Resisting Samantha (Hope Parish Novels Book 10)

by Zoe Dawson

  It couldn’t be. There was no way Kyle Mayhew could have tracked me here—no way. Besides, he was still in prison.

  Realizing that once the oncoming vehicle passed, the car would have a clear lane to leave, I reacted. Darting around the back of the car, I sprinted across the street, panic compressing my lungs, and a frantic prayer circulating in my mind. I had to be sure. The implications of that lunatic following me made my blood run cold.

  And everything surfaced again—all the fear, pain, and struggle of the night I’d killed a man and run through the dark streets alone after the one I’d wounded, the one who had shot my partner without remorse. And, on the heels of all that raw emotion, came the pulse-pounding, crushing grief of losing Jeff and Scott, the emptiness and the sorrow of the bleak day I buried them.

  As I turned the corner, a large, black raven startled and lifted up into the air, flying to perch on the head of the Colonel Beauregard Sutton bronze statue in the town square.

  Dodging a mom and her four kids coming out of the ice cream shop, I flew down the sidewalk, careless of the puddles collecting on the concrete, disregarding the muddy water splashing up my legs. If the car got away before I was close enough to see the driver clearly, I wouldn’t know if he was really here or it was my imagination. If some of the odd occurrences could be attributed to his twisted idea of revenge, I needed to know.

  There was no doubt he blamed me for Darryl’s death.

  Just as I darted around a car coming out of an alley, the SUV stopped, allowing the car to pull away from the curb, the large vehicle blocked my line of sight. Fear rising in me, I lengthened my stride to an all-out sprint, my breathing coming in labored gasps as I raced past the SUV, frantic to see the face of the man behind the wheel.

  Just as I was almost there, a huge dog blocked my path, knocking me to the side, and I had to grab a light post to keep from falling into the path of an oncoming car.

  I watched with a sickening dread as the tan car turned a corner, disappearing from sight. I’d just lost my chance to see if Kyle Mayhew was truly here in Suttontowne, gunning for me.

  Chapter 8

  CHASE

  I was swearing at the rain by the time I pulled up in front of Outlaws. I needed to get home to check my plane and my boats, but at least Brax was my final delivery.

  After I made sure the boats and plane were securely tied to the mooring and wouldn’t go floating off, I was going to lie low.

  I went to the back door of Outlaws as usual, but it was locked, and there was no answer when I knocked. Hurrying through the pelting rain to the front, I went through the doors and stopped. Outlaws was completely empty. The only person there was Ethan.

  “We’re closed,” he said without looking up, and I got this stab of regret right under my breastbone. He looked up and his mouth tightened a bit.

  “Chase. Hey, man.” He stopped polishing a glass and set both the cloth and glass onto the gleaming bar. “Brax went home to be with his wife and kids. It’s nasty out there. I was just about to lock up and leave.”

  “I’ve got a delivery. I can just pop it into Brax’s cooler.”

  “Sure,” Ethan said, as he came out from behind the bar to hold the kitchen door open for me. I walked through and straight to the cooler, depositing the crab, shrimp, catfish, and crawfish inside. “Everything should keep for a day or two.”

  When I came out, Ethan was standing just outside.

  “Thanks,” I said and he nodded. “I’m sorry, Ethan. I’m an asshole.”

  His chin came up and his eyes flashed. “No you’re not. I didn’t keep in touch like I should have, either, but the Marines kept me hopping.”

  “I get that, but I have no excuse. You’ve been home for two years, and I haven’t made an effort. I’m glad you made it back in one piece, by the way.”

  He smiled and grabbed me around the neck and squeezed. “Yeah, you’re an asshole.”

  “Language, preacher boy.”

  He shoved me and said, “I’m probably never going to get rid of that moniker, huh?”

  “Your dad still riding you about the seminary?”

  “Yeah, he thinks I’m going to change my mind. Drives me crazy that he won’t listen to me. You’d think he would have learned with Verity, but he can’t seem to let go of his dream of having me preaching by his side, then take over the parish when he retires.”

  “Maybe one day he will.”

  “You look like hell.”

  “Thanks,” I said punching him in the arm. “I’m running myself ragged. Things have expanded so fast I can’t keep up.” I looked toward the door then back at him. “I…uh…hear you’re looking for some more work.”

  “That’s right. Brax, he and his wife are the two nosiest people in the parish.”

  “I could use the help. In fact, if you could cover me on Saturday, I would be grateful.” I named an hourly wage.

  “That suits me.”

  I pulled the spare key off my ring and handed it to him. “Thanks.”

  “No problem. Maybe we can have a beer sometime, shoot some pool?”

  We walked out of the kitchen toward the front door. Once through it I said, “Sure. That sounds great.”

  He locked up. “All right. See you Saturday morning at…?”

  “Seven work?”

  “Okay, seven it is.”

  As I pelted to my truck, something that had been wound tight in me for a long time loosened up. Reconnecting with Ethan made me realize I wasn’t the only problem here. I could reach out and put the past behind me.

  Once inside the truck, I adjusted the ball cap on my head, water sluicing off the bill and onto my rain duster. After waiting out a particularly heavy deluge, knowing from past experience that even the best windshield wipers wouldn’t help me see through the torrent well enough to drive safely, I finally pulled out and headed back home. Once there, I checked the level of the bayou and was relieved to see that it wasn’t as swollen as I feared, plus, the weather forecast was holding steady. I went onto the dock and examined each one of my boats and checked every inch of my plane. Everything look good and secure, with no leaking.

  “Chase!”

  The sound of Samantha’s panicky voice had me whipping around. She was at the end of the dock and running toward me like the hounds of hell were after her. I forgot about the rain, my boats, my plane, and lost my damn mind. With every sense heightened, I reached her, and she threw herself into my arms. I held onto her tightly.

  Her chest was heaving, and she looked completely spooked. I took her upper arms and set her away from me. Angling my head against the slanting rain, I turned so she was sheltered by my larger frame.

  She looked up at me, her hair plastered to her head, the water running down her face and dripping off her eyelashes and nose, fear and helplessness pulsing off her in waves. It looked like she was going to cry, probably had been crying. Dragging her coat closer around her, she tried to swallow.

  My gaze narrowed, and my jaw hardened. “What’s wrong. What happened?”

  Her panic, her fear, her relief at having me there showed in her expression, and that made me want to be there for her, forever. No matter how unlikely it seemed.

  She clutched her coat tighter and answered, her voice breaking badly, “I thought I saw Kyle Mayhew in Suttontowne. I thought—”

  She closed her eyes, and I could see her fighting her emotions, her jaw muscles rippling as she gritted her teeth, looking as if she were about to shatter.

  I swore, low and viciously, then gripped her chin and brought her head up, forcing her to look at me. Rain angled in under the brim of my hat and sluiced down my face, but I barely noticed. “Sam, listen to me,” I commanded gruffly. “Let’s go inside and we can talk about it.”

  Startled into stillness, transfixed by my touch, Sam stared up at me, the sound of my voice registering. She closed her eyes, and a violent shudder coursed through her, but she pulled it together.

  Showing that she heard, she gave me a n
od. I pinched her chin tenderly, her eyes dark pools of green, then gave her head a gentle little shake. “Okay?” I asked, my voice soft and husky.

  She managed a weak smile and nodded again. “Okay.”

  I wiped away the water caught in her lashes, with my thumbs, then let her go, my voice gruff and tinged with humor when I said. “I swear I thought Yankee women had more sense than God gave a goat to get the hell out of the rain.”

  “Oh,” she whispered, “I see what you did there.”

  Fighting against the new wave of tenderness jamming up in my chest, I looked away as fresh tears filled her eyes. My slicker rustled, and I caught her under the chin, forcing her to look into my eyes again. Holding her gaze with unwavering steadiness, I said, “He won’t get to you here, Sam. And even if he does, he’s going to have to go through me.”

  With the rain beating down on us, we headed toward my house, the raindrops sounding like hail against the gutters.

  “Do you need anything from your car?”

  “Just my emergency bag. It’s in the trunk.”

  “Go on up to the porch, you’re shivering. I’ll get it.” This weather was going to get even nastier before it let up.

  She handed me the keys, and the wind cut at me while I walked to her car, unlocked the trunk and snagged the bag.

  She was already on the porch when I turned and headed for shelter.

  We entered the store, and I locked and bolted the door behind us. “Through here,” I said, and guided her through the shop and into my private residence. I locked the door behind us and went to a gun cabinet, unlocked it, and pulled out a rifle. Her eyes went wide when she saw it. “You know how to use one of these, I assume?”

  “Yes,” she said hoarsely. “I’m sure it’s like riding a bicycle.”

  I nodded. “Let’s get you out of those wet clothes, but boots first.” I set the rifle against the door and bent down to unlace and remove her boots and socks, then mine.

  Grasping the rifle again, I took her hand, ready to take her to the back, when she stopped and looked around. “Tour later,” I said, feeling great about the admiration in her eyes, but worried because the sheen of tears was still evident. Not all the moisture on her face was rain.

  I dragged her into my bedroom, and into the bathroom, starting the water to warm it. I turned to leave, but she just stood there. “Chase,” she whispered, tears starting to stream down her face, and my gut clenched tight.

  “Darlin’, you’ll feel better after you’re warm and dry. I’ll make coffee.”

  “No,” she murmured, curling her fingers into my wet duster. “Don’t leave me alone. It hurts so much.”

  “Aw, babe,” I whispered and set the rifle down near the door.

  A single sob broke from her and I gathered her up in an embrace.

  “I can’t stop remembering, and I want it to stop. To get better. I want the pain to go away.” She looked up at me, her eyes pleading. Then she pulled my head down, inhaling sharply as she covered my mouth in a sizzling, starving kiss.

  She let out a soft gasp and I knew exactly how she felt. She parted my duster and pushed the heavy, sodden coat off me, and I kicked it away.

  I turned her deeper into the kiss, pressing her back against the sink. She knocked off my ball cap and sent her fingers through my wet hair. Before I could catch my breath, she unbuttoned my shirt and stripped it off before I could stop her.

  “Samantha, wait,” I said softly, grabbing for her wrist as she snagged the waistband of my jeans. “Wait,” I growled, and she froze and looked up at me.

  My dick was so hard for her, had been for days. Ever since that beach trip, I’d been unable to get rid of the urge to bury myself so deep into her I would lose myself. I wanted her with a desperation I’d never felt before. But I didn’t want our first time to be about pain, about loss. I wanted it to be about beginnings, moving on, making a commitment. I wanted her to want me. Just want me.

  “Not like this, Sam.” I tried to breathe around my arousal, the need to take her now pulsating hard in my groin.

  She looked up at me, devastating pain in her eyes. There was no way I would take advantage of her vulnerability, no matter how much I wanted her physically. She was much too precious to me for me to ignore that she was beyond decision-making and rational thought.

  “Let me help you get undressed, and we’ll get you warmed up, dried off, and into some clothes. Then we’ll talk.”

  She covered her face with her hands and broke down, sobbing, her chest heaving. I stripped off everything but my underwear, then started working on her clothes. When I couldn’t take her grief any longer, I pulled her against me and her arms went around my neck. The feel of her nakedness was almost more than I could bear, but for this beautiful woman I could bear just about anything.

  I rocked her slightly and soothed her, “It’ll be all right, babe. Trust me.”

  She buried her face in my neck and I picked her up and headed for my shower, which was a walk-in with numerous jets. In the steamy spray, I continued to hold her. It seemed like an eternity before she cried herself out, her harsh sobs dwindling to the occasional ragged breath. She let me go, and pressed her hands against the tiles while I soaped her up, making quick work of it, then washed her long hair. I did my own quick wash and rinse as well.

  Turning off the water, I led her out and dried her off. Wrapping her in a fresh, dry towel, I carried her into my room and set her down on the bed before fetching her bag from the foyer.

  Back inside the room, she tracked my movement across the bedroom.

  I knelt down in front of her, and she reached out and undid what little defense I had left, flimsy as it was, by tracing her fingertips over my face. My forehead, my cheeks. When she touched my lips, staring steadily into my eyes, I pressed my face to her chest and she wrapped her arms around me as easily as she’d wrapped me around her little finger.

  Resisting Samantha had been futile.

  I looked up. “How are you doing?”

  “Better,” she said, her voice husky and liquid.

  “Let’s get you dressed.”

  She nodded. “You are such a good man.”

  “Yeah. And for the record, I deserve a medal.”

  That got me a watery laugh. “And so darn humble.”

  I pulled out the clothes she had in there, a tank top and a pair of black stretchy pants. As soon as she was dressed, I pulled a sweatshirt out of my dresser and slipped it over her head. She was swallowed up in it. I folded back the sleeves as she ran her hands through my hair with a debilitating look of tenderness in her eyes, her face soft. “Thank you,” she said, while she extracted a comb from her duffel and dragged it through her hair, braided it, and wrapped an elastic around the end.

  After all that was accomplished, I grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a thermal shirt. Back in the bathroom, I quickly stripped off my shorts and dressed. I checked the medicine cabinet for condoms just to be safe. Thank God I had a box. If she went at me again, I wasn’t sure I could hold out.

  I hustled her out of the bedroom—the danger zone—and out to the kitchen. The rain was still coming down, the sky darkened to a leaden, slate gray. A foggy, blurry sheet like an impenetrable curtain sat on the bayou.

  “Coffee? Food?”

  “You do the coffee. I’ll do the food.”

  She came around and I grabbed her upper arm. “I can cook, you know.”

  She nodded. “I’m sure, but I need to keep my hands busy.”

  I let her go, and she opened my fridge. Forty-five minutes later, after polishing off the spaghetti and garlic bread she made, we took our coffee to the couch.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  She explained everything, and I agreed with her concerns, worried as hell, not only about the movement of the sign, the rearrangement of the tables, and the missing flour, but about the very real possibility that Kyle Mayhew was stalking Samantha. It would be understandable that in his twisted, sick mind, she deserved punishm
ent for killing her brother. Well, he was going to have to go through me first.

  “You’re not sure it was him.”

  “No, I couldn’t get a good look, but my gut says it was.”

  “But you’re relatively sure he’s in prison, right?”

  “I can’t imagine how he could have been released. He shot a cop, resisted arrest, attacked me and broke two ribs—oh, damn.”

  “He what?”

  I cupped her face. It was hard to handle the idea that Sam had been in that much danger. “It was my job, Chase. I couldn’t let him get away, but he did anyway.”

  “You were a badass, huh?”

  “I told you. I know how to use a baton in all the tender places.”

  By this time, it was late. “Let’s go to bed.” I walked with her into my room. “You can stay here and I’ll—”

  She caught at my T-shirt. “No, please, Chase. Stay with me.” I caught her by the upper arms, pulling her against me.

  “Okay,” I murmured gruffly.

  Pressing her head to my shoulder, I gathered her up in a tight embrace, my fingers tangled in her hair. Shifting so she was flat against me, I closed my eyes, the rush of sensation so intense, I had to grit my teeth against it. My rock-hard dick hadn’t softened much, and all it took was having her against me to bring me back to life.

  She moved, sending a shock wave of heat through me, and I clutched her head, the feel of her almost too much to handle.

  My fingers snagging in her hair, I tucked my head against hers, forcing myself to remain immobile. Every muscle in my body demanded that I move, and my nerve endings felt as if they were stripped raw, but I tried to ignore the feelings pounding through me. She had no idea what she was doing to me.

  It took me a while, but I finally got myself under control, could finally breathe without it nearly killing me. Releasing a shaky sigh, I adjusted my hold on her, drawing her deeper into my embrace. I had never seen her fall apart like this, as if there was so much pain built up it finally busted free on its own. The thought of her all alone, going through something like this all by herself, sobered me like little else had, and I pressed her head against me.