Temporary Home

by Aliyah Burke

  Roxi headed for her room only to be stopped by his touch on her arm. Praying for the strength not to do anything stupid, she manoeuvred to face him, caught off guard by the raw emotions in his eyes.

  “Thank you.”

  “No problem,” she said, trying to sound like it wasn’t a big deal after all. Prove to herself she could do this without panting over him like a lovesick fool. Or a horny one. Perhaps that was what she was, both horny and lovesick. With a heavy emphasis on horny.

  “Do you know where Second Chances is?”

  “Yes. I can give you directions. You filling in for Master Guns?”

  He nodded and she smiled. This is going to be interesting.

  Chapter Three

  She was smiling again. Sam could feel the effect of her smile everywhere. It lit her face up. Correction, it lit her up, making her even more beautiful.

  Roxi stood before him in a pair of silver-grey pants and a black, long-sleeved Marine shirt. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail exposing her numerous earrings. They ran up both ears and he’d noticed they were all different.

  Back to her smile. It did things to him. He’d been unsure and embarrassed about attacking her last night, but she didn’t appear to have given it another thought. And she hadn’t told Laila.

  This woman amazed him. He knew she had Marine pride. A Marine flag flew on her porch, slightly lower than her American flag. Then there was her necklace and a few photos of her around her living room he’d checked out. She was a hot-ass Marine. She’d been a sergeant. Her love for the Corps was obvious—it made her sacrifice of getting out for her nephew all the more touching in his estimation.

  “I’m doing some laundry today. If you’d like anything done I’d be happy to throw it in.”

  “I’m good, thank you.”

  “Okay. If you need to do some, feel free. It’s the room without a door. Right down there.”

  “Can I fix the door for you?” There had to be some way he could repay her for all this hospitality.

  Another smile and his heart kicked into a higher gear.

  “I took it off because of how it opened. Into the room and it was just too hard with the space being so small. I’ll add one on a track at some point.” She shrugged. “Not high on my to-do list.”

  He could do that for her.

  “Let me stop rambling and give you directions.”

  He kind of liked her rambling. He liked a lot about her. When she’d given him directions he went to his room and grabbed what he needed. Roxi was on the phone when he strode through the living room. She tossed him a wave before laughter erupted from her. Ignoring his desire to kiss her, he walked out to the garage.

  He paused by his truck. Propped up on the handle sat a garage door opener. Roxi had given him access to her house—he shook his head in wonderment, pressing it. Washington’s morning light penetrated the garage.

  After climbing into his truck, he backed out and touched the button to close the door. To the left he spied Dean Jr, out smoking on Laila’s porch, glaring in his direction. He growled low in his throat. There was something about that man he just plain didn’t like. After ensuring the garage door had completely shut, he drove off to do what he needed to.

  * * * *

  Second Chances had caused a knot in his chest even before he’d hopped out in front of the two-storey building. There was a fenced area off to the side and he could see boys and girls out there despite the cold, windy weather. With a deep breath, he clenched his hands into fists. Beneath the leather of his gloves he could feel the sweat on his palms.

  Damn it. I have no reason to be afraid. Yet he couldn’t control the memories.

  He strode up the steps then knocked briskly on the front door. An older man opened it, a smile on his lips.

  “Can I help you?”

  In a flash, he was transported back to being a little boy, terrified and unsure as to why he had been separated from his family. Would they ever come for him? Would he make it if they didn’t?

  “Are you okay, son?”

  Sam blinked and cleared his throat. The man before him had pale skin and a head of bright red hair.

  “Yes, sir. I’m Gunnery Sergeant Sam Hoch. Here to help out for Master Gunnery Sergeant Dean Richardson.”

  The smile broadened. “Of course. I thought you looked familiar. Come on in. I’m Father Dylan O’Toole. How is Dean doing? We are all praying for him.”

  They stepped inside and Sam gazed about the warm room. “He was awake yesterday. I’m going back this afternoon.”

  Children played here as well, the ones too young to be out in the cold for very long. He heard some cries from even younger ones coming from nearby.

  “What was he doing? I’ll pick up where he left off.” Sam knew it wasn’t the nicest behaviour but being here had hit him harder than he’d expected it to.

  Father O’Toole nodded, understanding in his gaze. “Right this way. Do you know anything about plumbing? Painting?”

  Sam remained silent as they went towards the back. Father O’Toole opened a door, which led to another room. Lights were powered on and illuminated the partially painted walls of the large space.

  “He was finishing this up to be the playroom once winter gets here full force. There are two bathrooms in the back which also need some work. Forgive me for asking, son, but how long are you here?”

  “At least until Christmas.”

  Father O’Toole smiled. “Wonderful. We’ll get the Santa suit out and alter it a bit for you. You’re a bit broader than Dean.”

  “Santa suit?” His heart stopped for a few beats.

  “Dean is our Santa Claus. I assumed you’d be taking his place in that as well. I mean, he can’t have kids climbing all over him when he gets out. We even have a Mrs Claus to help. And some elves.” Father O’Toole reached towards him, stopping shy of actual contact. “Can we count on you?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  A huge grin and the man left him. Alone. Sam sighed heavily and went to the paint. He also checked the bathroom and made a mental list of what he’d need. What did he know about being Santa? Didn’t matter, he’d do it. Letting down Master Guns was not even an option.

  Mrs Claus. A slight lift of his lips as he envisioned Roxi in a tight, short, red dress—even though he doubted that would be the costume—and her at his side. Another sigh and he got himself to work.

  Father O’Toole came for him at lunch when Sam was cleaning up, having finished for the day. “Come get some food, son.” He glanced around. “You’ve made some great strides.”

  Sam had only part of one wall left. And the bathrooms. “Thank you, Father, for the offer, but I can’t stay. I have some errands to run. I’ll be back first thing in the morning and finish this stuff up then move onto whatever else you need.”

  “Thank you, son. For doing this.”

  Together they walked out to where the children were eating. Their eyes tracked him and while he nodded at them all, he still kept quiet. At the door, Father O’Toole put a hand on his arm. He glanced down at the pale hand resting on the black of his jacket, then the man’s face.

  “I can tell you are a quiet man and we’ll try to keep the questions to a minimum.”

  Sam opened his mouth, only to close it when Father O’Toole continued.

  “It’s okay, son. We’ll see you tomorrow. God be with you.”

  Sam headed for his truck then swung up into it. He stopped off at Wal-Mart and grabbed some clothes along with the items needed for the bathroom. Then he returned to Roxi’s.

  It wasn’t Dean Jr on the porch at Laila’s this time, it was the other two. Smoking and laughing while they drank beer. More dislike swarmed him and he activated the garage door button. He couldn’t explain his relief at seeing Roxi’s SUV in there. He parked next to her Tribeca and got out. Bags in hand, he went to the door and entered the house after the garage had been secured.

  Music filled the air, alternative with a nice pulsing beat to it. He mad
e his way to his room—funny how easy it was to think of it that way—and set his purchases on the bed. Stepping back in the hall, he headed for the living room then on to the kitchen, where he froze as if he’d run smack into a wall.

  Roxi was mopping. She wore another pair of those thigh-hugging shorts, white ones, and a sweatshirt. Her hair hung free and he itched to sink his fingers in it and tug her head back, where all he had to do was lower his own and…

  His cock pressed insistently against his jeans. He loved staring at her and would have no problems continuing to do so—however, he also had no wish to freak her out.

  “Roxi,” he called, loud enough to be heard over the music.

  She screamed and jumped. So much for not scaring her. With a hand on her chest she stared up at him, eyes twinkling as much as the silver in her ears.

  “Well, shit, you scared me.”

  “I’m—”

  “No need to apologise. I thought I’d be done with the floor before you got back.” She reached for a remote and turned the music down. “I don’t normally have it set that high.”

  He knew she’d spoken but damned if he could follow the conversation. Her sweatshirt, medium grey, was another Marine one with four succinct words printed on it—‘The Few. The Proud’. His eyes drifted lower back to where the white of her shorts ended and the mouth-watering, hot cocoa hue of her legs began. Long and toned. He knew it would be some sort of heaven to have them wrapped around his waist as he stroked deep into her.

  The tension thickened as he watched her socked feet move closer.

  “See something you like, Marine?”

  He jerked his gaze up to find her eyes, a blended mixture of desire and amusement dancing in them, as she watched his face. The gentlemanly thing would be for him to apologise. Ask for her forgiveness for his behaviour.

  “Hell yeah.” His response was deep and guttural.

  What do you know, I’m not that much of a gentleman after all.

  “Good.”

  Their eyes remained locked as she put herself right before him. He was surrounded by the subtle scent of autumn. He watched her hands slide up over his chest until they rested on his shoulders, nails biting slightly into his skin. He didn’t mind.

  More. His body sang the command.

  More of her touch.

  He forced himself to allow her to continue setting the pace, to stroke her fingers along his shoulders and neck. When she applied pressure for him to lower his head, he followed the silent directive.

  Her eyes fluttered and began to close as his lips made contact with hers. Soft yet firm, they parted beneath his touch. Last night hadn’t even begun to be enough. He gathered her up tightly in his arms. Then he reached for her ponytail and jerked out the tie holding it. Her thick hair cascaded down in cool silken waves and he secured his hand in it, anchoring her where he wanted her.

  He swiped his tongue along her lower lip before sliding it into her mouth. Her taste swarmed him, sweet yet not overly so. And there was a hint of cinnamon and sugar. Raw sugar.

  Her tongue rubbed his, breaking his control. A rumble left his chest and he plunged in. Her answering moan spurred him on. He delved deep, licking the sides and roof of her mouth. Wanting more. Needing more. She made his blood sing as she met him thrust for thrust. Stroke for stroke.

  She held him tighter and hoisted a leg, wrapping it around him. She ground against his rock-hard erection. He lowered the hand at her waist to her ass and squeezed as he rubbed his length along her core in response.

  One thing was on his mind, to be buried balls-deep inside her—as soon as humanly possible. Having her wet slit around him. And spill his release so far into her, she would never forget what it was like to be with him.

  She whimpered and pressed harder into him. Lifting her with one arm, he nearly growled at the feel of her legs locking about his waist. She never stopped kissing him. He carried her until a wall rested at her back, then ended the kiss and stared at her. Her lips were swollen and slightly parted as she emitted sharp breaths. Holding her gaze, he manoeuvred one hand down the front of her shorts to find her panties.

  “Wet.” His single word sounded gravelly.

  Her eyes were almost glazed over as he stroked her through the damp material.

  “Sam,” she said on a breathy sigh, undulating against his touch.

  He needed to get her naked. He needed to sink inside her so completely she cried his name. Dipping his fingers beneath the elastic band, he ran two of them over wet lips and drove them deep inside her heated walls.

  Tight, she was so damn tight. Her head thumped back on the wall, plump bottom lip caught in straight white teeth as a hiss left her.

  “Sam.”

  He pumped his wrist, sending his fingers in and out. Her pussy held him so snugly he nearly came just imagining it around his cock. He brushed her clit and she came apart, gasping his name until he silenced her with his mouth. With his tongue, he matched the pace of his fingers and she orgasmed around them.

  “Inside…me…you…” she demanded once she’d caught her breath.

  Nothing sounded better. He withdrew his cream-covered digits and brought them to his mouth to clean them. She tasted like spices. His cock pulsed, echoing his impatience.

  “Yes,” he said, shifting to put her on the floor in order to remove her tight shorts and for him to free his straining erection.

  “Roxi?” Laila’s call shattered the moment, breaking the spell around them as effectively as taking a baseball bat to a window. “Sam? Anyone here?”

  They froze and Roxi moved away from him in the space of a heartbeat. He could see the regret and frustration in her gaze before she spun and left him alone with a dick hard enough to break rocks and the heady scent of her on his fingers. Oh yeah, and a shitload of sexual frustration.

  By the time the women came into view he’d managed to rein in his lust. He’d picked up the mop and stood on the newly cleaned floor, drying off washed hands.

  “Hi, Laila.”

  “Hey, Sam. I came to see if you wanted to come to the hospital with me?”

  He flicked his gaze between them. “Yes. Of course.” Laila, still in her work clothes and Roxi, well, he wanted her out of everything. Naked. Writhing beneath him. On top of him worked, too.

  “Coming, Roxi?” Laila asked.

  “Not yet.” Roxi held his gaze. “I’ll swing by later. I have some things to finish first.”

  “Okay. Come on, Sam.”

  He went, pausing by Roxi. Gone was any trace of passion and he wanted it back on her face. He almost spoke but Laila came back and dragged him away to the door leading from the house to the garage.

  “You drive, Sam.”

  “Okay.”

  As they left the house, he peered over his shoulder to spy Roxi leaning against the wall, watching him. The hunger was back. When he met her gaze she turned away. They got in his truck and headed to the hospital.

  We’re far from finished, Roxanne Mammon.

  Laila was talking and he reluctantly left thoughts of Roxi and how amazing it had been being in her wetness, to focus on the woman in the truck with him.

  * * * *

  Life really sucked. Roxi had come to that decision the second Laila’s voice had ended the most intense sex-against-the-wall she’d ever had. And only his fingers were deep inside me. Imagine what it would be like once his cock is there.

  She swiped her card, picked the gasoline needed for her vehicle, and, shaking off thoughts of Sam, filled the tank. There was a bite in the afternoon’s air but that couldn’t even begin to cool down the fire in her blood Sam had started.

  True to her word, she’d gone by the hospital to see Master Guns. Sam and Laila had still been there. Dean and his two half-brothers had been nowhere to be seen. Laila had been in Sam’s arms, crying against his chest.

  Roxi had only stayed a short time. She could feel the intensity of Sam’s gaze even though she’d left the hospital. Hell, her body remained primed and
ready.

  Her nipples were beaded and so tight they almost hurt. Her clit was hypersensitive to the point where walking seemed only to arouse her more. She would be giving herself an orgasm just from the memory of Sam’s touch if she wasn’t careful.

  Laila and Sam were going out to dinner, so Roxi would eat alone after she got home. She didn’t mind—she could stand calming down. First through, she had another stop to make. Once the car was filled, she grabbed her receipt and headed on her way. There was no rush and she listened to some Gladys Knight & The Pips as the drive continued. Turning off on a side street, she parked behind her destination building. She waited until Gladys finished singing Best Thing That Ever Happened to Me before she exited the car and strode around to the front door.

  “Hey, Roxi!” a few called out as she walked through the tables.

  “Good evening,” she replied with a smile.

  “Roxi, I didn’t expect to see you here today.”

  She glanced to her left and saw Juan Vargas standing there. He was a good-looking man who’d served in Vietnam and he ran this soup kitchen.

  She smiled at him. “I said I’d be in today. Sorry I missed most of the serving. I’ll just get started on the dishes.”

  Juan appeared like he wanted to say something but he didn’t. He nodded before going to talk to a few of the regulars. When he’d sat in a chair, she migrated to the kitchen, drew on an apron and tackled the stack of dishes heaped by the triple sink.

  It took her longer than she’d anticipated, so she was extremely hungry as she drove home. Sam’s truck was in the garage and she wondered if he was here or over at Laila’s, where the lights had shone brightly through the dark.

  She made her way slowly to the door and pushed into the house. The only light was the one she’d left on in the hall. Closing the door behind her, she then went to her room, readying her things for tomorrow. When she stepped from her master bathroom after washing up she froze.

  Sam stood there in a pair of workout pants—black with white piping—that hung low on lean hips. That was it. Nothing else existed to keep her gaze from ogling the specimen that was his body. Tautly muscled, tanned and mouth-watering.