned to him, he winked. “Next time.”
Her chill forgotten, her body began to flush with pleasure. Her heartbeat sped up as she thought about next time. What would next time entail?
She resumed paddling but glanced at him from the corner of her eye, letting her gaze drift over the T-shirt stretched tight over his broad shoulders and wide chest and the shaggy hair blowing around his handsome face. She’d already seen marks on his throat, but his strong, lean arms were damaged as well. They were crisscrossed with numerous scars and dotted with remnants of smaller wounds that looked as though they could have been electrical burns. She hurt just looking at the evidence of the pain he’d gone through, but she tried desperately to keep her eyes from lingering too long. She didn’t want to make him uncomfortable.
His dark green eyes glittered in the flashes of sunlight, radiantly alive and sparking with excitement. She realized, even in the last few days, he seemed to have grown healthier, and she was beginning to see glimpses of the man she used to love. Maybe the man she still loved.
She saw Laura in his delighted gaze, his exuberance. She wondered how they would react with one another should she tell him the truth. Laura was definitely her father’s daughter.
She shook those thoughts from her head. The truth was better divulged a bit at a time. For now, she’d enjoy his company and the welcome return of his laughter. And, hopefully, his happiness.
* * * *
Medea kept her gaze locked on the happy couple as they maneuvered their kayaks in a circle around the oak island. The sound of their laughter slithered over her feathers with the irritation of dry, dusty scales. Nothing was more irritating than laughter.
Except losing prey. The man had been a wolf, the woman a fucking rabbit. That in itself had been a screwed-up example of this upside-down brave new world. The bunny should have been swallowed whole, not receiving lovey-dovey glances from an animal shifter at the top of the food c
hain. Target or not, the man had deserved to die for losing his instincts.
Medea ruffled her feathers, trying to put her irritation behind her. Had the wolf been alone, she would have struck, but pretty little bunny posed a problem. Any witness potentially posed a problem, but that usually didn’t stop her from what she needed to do. But considering the circumstances here, Medea knew she couldn’t tackle both of them at once. She was a vicious bitch—or a vicious pen when she was in swan form—but these two were in boats with paddles. Paddles hurt like a motherfucker, and she’d seen they were both pretty proficient rowers. Yes, she could handle the pain, but she’d avoid it unless forced. Besides, who needed to create a stink on such a beautiful evening?
She watched until the kayaks vanished around the bend where the golden glow of the afternoon sun shimmered on the water, and then she glided back into her shadowy nest, back into her beautiful darkness. Arching her neck back, she found the oil gland at the base of her tail and preened for several moments, cleaning and conditioning her feathers to soothe herself. Had she been in human form, she’d have had a cigarette, but her bag and clothing were hidden in a fallen log on the shore.
She filed the man’s face—quite a handsome face for a wolf—in her memory for later and then ducked under the surface when she caught a glimpse of dinner trying to wiggle out of her view.
Good luck with that, little fishy.
Dinner tasted especially good that evening.
* * * *
Famished after their exercise, they each had a bowl of chicken tortilla soup and shared a plate of nachos. When their quesadillas arrived, stuffed with the most delicious ingredients and gooey, cheesy goodness Stephanie had ever tasted, she had no problem devouring the entire thing.
Dylan glanced down at her stomach. “Where do you put it?”
“Not sure,” Stephanie said, popping the last bite into her mouth. “But I’m always hungry, and I can always eat everything.” She patted her tight, flat stomach. “I work out, of course, but I guess I just have good genes.”
“The best genes,” Dylan said with a smile. “You’re as pretty as ever, Steph. Maybe even prettier.”
She pushed her glasses up, not sure how to respond, so she settled for a simple thank-you. But before she knew what was coming out of her mouth, she said, “Are you hitting on me, Dylan?”
“I might be,” he said quietly then took the final sip of his margarita. “Would you mind if I were?”
She ran her finger over the lip of her glass, gathering salt. She licked her finger, letting the taste flood her mouth. “No, I don’t think I’d mind.”
“Then I’m hitting on you.”
She laughed. “So do I consider this a date?”
“We’re eating, we’re drinking, so yes, I’d call it a date.”
“We haven’t been on a date for a long time,” Stephanie said with a sigh. “We used to have the most fun. Do you remember?”
“I’ve forgotten a lot of things over the last year, but I’ve never forgotten one moment I spent with you.” He reached across the table and took her hand. “I remember how you liked bubble baths, how you used to read under the covers so you wouldn’t wake me, how you sometimes wore your hair like Pebbles Flintstone, you know…” He grabbed a hunk of his own hair and yanked it upward, creating a spikey tail falling over the top of his head.
“Don’t remind me,” Stephanie said with a laugh, though in truth, she loved wearing her hair like that. Professional appearances had dictated she follow a certain style, but she still wore it that way at home, and she often did Laura’s hair à la Pebbles.
“Do you remember anything about me?” he asked, rubbing his thumb over her hand.
“I remember everything. The way you counted out one hundred push-ups very softly every morning when I was trying to sleep. The way you sang in the shower with such exuberance—off-key but so adorable.” She smiled. “The way you always made me smile every night before bed. Remember that rule?”
“Yeah, and when you didn’t comply, I’d tickle you into submission.”
She felt a prickle of tears and lowered her head. She did that with Laura sometimes. Her daughter was usually ready and willing with a smile every moment of the day, but on those few nights when she seemed a bit subdued, Stephanie always tickled her into submission. She blinked away the tears and lifted her face.
“I loved you so much.”
There. I said it. Please don’t break my—
“I loved you more, Steph.”
She pressed her lips together, trying to keep any wayward noises locked inside. The last thing she wanted to do was cry in front of him, but she couldn’t seem to control everything. He wiped away an escaped tear with his finger.
“I’m so sorry for what I did to you,” he said. “I’ve regretted it every day of my life since.” He gave a short laugh. “Even the few good ones.”
“Really?” Just hearing the words made her feel so much more whole inside.
“Really. I never should have kept my assignment from you. I shouldn’t have put my career ahead of you. I should have asked if you’d wait for me. It was the biggest mistake of my life.” He stared at her, his green eyes sparkling in the glow of the patio lights. “Would you have waited for me, Steph?”
She nodded, and he squeezed her hand.
The server arrived and swept away their empty dishes. As he picked up the empty margarita glasses, he said, “Can I get you folks another drink?”
As Dylan began to answer, Stephanie jumped in. “No. Just the check please. We have plans.”
“We do?” Dylan asked.
“We do.”
They waited for the server to return with the check. Stephanie paid and shoved everything back in her bag.
“Didn’t Gabe put you in a condo near here?”
“Yeah, he moved me in yesterday afternoon. It’s up on Bluebonnet Avenue. Furnished. Nice little place, great shower, and there’s a community pool. I’m on the third floor, so there’s a balcony, and if you like to cook, the stove is top—”
She stood. “I don’t want to hear about your condo, Dylan.”
His forehead scrunched. “You don’t?”
“No, I want to see it.”
He lifted a brow. “I hope this isn’t the margaritas talking or it’s going to kill me.”
“I only had two,” Stephanie said.
“You may eat like a heavyweight champ, but you’re a lightweight when it comes to alcohol. I clearly remember that.”
“It’s me talking, Dylan.” She held out her hand. “Only me.”
“And you want to go to my place?”
“I do. Take me there.”
Chapter 10
For the first time, Dylan felt at home. Stranding in his small living room, watching Stephanie as she moved around the room, Dylan thought of all the things he could have if things worked out with her. A real home. A real job. A real family. He didn’t know how long the task force would last or if Stephanie planned to make Catamount her home forever, but he did know wherever she planned to live, that’s where he wanted to be. If she chose Catamount, he would reconsider the Tomcat position. If she wanted to return to Boston, he’d be more than happy to cruise the waters of the Charles again.
“It’s a cute little place.” She turned around and smiled. “I moved out of here about two weeks ago.”
He glanced around. “Really? Why did you leave? It seems ideal for you.”
“I bought a house,” Stephanie said. “I wanted more of a home life.”
“You? You used to live out of a backpack.”
She was quiet for a moment then said lightly, “People change.” She waved her arm and pivoted on the tip of her shoe, looking out the balcony door. “I wanted a backyard and a sunny kitchen and a garden. You know how my people are. Gotta have our gardens.”
“You always did have a pretty green thumb for such a huge carnivore.”
She whirled around, laughing. “I’m not a carnivore, silly.” She g
ave him a flirty smile. “If anything I’m an omnivore. I thought you liked that about me.”
“I like that you can make a crazy good salad and cook a mean steak. So, yes, I like that about you.” He went toward her slowly and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “I like everything about you, Steph.” He leaned down and pressed his mouth to hers in a gentle kiss. “Positively everything.”
She circled his neck with her arms and stood on tiptoes to return his kiss. Her lips felt light, dewy, and oh-so-soft against his. He slid his hands down her back to cup her ass, kneading the cheeks in rhythmic pulses. She lifted up and wrapped her legs around his waist.
“Take me to the shower. I want to see if it’s as good as I remember.”
He carried her through the bedroom to the bathroom. Without putting her down, he switched on the light, turning the dimmer down to a soft glow. He reached into the stall and flipped the nozzle. He continued to kiss her until the room was bathed in steamy warmth. He reached behind his back and removed first one shoe then the other, dropping each one onto the plush bath mat with a muffled thunk.
She ripped the Thumper shirt over her head, tossing it behind her then ran her hands under his T-shirt, pushing it up. She pressed her body against his, and the soft contours of her breasts smashed against the hairs on his chest. Her hard nipples felt like small stones against him through the flimsy fabric of her bra. He brought up one hand to cup the perfect ripe fullness of her breast.
She sighed. “I wanted you to do that.”
“I knew that,” he whispered.
She traced kisses along his cheek. Each one left a sensation of warmth behind and made his cock knock against his shorts. When she got to his neck, she grabbed the edge of his T-shirt and yanked it over his head. When she pulled back, she froze. He’d forgotten about his scars. She very gently touched each one, her small fingers moving lightly over each wound, burn, and groove on his skin as though she could erase his pain.