Waiting For Wren (Book Five In The Bodyguards Of L.A. County Series)

by Beauman, Cate

  For two-and-a-half weeks he’d fought his way through the long days, angry and miserable, struggling to accept that Wren had walked away. She’d packed up most everything and headed off to Santa Barbara without a second thought, leaving him to stew in memories and regret while she carried on as if nothing ever happened.

  Yesterday had been hell on Earth while he watched her hustle around Ethan and Sarah’s house, beautiful and sweet, helping with the children, cooking, setting tables, smiling and laughing with everyone but him. He’d finally cornered her among the groups of people, with Emma on her hip, and she’d blown him off, but not before he caught the flash of grief in her eyes. He’d tried to find her again, wanting to be certain he didn’t imagine the moment, but she’d done an excellent job of avoiding him. Eventually he had no choice but to leave and make his way to Monterey.

  After another sleepless night and a sweaty five-mile run on the beach this morning, he’d convinced himself he didn’t give a damn about Wren Cooke’s grief; she could’ve gone to hell for all he cared. He’d been determined to show himself and her that he didn’t need her, that he could move on and be just fine. He’d played the awkward moments by the cliffs fairly well—finding enormous satisfaction in her discomfort—until she touched his hand and wished him peace. The quick brush of her fingers, delivered with genuine sentiment, instantly left him yearning, and he couldn’t take it anymore. Unable to stop himself, he’d pulled her against him, breathing her in, clinging just as tightly as she held on to him, not wanting to let her go. As she’d stepped away, looking into his eyes while he stroked her soft skin, something powerful passed between them. His anger vanished, as did the pain, and he only wanted them back the way they had been before everything went so damn wrong.

  By the time he snapped out of his fog and started after her in a full-out run, he’d been too late, catching sight of her pretty roadster turning right as she drove away. He’d raced back to his parents, explaining what they already knew, got in his Jeep, and called Ethan, setting his plan in motion as he booked it toward the interstate. He’d be damned if he was going to lose her again.

  Tucker merged off his exit and slowed to a stop at the first intersection, impatiently waiting to make a right on West Sunset. He turned, accelerating, and braked just as quickly as taillights glowed crimson in the chaos of Friday night traffic. “Son of a bitch. Come on.” He was losing his lead. If he was lucky, he had five minutes on Wren, but he still had a good six miles to go. He tapped restless fingers on the gearshift and weaved his way around other cars, finally taking his right, driving the last mile, pulling past the driveway.

  Headlights shined far in the distance as he sprinted to the entryway, unlocking the door, slamming it shut behind him, and activated the living room lights with the security panel. He hurried to the kitchen for a beer, fumbling with the opener, finally popping the top, then dashed to the ugly couch, sailing into his seat, powering on the big screen to rehash the highlights from yesterday’s game, waiting as he caught his breath. Moments later, a key turned in the lock, and he settled himself more comfortably.

  High heels clicked on the hardwood floor and stopped. “Hello?”

  “In here,” Tucker hollered, his heart still pounding. This was it—make or break.

  Her heels slapped faster as she picked up her pace. “I think there must be some confusion…” She stopped in the doorway, her eyes going huge. “Tucker? What in god’s name are you doing here?”

  He pulled a sip from the bottle, taking her in, and his pulse kicked into overdrive. Damn, she took his breath away. Despite her day in the car, she was tidy, gorgeous, and everything he couldn’t live without. “Catching the highlights—Pats versus Ravens. Hell of a game.” Not that he’d actually seen much of the Thanksgiving Day matchup; he’d been too busy watching her to worry about who was scoring touchdowns.

  Brows furrowed, hands on her hips, she stepped further into the room. “Why is your television in my living room? And that ugly couch? Dear God, and your curtains.” She dashed to the window, batting at the retched orange monstrosities as she had when they hung in his apartment.

  He shrugged as she looked at him with horror. “Sarah hung them for me.”

  “Sarah? As in my Sarah?”

  “More like Ethan’s Sarah, but I guess.” He took another sip, struggling not to laugh as she stared at him as if he’d lost his mind.

  “Why would she do a thing like that?”

  “She offered when Ethan and Hunter said they would bring the couch.”

  “Ethan and Hunter—I—what—” She shook her head, pressing her fingers to her temple. “What the hell is going on around here?”

  “Closing’s not ‘til Monday, but Greta didn’t think it would be a big deal if I moved in a little early.”

  “Let me repeat myself: What the hell is going on around here?”

  “It’s not that big a mystery, Cooke. You’re moving out. I’m moving in. The end.”

  “It’s definitely not the end, Tucker. You’re head injury.” She walked to him, concern furrowing her brows as she crouched in front of him, turning his head from side to side, examining his pupils. “Equal and responsive,” she murmured. “How much have you had to drink?”

  “Three, maybe four sips.” He held her wrist, breathing in her sexy scent as she continued to cup his chin. Hints of her perfume had clung to his clothes as he unpacked his bag from Utah. No matter how he tried, he hadn’t been able to escape her.

  “I should get you to the doctor.”

  He shook his head. “I got the all-clear Tuesday. I’m back to work full-time next week.”

  “Tucker.” She attempted to pull away. “We need to get your stuff out of my house.”

  “Wren, this is my house—the new digs I was telling you about.”

  She yanked away and rushed to stand over him. “That’s impossible. Greta said some old eccentric woman was purchasing this place.”

  “Casey sure as hell isn’t old, and I don’t think I’d call her eccentric—unique certainly.”

  “Casey? The blonde I met today?”

  “The one and only.”

  She turned away and left the room, climbing the stairs.

  He got to his feet and followed, stopping outside the master suite, holding his breath as Wren stood next to the brand new sleigh bed, sliding her finger over the maple footboard. He clutched the bottle in his hand, nervous all over again. “So, what do you think?”

  “I think it’s beautiful.” She continued stroking the smooth curves. “The white comforter complements the dark wood nicely. The plants are lovely too. Clean, elegant, yet relaxed and inviting. This is a gorgeous space.”

  “Patrick picked everything out.”

  She whirled. “Patrick?”

  “I let him have a free hand—bedding, furnishings, accents, the whole deal. He thought you would approve.”

  She stared down, nodding, and walked to the corner where her remaining items waited.

  His stomach sank. This wasn’t the reaction he’d expected. “What are you doing?”

  “Getting my stuff.”

  “Cooke—”

  “I need to go, Tucker.” She bent down and grabbed a suitcase. “I’m tired, and I’m leaving first thing tomorrow morning.”

  He snagged her arm. “Wait a minute.”

  “What for? I really don’t want to create an awkward scene when your girlfriend comes home.”

  He blinked his surprise. “Girlfriend?”

  “Yes, Tucker, the blond who bought my house.”

  “First off, I bought this house. Second, Casey was Staci’s best friend.”

  “I hope you’ll be very happy.” She tugged out of his grip.

  He grabbed her elbow. “She’s also my attorney taking care of the sale.”

&nb
sp; “Congratulations.” She freed herself and started toward the stairs.

  He followed at her heels. “She’s been dating someone for over three years.”

  “It certainly didn’t look that way the other night.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means it’s none of my business, and I really don’t care.” She sailed down the steps to the entryway, twisting the doorknob.

  He pressed a hand to the wood, shutting the door with a snap, fighting to keep cool through his rising panic. “Obviously you do, so spit it out.”

  “Tucker, I have to—”

  “Yeah, I know, you have to go.”

  “That’s right.” She twisted the knob again, but he held the door closed.

  “I don’t want you to go, Cooke. I can’t let you go.”

  “Don’t do this, Tucker.” She yanked harder. “I don’t want to do this,” she said on a strained whisper.

  He caught the hitch in her voice and slipped off his sling, resting his hands on her rigid shoulders. “Please, don’t go.”

  She stopped, turning, her wrecked eyes staring into his. “I can’t do this with you again.”

  “There’s still something here.” He ran his hands down her arms.

  “You’re right. We helped each other through some of the worst times in our lives. We have a bond, nothing more.”

  “So that’s the end?”

  “Yes.” She reached behind her for the knob.

  Desperate, terrified she was walking away, he gripped her arms tighter. “Are you attracted to me?”

  She blinked. “What?”

  “I asked if you’re attracted to me?”

  “You know I am, but—”

  “Do you have fun when we’re together?”

  “Tucker, I’m not foolish enough to go down this road again.”

  His questions had worked in Utah; they sure as hell were going to work this time too. “Just answer my question.”

  “Yes, we have fun.”

  He took a step closer, trapping her against the door. “Do you think about me when we’re not together?”

  She pressed a hand to his chest as tears welled in her eyes.

  “Do you think about me, Wren, even half as much as I think about you?”

  “Please,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

  He stroked his fingers along her jaw, relaxing slightly, realizing she was fighting herself. “I can’t get you out of my mind. Day and night, you’re there.” He stepped closer, their bodies almost brushing. “Do you think of me?”

  “Yes, I think about you.”

  “Does your heart beat a little faster when I touch you?” He slid his thumb over her rapid pulse.

  She pulled his hand away. “I’m going to Santa Barbara.”

  He reversed her grip, linking their fingers. “Because you want to or because you think you have to?”

  “I have a job.”

  “You can have a career here—reopen Cooke Interiors. My mother can come down and help for a couple months until Patrick’s ready to go again. She’ll love it.”

  “You have no idea how much I want… I can’t do this, Tucker. I’ve had a lot of time to think. I’m not good at this kind of thing—commitment, trust.”

  “We were doing just fine until I made a couple of mistakes.” He gripped her chin. “I’m going to make mistakes—probably a lot of them, but I can promise you I’ll never hurt you on purpose. I never meant to hurt you, Wren.”

  Her breath shuddered out. “I hurt you too. You’re such a good man, Tucker. You deserve so much more than what I can give you.” A tear trailed down her cheek.

  He wiped the warm drop away. “I know exactly who I deserve and exactly what I want. I’ve been waiting for you since the day you came plowing into Sarah’s hospital room.”

  “But what about Santa Barbara?”

  “If you want Santa Barbara, we’ll go. We can sell the house, and I’ll quit my job.”

  “But you love your job.”

  He shook his head. “I love you.”

  Another tear fell as she closed her eyes.

  “Do you love me, Wren?” He’d been certain Wren told him so as he lay in his hospital bed, drugged out of his mind, but as the days passed, turning into weeks, he’d convinced himself he’d dreamt what he wanted to hear. “Wren.”

  She opened her eyes, staring into his. “Yes, I love you.”

  He smiled with the rush of relief, certain he’d never heard anything better. “Tell me again.” He slid his fingers through her hair.

  She leaned into his touch. “I love you, Tucker.”

  “God, I need to taste you. It’s been too damn long.” He pressed his lips to hers.

  “Mmm.” Her mouth warmed against his as she clutched his shirt.

  He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him as her flavor flooded his system. He’d been starving for her; he wanted to eat her alive, but he kept the pace slow, savoring, teasing another purr from her throat as his tongue slid over hers.

  Her hands wandered up, caressing his neck, her fingers brushing through his hair.

  “Cooke.” He tugged on her bottom lip and rested his forehead against hers. “I need you. Please don’t walk away from me.”

  She continued to play with his hair. “I don’t want to walk away.”

  “Will you stay here with me and live in our house?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you put me out of my misery and marry me?” He grinned.

  She smiled. “Yes.”

  “Can we do the whole kid thing?”

  She snagged his lip. “I definitely want to make babies with you.”

  “Right now?” He wiggled his brows.

  Chuckling, she shook her head. “Not until Cooke Interiors is up and running again. But we can practice in our new bed.” She undid the top button on his shirt. “A lot.”

  He grinned again. “I can live with that.” He pulled her fingers to his mouth and nibbled. “You haven’t asked about your ring.”

  “I didn’t want to be rude.”

  He grinned, pulling the two-carat silver stunner from his pocket, and she gasped. “This belonged to my grandmother. Staci loved it. My mother was saving it for her.”

  She swallowed as her eyes filled. “It’s beautiful.”

  “I think Staci would be happy knowing you’re wearing it.” He slid the square-cut diamond on her finger.

  “I’ll never take it off.” She cupped his chin in her hands and kissed him.

  He bent down, reaching for her.

  She stepped back. “What are you doing?”

  “Carrying you upstairs.”

  “No. You’ll hurt yourself.”

  “Nah.” He scooped her up, wincing, still a little stiff.

  “See?”

  “I’m fine.” He started up the steps, holding everything he’d ever wanted.

  “You know, I think this is going to be good. We’re going to be good.”

  “Baby, we’re going to be great.” He nuzzled her neck, making her laugh. “Welcome home, Wren.”

  “Welcome home, Tucker.” She rested her head on his shoulder. “But your furniture has to go.”

  “Aw, Cooke, every party has a pooper.”

  Laughing, she kissed his cheek. “I guess that’s me.”

  Chuckling, he turned down the hall, walking with Wren to their newly decorated bedroom.

  About The Author

  Cate Beauman is the author of the best selling series, The Bodyguards of L.A. County. She currently lives in Tennessee with her husband, two boys, and their St. Bernard, Bear.

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