by Aliyah Burke
They all left together and rode the elevator down in silence. At the door, Sam paused, feeling dazed until Laila touched his arm. He shook off his thoughts of where the rest of Dean’s family was. The man had a few more nieces and nephews but aside from Laila, they kind of kept to themselves. It bothered Sam they wouldn’t be there while Dean was going through what he was. The three who had shown up had acted as if they wanted to be anywhere else.
“I’ll ride with you and show you where the house is.” Laila slipped her arm through his.
He nodded and led her to his truck, ignoring the hateful glares from Dean Jr. Laila gave directions and they arrived at a duplex. He parked behind the vehicle carrying the others.
“Come on in, Sam.” She got out and he followed at a much slower pace, holding his bag over one shoulder.
The tension in the house ratcheted up once everyone was inside. He set his bag down by the door and took in Laila’s nice house on his way to the kitchen. Angry voices filtered back to him and he steeled himself for something unpleasant.
“Stop being an ass, Dean. He’s family and of course he will stay here.”
“I don’t consider him my family, Laila, and if you put him up, I’ll disown you.”
Laila’s gasp raked like talons through his chest. When her parents had died, Dean had welcomed her easily into his home, treating her as a daughter, not as a niece.
The other two—Chris and Tom, according to Laila—backed Dean. Furious on her behalf, Sam began to enter the kitchen. However, a new, unknown voice broke in. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Dean. Don’t be such an ass. This isn’t even your house.”
Feminine and slightly raspy, the sound skated along his skin, making him hyperaware.
“Nor is it yours, Roxi, so keep it shut. Or else.”
Sam stepped through the doorway, unwilling to let a woman be threatened.
“Or else what, Dean? Or else what?” Her voice grew darker and he recognised the warning in it, even if Dean didn’t. She obviously didn’t need his protection. She gave a disgusted snort. “That’s what I thought. Laila, he can stay at my house, so your cousin doesn’t flip.”
Everyone fell silent and he glanced at the woman again. She was taller than Laila but still shorter than him. Her hair was pulled back and piled up, showing off a slender neck and making him unable to tell how long her hair was. Skin the hue of dark cocoa covered her lush figure. She wasn’t fat, she had the curves of a real woman, not a half-starved model.
She—Roxi—had silver piercings all along the ear he could see. Well-worn, medium-blue jeans and a hot-pink, tight T-shirt moulded beautifully to her body.
“Such a whore, Roxi. Don’t even know the man and you’re ready for him to be with you in your house.”
He ignored the young boy in him who had been thrown away and was still searching for something he knew would always be his. It wasn’t rational. Still, it was something he had to face. He focused on Dean and the hate spewing from him.
Roxi, however, only laughed. Her amusement flowed like warm velvet over his skin. “Don’t be jealous, I don’t want your STD, Dean. Or is that STDs now? I have discerning tastes, you know, ones that don’t include you. And while everyone here knows I’d never let you in, I have no problem with this man staying with me.”
“You don’t even know him!” Dean thundered. “None of us do aside from Laila, and I think she’s enamoured with him.”
Roxi touched Laila’s arm softly. “Doesn’t matter,” she said. “He can stay with me.”
“Why?” Dean sounded strangled.
Roxi lifted her head and stared directly at Sam, unsurprised, as if she had known he’d been there the entire time. Her gaze went over him and he noticed the gleam of appreciation. Her eyes were coffee brown and steadfast.
“Because, Dean. Just because. It’s not anything you’d understand.”
But Sam did. Around her neck sat the eagle, anchor and globe, emblem for the United States Marine Corps.
“Semper Fi,” he said.
Everyone but Roxi jumped. She gave him a slight smile along with her nod.
Roxanne ’Roxi’ Mammon had never been one of those women who found themselves light-headed at a single glance from a man. But then, she’d never met the famed Sam Hoch. Until now. And so here she stood, staring at the man across from her in Laila’s kitchen realising her ‘never’ had just been erased.
Not to mention it makes me glad it’s harder to see my blush because he’s making my skin feel oh so hot and flushed.
This was him? The Sam Laila spoke so highly of? Holy hell.
If the Marines she’d worked with had been like this, perhaps she would have fought harder to stay longer. The man standing there, Sam, was quite simply a work of art.
He had his cover stowed under his left arm and he wore blood stripes. Although his matching midnight-blue coat sat hidden behind a black jacket and she couldn’t read his rank, his broad shoulders and lean hips weren’t obscured.
Short, dark hair—a Marine high and tight—tanned skin and vivid eyes. She couldn’t tell the exact colour from across the room. Chiselled features gave him a harsh appearance. He obviously wasn’t a man who smiled often.
Laila recovered first and hurried to Sam’s side. He put his attention on her and immediately his countenance softened. It was all over his face how much he loved Laila.
Blowing out a short puff of air, Roxi headed towards the duo, disliking the jealousy she experienced at their affection for one another. A mental reprimand and she was again focused.
Sam lifted his head and speared her with dark, sapphire-blue eyes. Not just any blue, but one that reminded her of the deep blue of the evening sky. Pure and intense, containing an extremely subtle violet undertone all combined with a silky shine.
A quiver rocked her and she thanked Boot for teaching her to keep her emotions hidden. Her best friend faced her and Roxi’s anger grew again at the stress and pain evident in her expression.
“Roxi, this is Sam. Sam, my best friend, Roxi.”
“Nice to meet you, ma’am.” He punctuated his statement with a sharp nod.
Manners. Another point in his favour.
She smiled easily, ignoring the serious pounding of her heart. “Roxi, please.”
“Thank you, Roxi.” Laila squeezed her hand.
“Anytime, darlin’. I’ll tell you what. Let me get him settled and dinner will be ready in about an hour from now.” She turned her head. “And you three, it’s my house we’ll be eating in so if you’re rude, I’ll kick your asses out. Nice and quick with no fuss or muss. Come on, Marine. Let’s go get you set up in the guest room.”
“Go on, Sam. I’ll see you in an hour.”
Roxi moved by Sam and bit the inside of her cheek to keep her moan contained. He smelt masculine and it made her think of long winter nights, or days, on a thick rug before a fire where he would…
Whoa there. She slammed the brakes on that train of thought right quick. At the door, his arm moved beside her as he hefted his bag. The heat emanating from him nearly distracted her.
Oh, perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea—he’s here because Dean is hospitalised.
Outside, she paused to glance behind her. Sure enough, there he stood. The setting sun cast its golden glow upon his face. He’d donned his cover and her heart skipped a few beats. Sam had barely said five words to her, yet she couldn’t help her immediate and intense attraction to him.
She caught a brief glimpse of sorrow on his face before it was wiped clear. Something more than worry over Dean’s situation. What makes you so sad? His gaze shifted to her and she gave him a smile.
“Don’t worry, I’m just next door to her.”
She pointed to the ranch house that neighboured the duplex. She and Laila lived in a subdivision and had about a quarter acre of land each. So while their houses weren’t right on one another, they were not far apart. Heading for the door with him on her heels, she gave herself another mental pep talk—this wasn�
��t about getting some. She pushed the door open and was instantly hit by a combination of warmth and the smells of cooking food.
“This way.”
She led him through the living room and down to the hallway. After pushing open the guestroom door, she flicked on the light and moved to the side. He stepped by her and set his bag down beside the bed. He’d removed his cover when entering her home and held it now as he faced her.
“Make yourself at home. There is a bathroom is across the hall, towels and whatnot are in the tall cabinet in there for you to use.”
All she could see was them in that bed, naked limbs entwined.
“Thank you.”
So many responses almost fell from her lips, but she kept them to herself. Before she left the room she paused at the door and turned back. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
For the way they talked about you as if you weren’t even there. Nope, can’t say that. “The reason you came. Master Guns being in the hospital.”
His expression flickered yet never changed. “Thank you.”
She had an overwhelming urge to gather him and hold him close. An urge to do other things as well, but for all she knew she wasn’t his type.
“Holler if you need anything.” She walked out and left him to his own devices.
Back in the kitchen, she began setting the large table. As she placed the last glass, lost in her own thoughts and the music playing, she glanced up to see him standing in the doorway. Watching her.
Shit!
Her heart pounded thunderously. And she’d thought he’d looked fine in his Marine blues. He now wore light blue jeans—a worn pair—which made her curl her fingers into the flesh of her palms to keep from touching. Exploring. And did she say touching? Definitely, lots and lots of touching.
His shirt was black with ‘Marines’ in gold lettering across the middle, followed by the eagle, anchor and globe.
A man simply shouldn’t look that damn good. She cleared her throat and gave him a smile. He’d showered, she could tell by the remaining dampness on his short hair.
“Can I get you anything?” Me perhaps? Naked? Stilettos only?
Sam shook his head. “Smells great.”
“Thank you. There are sodas in the fridge, tea, beer, just…help yourself.” She tore her gaze from him, refocusing on the table instead of the hard masculine Marine body in her kitchen.
“Can I help?”
His voice was right by her ear as she stood before the dishes cabinet. The scent of pure man teased her senses. Okay, so it was more of a torture because she couldn’t touch. Her nipples tightened and her clit pulsed with need.
Damn, it’s been so long.
“You can g-grab the plates.”
He didn’t wait for her to move. Instead, he shifted his physique immediately behind her and reached up, effectively trapping her between him and the countertop. Oh, dear God, she was going to melt. It felt like mini-Tasers were being applied to her wherever he touched, catapulting her body into a state of hypersensitivity. Firm thighs, taut abs—and let’s not forget the large cock, which she could feel against her ass.
Damn near panting like a bitch in heat, she had to fight not to press back into him or whimper when he stepped back. The separation helped to clear her mind. Helped. A wee bit. As she went for napkins, she watched him surreptitiously. He moved with a leonine grace and coiled power.
Imagine all that in bed.
A flood of wetness made her bite back yet another groan. She really needed to go out and get laid.
“What do you do for the Corps?” She hoped her question would keep her mind off the things she’d love to do with him. Or to him.
“Recon.”
Hot and dangerous. Her body throbbed. So much for keeping my mind off sexual things.
“How long have you been in?”
“Almost twenty.” A pause. “Seventeen.”
Wow. He was close to retirement. “And that’s where you met Master Guns?”
“No.”
She waited for an embellishment on the single-word answer but got nothing. Swallowing her sigh of frustration, she grabbed a sheet of breadsticks and placed them in the oven. The rich, hearty scent of the cooking lasagne spilled out and she sighed in pleasure. One of her specialities and a favourite dish of Laila’s, so it coincided wonderfully.
The remaining time she and Sam worked together in silence—she didn’t pry anymore and he seemed content to say nothing. She thought about him in recon.
She’d just pulled out the lasagne and set it on the table as he placed the breadsticks in a basket when his head snapped up and every muscle in his body tensed.
“What?” she asked softly, recognising his look as one who hadn’t decided if the noise was friend or foe.
“We’re here!” Laila called out.
For a brief moment his entire body softened and again that unpleasant feeling of jealousy filled her. Roxi didn’t understand it—he wasn’t hers to be jealous over.
“Right on time,” she hollered back. “Just putting it on the table.”
Laila and her cousins entered and the tension increased. She rolled her eyes as Dean took a seat at the end. Sharing a look with Laila, they each took one beside the other end and Laila tugged Sam into that seat.
There wasn’t a lot of chatter over the meal and when she got up to remove dishes and bring out dessert, Sam was right there with her. Again he helped.
After they’d finished eating, Sam and Laila went to speak privately. The other cousins had left and she was wiping off the table the moment her friend tracked her down.
“Thank you so much, Roxi.”
“You never have to thank me, you know that.”
Laila pushed in chairs. “Thank you anyway. And for Sam too.”
“You know I haven’t a problem with him staying. I know he means a lot to you.” She wanted to ask so many questions about him yet somehow managed to keep her mouth shut.
“He does. What about Eric?”
“He doesn’t come ’til next week. And he’ll be fine with it.”
“Thank you again.” Laila hugged her and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “G’nite.”
“Night, hon. Keep me posted. I’ll swing by the day after tomorrow and see him.”
“I will. Love you, Roxi.”
“Likewise, Laila. Go home and get some sleep.”
Soon she was alone in the kitchen. She headed for her kettle to heat some water then she felt him behind her. Everything changed when he was in the room. Without turning, she licked her lips.
“I’m making tea. Would you like a cup? I can also offer coffee or hot chocolate.”
No response and she peered over her shoulder.
He stared at her. Was it her imagination or was there possessiveness in his gaze? “Who’s Eric?”
Chapter Two
Sam had experienced jealousy before. Quite a lot actually, growing up. At how the other children had parents and siblings as well as a home and perhaps a room of their own. Special holidays with the family. Yes, the feeling wasn’t anything he didn’t recognise.
It was the situation.
Ever since Roxi had stood up for him, without having even met him, and said he could stay with her, he’d been in a bit of wonderment. So this time when jealousy revealed its ugly head, he’d known it was different. He didn’t like another male name causing her to be so happy.
You just met her, for all you know she’s married, his brain chimed in.
He refused to believe it. She stood there watching him alertly, her rich coffee-coloured eyes never wavering. He stepped closer, trying to ignore the pounding in his blood that told him she was his and he should grab her. Kiss her.
I don’t want to just kiss her. Another realisation rocked him. He didn’t sleep with women just because. He had no wish to form attachments that wouldn’t…couldn’t last. But if Roxi crooked her finger at him, he would follow without a second’s hesitation. He wanted to feel her bo
dy against his, touch her skin, run his tongue along the pulse in her neck. Taste her. Fill her. Hear her cry his name. His. No one else’s.
He moved towards her, almost out of control. Her eyes widened a bit before her tongue sneaked out and dampened her lips. It was a direct line from her tongue to his cock.
“Eric is my nephew.”
God, her voice. That alone could be a fantasy. Wresting his raging libido back until he regained the upper hand, he gazed over her face, taking in her full, kissable lips, thick and curved lashes and her flawless skin.
“And he lives with you?”
Her smile was immediate, illuminating her entire face. “Not permanently, no. He’s enrolled at the military school nearby. He stays with me on breaks.”
“Not his parents?”
“My brother, Ritchie, is overseas right now, and Eric’s mom”—a fierce scowl—“let’s just say she’s not fit to pick up dog shit.” A shrug. “It’s a long story, but basically when she flipped out he—Ritchie, I mean—was still overseas. I was home on a leave and brought him to stay with me. This is the arrangement we’ve ended up with. If Ritchie is home, Eric goes there and stays with him. If not, he’s here.”
Sam was amazed. “And his mother?”
“Who knows. Stoned somewhere, high on something, drunk in a ditch, who knows. Maybe rehab. I just want her far from Eric.” Her tone had no sympathy in it.
“How do you deal with deployments with him, then?”
She turned back to the whistling kettle and poured the water into mugs. He realised he’d not told her he wanted anything, but she was still making him something.
“I don’t have to. I’m out.”
He heard the wistfulness in her tone. She added tea bags and sugar before peeking back at him.
“Enough about Eric. Tell me about you, Sam. I’ve heard a few things but to hear Laila speak, you’re Superman.”
He took their mugs and led the way to her living room, before placing them on the coffee table. Then he sat on the sofa, the other end from Roxi.
“I’ve known Laila since before her parents died. She’s wonderful.”
Roxi’s eyes hardened, but the emotion was so fleeting he wondered if he’d imagined it. Then she nodded.