Distant Thunder: Midseason Episode 2 (Rising Storm)

by Larissa Ione

  Suddenly, his body went taut and his head came up. She blinked, her lust-soaked brain not registering his alarm until he whispered, “Do you hear that?”

  Anxiety spiked. “Hear what?”

  “Shit. Footsteps.” He leaped up and hauled her to her feet, but even before she’d caught her balance, she saw a shadowy figure standing in the doorway.

  “Mom!” She swallowed. Hard. They were so busted. “Um, hi. Marcus and I were just—”

  “Don’t embarrass us all with a lie,” Payton said, a lot more calmly than Brittany would ever have expected. “I know what you were doing.” She swiped something gold off one of the beverage tables. “I didn’t know you were out here. I came to find my watch and close the doors. I thought I’d left them open after my swim this evening.”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Rush,” Marcus said, giving her a respectful nod. “I can go.”

  “Oh, heavens, no,” she said. “Under the circumstances, I know it’s hard to find time together.” Her mouth curved in the barest hint of a sly smile. “Just don’t let your father or grandmother catch you.”

  Brittany watched in amazement as her mother turned around, closed one of the doors, and walked back toward the house.

  “What just happened?” Marcus frowned. “Did we get busted for making out or not? Is this a trick?”

  “I’m not sure,” she said, “but I’m not going to waste time trying to figure it out.” Spinning, she took Marcus back down to the pillows, landing half-on, half-off of him.

  His grin hit her right in the heart. “I love a woman who knows what she wants.” She caught the impish gleam in his eye a split-second before he effortlessly flipped her onto her back and settled between her legs. “Especially if what she wants is me.”

  “Mmm,” she breathed as he nuzzled her neck, “I do want you. So much.” She arched against him to make that clear, and she groaned at the sensation of her core meeting the hard ridge of his erection.

  Oh, wow. This was really happening. Her heart raced with excitement, and she swore she was going to come apart the second he touched her.

  He lifted his head and looked down at her, his gaze blazing with heat so intense she began to squirm. Her skin felt hot, like it was too tight for her body, and between her thighs, a sweet ache bloomed.

  She wasn’t a virgin by any means, but she’d still never been this eager to be with a guy. Her hands trembled as she ran them up and down his muscular back, and she was breathing like she’d run a marathon.

  “Are you okay?” His rich, gravelly voice shot through her like a lightning strike of lust.

  And no, she was not okay at all. She was crazy in love with this guy, and he wasn’t ripping off her clothes. “Kiss me,” she breathed, “and then I’ll be okay.”

  “You’re sure.” It wasn’t a question. He didn’t want a simple yes or no, and she knew it. He wanted to know she was consenting to this on every level and that she didn’t feel pressured.

  God, he was a catch, and her eyes burned with happy tears. How had a boy who had grown up the way he had become a man with so much to offer?

  “I’m sure.” She slid her hand between them and cupped his erection, loving how he gasped softly. “See?”

  “Oh, yeah,” he rasped, pushing himself into her palm. “I see.”

  Lowering his head, he kissed her feverishly, his mouth giving and taking, nibbling at her lips. His hand dropped to her butt to tug her closer to him, and then he massaged and stroked his way up her hip. His thumb dipped low on her pelvis, just brushing her mound over the thin cotton of her khakis and underwear, and she angled her hips higher, trying to get him where she needed him.

  He smiled against her mouth, knowing he was driving her crazy. He let his touch get close, so close, feathering across her pubic bone and in the crease of her leg, but he never quite...got...there.

  Then he was moving on, his hand skimming her waist and slipping under her blouse.

  “We should probably close the other door,” he murmured as he scooted down her body to kiss her throat. “If your dad or grandma see us, they’ll probably call the cops and tell them I’m attacking you.”

  He was joking, but she didn’t doubt that he was spot on. Still, if he thought he was going to stop doing what he was doing to close the door, he was crazy. Stretching her leg out, she kicked the door shut and surrendered to Marcus’s masterful touch.

  God, he knew exactly where to touch her, how much pressure to use, and for how long. Every caress was magic, every kiss electrifying. And as his fingers worked the buttons on her shirt and his tongue delved into her cleavage, she decided she didn’t want to know how he’d learned these skills. As long as he kept using them on her, she didn’t care.

  His tongue was wet and hot against her skin as he dragged it up the valley between her breasts. Too many clothes. They were wearing way too many clothes. She helped him unbutton her shirt, impatient to get this moving along.

  “Eager, are we?” He pushed himself up on one muscular arm to peel her shirt open, and the flush of admiration on his face as he took her in left her breathless. “Damn, baby. You’re so beautiful.”

  The warmth in his words surrounded her like a blanket. Smiling, she dragged her finger up her sternum in a lazy, crooked line, loving how Marcus’s eyes darkened as he watched her work her way up toward her bra. Half an inch away from the pink satin, she paused, getting a thrill out of the way he licked his lips in anticipation. His breath came faster and he swallowed hard as she gripped the clasp at the front of the bra.

  A cell phone buzzed.

  She whispered a curse and released the clasp. Marcus’s curse was much louder. And cruder.

  Twisting, he jammed his hand in his pocket and yanked out his phone. “If someone isn’t bleeding to death...” He trailed off and let out another curse, softer this time. “It’s Logan. I gotta go. I’m sorry.”

  The worry in his voice was like a bucket of ice water, and she sat up. “Of course. Go. Do you need me to do anything?”

  “No.” He stood and helped her up. “I got this. Can I see you tomorrow?”

  She tried not to sound too disappointed that their night was ending this way.

  “I’m starting some online classes, but I’ll call when I’m done for the day.”

  Marcus pressed his lips to hers in a lingering kiss that tingled, still alive with residual heat. It would only take a couple more seconds to rekindle things, and she gripped his shirt, testing his resolve.

  “Dammit,” he whispered. “You’re way too tempting.”

  She smiled. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  “Oh, it’s a bad thing,” he drawled, “and that’s a good thing.” He gave her one more quick peck, and then he was out the door, his fine butt flexing inside jeans she’d been anxious to rip off.

  “Well, shit,” she said, looking around at the mound of pillows and the swimsuits hanging from hooks next to the changing stall. She didn’t have anything better to do, and she could use a good drenching in cold water, so a night swim it was.

  As she donned her favorite suit, she hoped Logan was okay.

  Because she was going to kill him for this.

  * * * *

  The text had said only, Flat tire. Same place, but Marcus knew exactly where to find his friend.

  Flat tire, their code for help, had been born back in high school when Logan got a flat tire while making out with Delia Bruce out at the lake, and sure enough, Logan’s vehicle was right there in the same spot it had been in all those years ago.

  Marcus pulled up next to it and killed the engine. It had taken fifteen minutes to drive out here, enough time for him to lose the lust jitters that had kept him fidgeting all the way to the lake, but now he was anxious for a different reason. Logan didn’t send out SOS messages for fun.

  He walked around the front of his car and spotted Logan sitting on the beach about twenty yards away, his long legs stretched out in front of him, booted feet crossed at the ankles. He stare
d out at the moonlit lake, a bottle of what was probably whiskey in his hand.

  “Something tells me you didn’t call me here for a flat tire,” Marcus called out as he walked toward his friend.

  Logan kept staring into the distance. “I ran out of gas.”

  “I’m the one who ran out of gas. Twice. Try again.” He eased up to Logan and sat down so he could both look out at the lake and keep an eye on his friend without giving himself neck cramps.

  “Fine,” Logan drawled in an alcohol-drenched voice. “I’m being a responsible drinker and calling for a ride home.”

  While Marcus didn’t doubt the truth of that, he also knew it was only half the truth. Logan could have called one of his brothers for something as simple as a ride home, but he hadn’t. He’d wanted Marcus to come for a reason.

  “Okay, then. So why me?”

  Logan shrugged, looked down at the half-empty bottle of what Marcus could now see was Johnnie Walker Black. “I saw Ginny today. At the ceremony.”

  Marcus’s gut twisted. He’d been afraid of that, but it explained why Logan was sitting here alone and three sheets to the wind. “Did you talk to her?”

  For a long time, Logan just sat there, staring down at his lap, his fingers digging at the label on the bottle. Then his head came up and he pegged Marcus with a stare he could only describe as shell-shocked.

  “I was doing okay, Marcus.” Logan’s voice was hoarse. Raw. “After the military, I mean. I came home, and at first, I was so overwhelmed that I didn’t have time to think, you know? Then Ginny came along, and she kept me...she kept me grounded. But now I don’t have her, and all the shit is coming back.” He swallowed and looked away, once again taking a lot of interest in that bottle. “I’m not a hero, Marcus. That son of a bitch knows it, too. I can see it in his face. And you know why I can see it? It’s because I’m the same as him. I’m an imposter. I hate that bastard, but I’m no better.”

  It took Marcus a moment to figure out who “that son of a bitch” was, but after wracking his brain a little, he realized Logan was talking about Senator Rush. And it pissed him off.

  “Jesus, Logan. You are nothing like Sebastian Rush. He thinks serving the people means cheating, lying, and casting votes that benefit himself, not the country. You risked your life for your country. You care about people. You’re a damned good person. Don’t ever compare yourself to a scumbag like Rush.”

  Sometimes he wondered how someone like Brittany could be related to someone like Sebastian Rush.

  And then he remembered that his own father was Hector Alvarez, who might actually be worse.

  A hint of a smile touched the corner of Logan’s mouth. “Funny, isn’t it?”

  “What’s funny?”

  “You talking me off the ledge.” Logan took a swig from the bottle and offered it to Marcus, who shook his head. “It always used to be me talking you down.”

  Marcus snorted. He couldn’t count the number of times Logan had talked him out of doing something crazy or dangerous or stupid. But Logan had led a fucking charmed life, complete with a tight-knit family, good grades without even trying, and a smile that turned women into putty. Marcus had never been the person to prevent meltdowns or pick up the pieces after one.

  But he’d been doing that a lot lately, hadn’t he? He’d somehow become a grownup instead of a screw-up.

  “Come on, buddy.” Marcus stood and offered Logan a hand. “I’ll get you home. We can come back to get your Camaro tomorrow.”

  Logan allowed Marcus to help him to his feet. “You’re a good friend.”

  “Yeah, well, I owe you.” Marcus casually took the bottle so Logan wouldn’t drop it. Or drink more. “I don’t think I would have made it out of my teens alive if it weren’t for you and your family.”

  “I’m sorry your dad is such a shitbag,” Logan said, his voice slurring. “Glad he’s gone. You needed to come back.” He stumbled as they walked toward the Impala, but Marcus caught him before he hit the dirt. “You’re staying, right? You said you were staying. You haven’t changed your mind. Montana is too cold. You should stay here.”

  Chuckling softly, Marcus propped Logan against the hood of his car while he put the bottle in the trunk and opened the passenger door. “Don’t worry. I’m staying.”

  “What if he comes back?”

  “Who?”

  “Your dad. Hector.” Eyes suddenly wild, Logan grabbed him by the shirt and dragged him close with superhuman drunk strength. “Don’t leave again. Please don’t leave again.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Marcus assured him. Besides, Hector would be an idiot to return to Storm after being chased off by the local sheriff, who happened to be Logan’s brother. Still, his old man was an idiot, so there was a chance he’d come back, and while Marcus hoped it would never happen, he did worry about it now and then. “I promise.”

  Logan released Marcus, a big, sloppy grin curving his mouth. “I love you, man. You’re like the brother I never had.”

  Marcus guided Logan to the passenger seat. “I’m sure your sisters will be happy to hear that,” he said, the joke left over from the days when Logan and his brothers were young and full of piss and vinegar. Logan would get mad at his siblings and tell Marcus that he was the brother he never had, and Marcus would point out that Dillon and Patrick wouldn’t like being called girls.

  It seemed silly now, but Marcus had needed the silliness back then. Still did, he supposed.

  Overall though, even with the craziness going on all around him, Marcus felt pretty good about life. His mother was healing, gaining self-confidence and independence, Mallory was doing good in school, and even Dakota was being pretty low-key. His relationship with Brittany was going well despite her father and grandmother’s meddling, and today at the award ceremony, Tucker Johnson had offered him a job on his ranch after all.

  So yes, life could suck a lot worse, and he had a lot worse to compare to.

  Now he just had to pray that things stayed good. Surely that wasn’t too much to ask.

  Was it?

  Chapter Eleven

  As Marylee’s driver pulled up to the body shop on the outskirts of Del Rio, she was glad for the two private protection agents she’d brought with her. Mangy stray animals scurried between garbage bins and filthy ragamuffin children played in the streets while greasy looking thugs smoked cigarettes and who knew what else on rickety porches.

  God, she hated border towns, even if they were on the American side of the Rio Grande, and none of this was doing anything to change her mind or improve her mood.

  She’d just spent the afternoon with campaign contributors and Del Rio’s mayor’s wife, and her face hurt from all the forced smiling she’d done between prying, “Is everything okay, you know, with everything going on?” questions. The stupid woman had been practically frothing at the mouth for juicy details.

  But now it was time for the real reason Marylee had come to this godforsaken town, which she’d always thought of as the armpit of Texas.

  The driver opened her door, and she stepped out, smoothed her skirt, and strode into the body shop flanked by her bodyguards.

  A short Hispanic man in oil-stained overalls walked up to her, wiping his grimy hands on an equally grimy rag. “Can I help you?”

  “I understand Hector Alvarez works here.”

  The grubby man jerked his thumb at the windowless bar next door. “He’s at lunch.”

  She eyed the run-down establishment covered in flickering neon beer signs. This day just kept getting worse and worse.

  One of her bodyguards entered first, and she gingerly followed him inside, trying not to gag at the stench of sweat, stale beer, and rancid deep-fat fryer grease.

  After she gave her eyes a few seconds to adjust to the dark, cave-like atmosphere, she spotted Hector sitting in a booth in the back. He was hunched over a plate of food she wouldn’t give one of those stray dogs outside, and one hand was clenched around a can of beer. Even in the dim, hazy light of
the bar, she could see the resemblance to Marcus in his black, wavy hair and sharp features.

  He didn’t look up from shoveling food into his mouth like a hog at feeding time until she cleared her throat.

  “Hello, Mr. Alvarez.”

  He scowled at her. “Who the fuck are you?” The cheap vinyl seat creaked as he slowly sat back, realization dawning in his bloodshot eyes. “Well, I’ll be damned. You’re that Rush woman.”

  “Marylee,” she said, forcing a smile. She gestured to the empty booth across from him. “Do you mind?” At his wary shrug, she sat gingerly on the crumb-coated seat and wondered if she’d have to throw away her skirt later. “You weren’t easy to find.”

  He took a swig of beer. “Didn’t know anyone was looking for me.”

  “Yes, well, I’m in Del Rio on business,” she said, studying every facial tic, every eye movement, every change in his breathing. She was good at reading people, especially when they lagged behind a point or two on the evolutionary scale. “I thought that since we’re practically family now, we should discuss a few things.”

  He belched, and she swallowed sourly. What a repugnant man. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  Time to lay the trap. She feigned surprise. “You weren’t aware that your son is dating my granddaughter? And then there’s Dakota. According to her, she and my son—”

  “Say what?” The can in Hector’s hand crumpled. “You said Marcus is in Storm? That’s impossible. He’s in bumfuck Montana.”

  He’d taken the bait. Now to reel him in. Thank you for all those fishing lessons when I was a little girl, Daddy.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, smoothly. “I thought you knew. He came back a couple of months ago. Not long after you left. I suppose he felt he needed to be the man of the family. He really helped them out of the hole. Joanne is absolutely radiant, as happy as I’ve ever seen her. She works for me now, you know.” She sighed sadly, as if she were truly invested in the lives of these people. “It’s just too bad he didn’t come home in time to stop Dakota from self-destructing.”