Long Road Home

by Marie Meyer

I toss the dish towel on the counter and dial the slow cooker to low, heading to the door. When I asked Ren over for dinner the other night, she said she loved barbecue (can she get any more perfect?) and it just so happens that I make a mean pulled pork. I hope she feels the same way.

  Drying my sweaty palms on my jeans, I twist the knob and tug. It’s a warm summer night and I can smell rain in the air. Ren stands on the porch, a six-pack in one hand and a Harry Potter DVD in the other. She’s even more beautiful than I remember.

  “Sorry I’m late, babies always have their own schedule.” She scrunches her nose into a sheepish apology. I noticed her do it a few times on Saturday and it still has the same effect on me: breathtaking.

  “Hey, no worries. I can’t very well get made at a newborn for delaying our date.” I wave off her apology and open the door wider. “Come on in.”

  She crosses the threshold and a cloud of awkward tension swallows us like a sandstorm. I drum my fingers on the door and push it closed. Hug her? Kiss her? What to do? I know what I want, but what does she expect? Shit. I’m a goddamn mess. I’ve had women over to my home before, where the hell is my game? I’m a damn bumbling idiot around this girl.

  Ren scans the room, then turns to me, her dark eyes relaxed. “Nice place.” She nods approvingly. “You’re a country music fan?”

  Luke Bryan’s twang filters from my sound system. “I’m a country boy transplanted in the big city.”

  “I can’t wait for you to meet my brother,” she says with a smirk.

  “Oh yeah? Planning on keeping me around long enough to meet the family?”

  “I think the outcome is likely”—she holds up the DVD between us—“as long as we rectify this situation.”

  Closing the space between us, I reach for the six-pack. Fuck’s sake, she smells amazing. Sweet, flirty, and all woman. I wouldn’t mind if a hint of that citrusy flowery smell lingered on my sheets in the morning.

  Our fingers touch as I fit my hand into the makeshift handle, relieving the pressure from hers. “I think that can be arranged.” Images of Ren curled up on my couch, the lights turned down, and my hands on her body flash through my head. Harry Potter just might be my new favorite movie.

  I set the beer on the small table beside the door and move in. Ren stands still, her eyes wide with desire. I pluck the movie from her other hand, toss it onto the six-pack, and pull her to me. “I’ve missed you.”

  A light smattering of freckles dots her nose and cheeks and I can’t resist the urge to touch them. Lightly, I trace my fingertip from the apple of her cheek to the bridge of her nose, drawing constellations across her face. “Like a map of stars,” I murmur.

  She sighs, her shoulders relax, and she gives me her weight to bear. Gravity does the rest and our lips meet. She lights a damn fire beneath my skin. I claim her mouth, tasting, pulling, sliding, wanting. I’m like a starved man in a pastry shop. Fuck dinner, I’m ready for dessert.

  My fingers inch beneath the hem of her shirt, until my palms are flush against her hot skin. I push my hands upward, enjoying the feel of her curves.

  Ren tilts her head, giving me access to her perfect neck, and I kiss my way along the line of her jaw, tasting the skin just below her ear. “Ren,” I moan, “what do you say we just skip to dessert?”

  She sighs, running her hands over the hair at the back of my neck, then her stomach growls, loudly.

  I laugh against her neck, watching goose bumps rise at my touch and she giggles, squirming. “Cayden…”

  Damn, I love the way she says my name. “Hmm?” I nibble on her earlobe, working my way back to her mouth. It’s been neglected for far too long.

  I close my mouth around hers just as she sighs, her breath becoming mine. Her tongue plays a game of touch…retreat…touch…retreat…touch….

  My hands roam higher on her rib cage, feeling the wire of her bra and the curve of her breast against my fingertips, but Sunday pops into my head, take things slow…don’t push her.

  My dick and brain are at odds, but it’s my brain that takes over when I slide my hands down to her waist, slow our kiss, and pull back. “Well, hopefully that convinces you to keep me around.’”

  “Hmm,” she says dreamily. “I may need more convincing later.” The playful, sexy lilt to her voice is enough to make me want to present my evidence now. If I don’t get us to the kitchen soon, my dick is going to pull rank and we’re going to hold court in my bedroom.

  “Are you hungry?” I ask, trying to change the subject, but it doesn’t matter, everything that comes out of my mouth sounds like a double entendre, whether I meant it to or not. “For food,” I add.

  There’s a gleam in her eye, accompanied by a smirk. “Famished.”

  Bending down, I touch my lips to hers, kiss her gently, and return her smile. “How about some dinner?”

  At that, I hear her stomach answer before the words escape her lips. Ren’s laughter peels through my living room. “Yes, please!”

  I find her hand, grab the six-pack , shaking the DVD onto the table for later, and lead her to the kitchen.

  “Cayden,” she sings. “It smells amazing in here.”

  “Thanks. Everything’s ready to go.” I pull her chair out, “For you, ma’am.” I sweep my hand, ushering her to the seat, and give a slight bow as she sits.

  “Why, thank you, kind sir,” she says, affecting a southern accent and batting her long lashes. Like Sunday, she wears very little makeup, if any at all. I love that. She doesn’t need makeup; it would only hide the perfection she’s got going on naturally.

  I whirl around, pick up the slow cooker, and bring it to the table.

  “Can I help?” she asks, lifting the lid on the crockpot. The scent of spices and smoked meat billows upward and a fragrant cloud fills the kitchen. Ren looks at me, blinking. “A gourmet cook?”

  Setting the cornbread and grilled vegetables on the table, I scoff, “I hardly think grilling up some meat and letting it simmer in a crockpot counts as gourmet.”

  “Whatever, guy. This spread qualifies as food porn. It’s Instagram worthy.”

  I shake my head, unable to keep the smile off my face. “Want a beer?”

  “Yes, please. Besides indulging in a little too much champagne at Dylen’s wedding, I’m not much of a drinker, but my brother said that’s a good one.”

  I set two beers on the table, along with plates and utensils, and park my rear in the seat next to hers. “He isn’t wrong. Can’t go wrong with Schlafly. Go on, dig in.”

  We both dive into the pulled pork at the same time, filling our plates. I watch her pile her bun with a large portion of barbecue. It’s nice to see a girl with a healthy appetite, not one of those “I only eat lettuce and drink water on a date” types. A woman who loves food as much as I do is a keeper in my book.

  Picking up her sandwich, she takes a bite and moans, “Cayden—”

  Hearing my name come out of her mouth like that sends all the blood in my body rushing south. My dick still hasn’t given up trying to convince me that Ren and I should be in the bedroom. I shift in my seat, trying to accommodate the hard-on she just gave me.

  I cough and take a long pull on my beer. Elements of the SWAT physical training test run though my head as I try to compose myself: one-mile run, heavy, hot tactical gear, wall climb, vertical raises…

  “Cayden?”

  I feel a hand on my arm.

  “Are you okay?” Ren asks.

  I glance down, looking at her slender short-nailed fingers, then bring my eyes up to hers, I nod. “Oh, yeah. Great.”

  She smiles. “You disappeared for a second.”

  Yes. Yes I did…with you…in my bed. “Sorry.” I flash a congenial grin.

  “The food’s amazing, Cayden. So much better than the bowl of cereal I had waiting for me at home.”

  “Cereal?” I raise an eyebrow.

  “Let’s just say, I didn’t inherit my mother’s knack for cooking.”

  That’s okay, I’ll
cook for you any day, sweetheart. “Tell me about your family,” I say, taking a bite of my sandwich.

  “There’s Mom and Dad and my little brother. The four of us. Oh, and my brother’s girlfriend, I’ve known her since we were kids, she’s like a sister.”

  “I take it you’re close to your brother; you’ve mentioned him a couple times.”

  She chews for a second and nods, covering her mouth with her hand. “Mmm-hmm.” Swallowing, she continues. “Very. A couple months ago, he was in a terrible motorcycle accident. We almost lost him. It was awful.”

  “He’s okay now, though?” I ask, wanting to know everything about her; what she loves, what she hates, what kind of cereal is her favorite, what she dreams about when she falls asleep at night…will our children have her dark hair or my green eyes. I want to know her past, her present, and our future.

  “Yeah, he’s getting better every day.”

  “That’s good to hear.” I tip my beer in her direction and take a drink.

  “How’s your mom doing?” she asks.

  “Hanging in there. Kicking cancer’s ass.”

  Ren sets her elbows on the table and rests her chin on her folded hands, a tender smile touches her eyes. “I like that look.”

  I set my empty beer bottle down. “What look?”

  “That one.” She cocks her head in my direction. “The fire in your eyes that says you’ll travel to hell and back for your mom. The fierce, protective set of your shoulders that says you would gladly fight this war for her. You love her with every fiber of your being, and it shows.” She grabs her beer and holds it up. “You’re a good guy, Cayden Sinclair.”

  I lean back in my chair, speechless, and in awe of the woman sitting next to me. A good guy that’s falling hard and fast for you, Ren Daniels.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Ren

  “Lean forward a sec.” Cayden puts his hand on my back and reaches over me, flipping the switch on the wall, turning out the lights.

  The room is plunged into darkness, except for the glow of the lamplight on Privet Drive emanating from the television screen.

  Cayden leans back, sinks down into the cushions and gets comfortable. He raises his arm and pats his chest, and invitation to snuggle up next to him.

  Don’t mind if I do! I slide in and lay my head on his rock-hard chest as he drops his arm around me. Good Lord, does he smell good! I have to fight the urge to plant my nose against his shirt and take a giant whiff. Faint scents of the grill still linger, along with a dark, woodsy smell. Very outdoorsy, which is so Cayden. Whatever cologne he uses, it’s working for him.

  “See,” he says, running his hand up and down my arm, slow and easy. “I knew there was a reason I waited to see these movies.”

  “Dylen and I had a Potter marathon about a month ago. Kind of a last hurrah before she got married,” I say wistfully, wondering if we’ll have any more weekends like that. Who says twenty-somethings aren’t allowed to have sleepovers? I miss my friend. “We watched all eight movies over the course of a weekend, pigged out on pizza, peanut butter M&M’s, and drank so much butterbeer, our stomachs hurt for three days. It was great.”

  “Butterbeer? That sounds disgusting.”

  Ahh! I love how his chest rumbles when he talks. It’s so frigging sexy. I crane my neck to look at him. “Hey, don’t knock it if you’ve never tried it.”

  “How does one come by the recipe for a drink that only exists in a work of fiction?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “Pinterest. Duh.”

  Cayden flexes his biceps, in turn pinning me against him in a vise-like hug. Moving his hand to my side, he hums a breathy falsetto in my ear, “Pinterest. Duh.” Mocking me, his fingers wiggle across my middle, firing a path of tickles over my sensitive abdomen.

  I fall to pieces in laughter. “Cayden!” I shout. “Ahh!” I try to push his hands away, but he’s relentless. “Uncle!” I cry. “Uncle!”

  “Oh no, sweetheart, you don’t get off that easy,” he teases. “Sassing a police officer is a punishable offense, ma’am.”

  He sits up and I take the opportunity to squirm from under his deft fingers by falling back on to the couch. For a second, I’m able to catch my breath. I watch him over the rise and fall of my chest and our eyes lock on to one another’s. A lightning bolt of desire, fanned into a lust-fueled blaze, strikes our playful interaction.

  Cayden shifts his weight, angling his body over mine. Pushing my knees apart with his, he hovers over me. “You have the most gorgeous laugh, Ren Daniels,” he says, his voice low and husky. Sweeping my bangs out of my eyes, he runs his fingers through my hair.

  Oh. My. God. Is this happening? Now? Am I ready? Do I want this? So many questions run through my head, but all I can focus on is the way my chest brushes against Cayden’s when I inhale. Even through the material of my shirt and bra, my nipples harden.

  If it’s any consolation, I’m not the only one who’s hard. I can feel Cayden’s massive erection pressing against my inner thigh. A dull ache grows between my legs and heat spreads south. My body knows exactly what it wants, my head, not so much.

  “Thank you.” My lips form the words, but no sound accompanies them.

  Cayden strokes his thumb along the side of my eye, easing the tension. I must wear my anxiety like a parka in summertime. And here I thought I was doing a good job at keeping my fears at bay.

  It’s been so long since that awful night three years ago—since that faceless guy stole a part of me. It’s taken a long time to get where I am, lots of counseling and healing, but with each new relationship, I’ve come to realize that I’ll always cling to that piece of uncertainty—never fully embrace intimacy—because I cannot find that severed piece of my soul.

  “Ren”—my name falls from his lips like a blessing—“it’s no secret that I’m attracted to you,” he says, holding me with his eyes. “You are the most amazing, fascinating woman I’ve ever met.”

  My throat tightens. I don’t want to cry. Not here. Not like this. He’ll think I’m a damn basket case. I bite back tears, holding my breath.

  “Whenever I get to close, or our kisses get out of hand, I don’t know?” He shakes his head, turning his gaze downward. Moving his hand from my face, his fingers trace the hollow of my throat, fingering the charm I found in the cache on Saturday. He glances back up at me. “You look like a frightened bird.” Pushing up, he grabs my hands, and I come up with him. “The last thing I ever want to do is scare you.” His voice is serious and fervent. “I don’t know what happened in your past. I hope to earn your trust, so you’ll let me in one day. But I want you to know, you call the shots.” He points. “We’ll take things as slow or fast as you want. I’m just glad you’re here. That you want to spend your time with me.”

  A small tear rolls down my cheek, betraying me. Cayden is quick to reach up, swiping it away with his thumb. “I never want to be the reason for your tears, but I want to be the one to catch them when they fall.”

  “Cayden—” No more words will fit through the constricted space of my throat, but his name is enough, and I smile.

  Cayden presses his palm to my cheek. “There’s your smile,” he croons. “I don’t ever want to be the reason it disappears.”

  I sit up on my knees and touch his face, feeling the jagged scar at his temple, the fine stubble of his cheek scratching against my hand. I can’t talk, a cascade of tears threatens to pour from my eyes. But, I lean into him and wrap my mouth around his in a quiet kiss—a “thank you” for understanding what I can’t articulate.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Cayden

  After a day on patrol, five traffic violations, two domestic calls, and a grueling workout, I’m ready to hit the shower, pick up Ren, and spend a quiet night with her.

  Peeling off my sweaty T-shirt, I massage my left shoulder. Fuck, is that sore. I really overdid it on the shoulder presses today.

  “Yo, Sinclair!”

  I freeze, mid massage. “Yeah?” I call bac
k, recognizing my friend Rigg’s voice.

  Riggs sticks his head around the row of lockers. “Get your shirt on, man, Cap wants you in his office.”

  Captain? Why the hell does he want to see me? Being called into Captain’s office is never a good thing. I can’t think of anything I’d done wrong; I’m always so careful not to screw things up, with SWAT on the line, and all. I need that goddamn job.

  I whip my shirt off the bench and shrug it back on. “You know what he wants?”

  Rigg’s bites back a shit-eating grin. “Hell if I know. What the fuck you do?”

  I give him a sidelong glance and follow him out the door. “Did he say anything?”

  He calls over his shoulder, “Yeah, ‘Riggs, get Sinclair’s ass in here.’”

  Great.

  Riggs and I stop outside Captain Fuller’s office. Throwing a punch in my shoulder he says, “Good luck, man.” He thumps his chest; right over his heart, “I’ll remember the good times,” he chokes up, swiping at a nonexistent tear.

  I give him the finger. “Fuck off, Riggs.”

  Walking backward down the hall, he grins and returns my sentiment, twofold.

  Shaking my head, I turn my attention back to Captain Fuller’s door and knock.

  “Come in,” he barks from the other side.

  I twist the knob, steel myself for the worst, and push my way in. Oh, fuck. This is bad. What’s with the “I just ate nails” grimace on Cap’s face? “You wanted to see me, sir?”

  “Sit down, Sinclair.” He motions to the chair in front of his desk.

  Crossing the small office, I pull back one of the chairs and sit. Cap closes the file on his desk and stands, finally making eye contact with me. “SWAT, huh?”

  My heart pounds like a jackhammer, but on the outside I keep my emotions on lock. “Yes, sir.”

  “You haven’t been on the force for long, Sinclair. ’Bout a year and a half? A little soon to be throwing your name in the mix, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, sir. I agree. It is soon, but I’ve trained hard. I’m ready, sir.”