It was tempting and not just for the golf. His friends from the plant were more of acquaintances, friendly with him only due to forced proximity. Kellan had found a way to fit in, because he genuinely liked people and took them at face value. But he still missed all his friends from Chicago, people who shared his interests and worldviews and even different cultural references.
He was lonely, damn it. Rafe had made friends with Mick, a retired Marine Corps colonel. Plus, he had Mollie. Flynn had Sierra and the guy who ran the Gorse. Kellan had . . . well, he had this inability to think about any woman besides Delaney. That was pretty much it.
Swirling the cubes in his glass, Lucien said, “I want to partner with someone I don’t have to be on my best behavior with. To not be the owner’s son, shaking hands and smiling and letting the rest of my foursome win a very calculated eleven holes, no matter what.”
“Jesus, eleven?” How did you walk out on the course knowing you’d be required to not do your best? Kellan was too Type A to be able to deal with even the idea.
Delaney’s head would probably implode. She took following the rules so seriously. And the rules of sport were that you played to win. Kellan couldn’t wait to see her horrified reaction to this story.
He couldn’t wait to see her again, period. On Thursday, since it couldn’t look like he was actually dating anyone, or his brothers would get all up in his business and demand to know who, and this whole secrecy thing would be shot to hell.
Shrugging, Lucien said, “I win enough holes to look like I know what I’m doing, but lose enough to leave them feeling great about the round and their sky-high annual membership fee.”
“If you ‘let’ me win a single hole, I’ll kick your ass.”
Lucien sighed, raised his glass in a toast. “That sounds great. Speaking of great, I saw your website overhaul for the Cranberry Festival.”
Kellan barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. He guessed that Rafe had come up with the idea of drafting Kellan at the last planning meeting for two reasons. 1) To distract the annoying festival organizer from asking Rafe to do more, and 2) as a lame effort to give Kellan something interesting to chew on. But he’d managed to spruce the site up with half his brain shut down. Hell, he’d made PowerPoints in high school that were more elaborate than the old site.
“How’d you see that?”
“Mollie’s nephew, Jesse, helped his girlfriend with the actual blood and guts work with the website coding. He had it up when I was at her house the other night.”
“My brothers roped me into helping. When in Bandon, you gotta live and die with the Festival, right?”
One dark blond eyebrow arched sky-high. “Ah, it should be ‘that’s right, your majesty.’ I was King of the Cranberry Festival back in the day.”
“I thought there was only a queen?”
“Now there’s only a queen. Had to make the change when nobody was good enough to follow in my footsteps.”
Kellan grinned. “Bullshit.” But whatever the real story, he sure liked Lucien’s style.
“Your bullshit-meter is well tuned. There was a thing a few years back where the king and queen made out. A lot. To the point where they made a baby. The town felt indirectly responsible.”
“That wouldn’t hold up in a court of law.” The words slipped out before Kellan could stop them.
Shit.
But then he remembered that it was just a turn of phrase. Lucien had no way of knowing that Kellan could literally cite the case law backing up his assertion.
“The fear was that somebody might try and sue. An expansive battle to fight, even if they won. So the council decided it’d be best for the town—and the town’s coffers—to not hand deliver temptation on a silver platter. Now there’s just a queen.”
“The Legend of King Lucien Dumont’s a better story.”
Leaning in, Lucien lowered his voice. “Don’t even ask what Queen Annie Keller and I got up to underneath the bleachers at Bandon High. Talk about legendary . . .”
“At my high school we went behind the bleachers. In the gym. Must be a regional thing.”
“Where are you from? I don’t think Mollie ever mentioned it.”
Such a casual question. Kellan just hated to answer with a lie. The bourbon was smooth, the couch was comfortable after standing for his entire shift at the plant, and he was relaxing, shooting the shit with someone who might turn out to be a real friend.
It brought home that on top of being sexy as shit and smart as fuck, Delaney was the only person besides his brothers that Kellan could be completely open with. His true self. Unguarded. It kicked the comfort level of everything with her up a notch. Like going from shag rug to thick pile. 7–Eleven cardboard crust slice of pizza out of the warmer to a Gino’s East inch-thick deep dish.
Shit. He’d better come up with a comparison a damn sight better before he tried out that analogy on Delaney.
“Uh, we moved around a fair bit. Our dad was a long haul trucker, so when he got itchy feet, he’d uproot us and start his rig from a new spot on the map.” Delaney had been particularly pleased when she’d come up with this cover story. It explained away any difference in regional accents and turns of phrase, like the infamous pop versus soda debate that raged across the country.
“I liked getting the hell out for college.” Lucien waved his arm at the window and the coastline just beyond. “But I knew I’d come back, too. There’s something special about Bandon.”
“Aside from the deference everyone pays you as former King of the Festival?”
“Nah, that’s pretty much it.”
Kellan decided to jump on the opportunity presented by hanging out with a guy who knew Bandon backward and forward. “Since you’re local, can you help me with something? Where would I go when I’m ready to buy a bike?”
“Ten speed or hog?”
“Motorcycle,” Kellan clarified, laughing.
Lucien squinted at him in appraisal. “First one?”
“I rode a lot with my buddies. I know the ropes. But this’ll be my first to own. As soon as I’ve saved enough to swing it.”
“Take mine.” He opened the top desk drawer, fished out a key, and tossed it over to Kellan.
“You have a motorcycle?” It didn’t seem to fit the resort-heir persona. But he sure as hell wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.
“Yeah. I loved riding it up and down the coast. But it’s been garaged since Mollie came back to town. When your best friend’s a doctor and lectures you every day for a week about donorcycles and ending up a brain-dead vegetable—let’s just say I lost the urge.”
“To ride?” Kellan smirked, stretching his legs out and crossing them at the ankles. “Or to listen to her nagging?”
“Very funny. It’s a Harley. Great condition. It’d do it good to be used.”
“That’s a generous offer.”
Lucien shrugged. “I’ve got enough toys to play with. It’s good to share the wealth. Or we can barter. How about you come back once a month and check on the poker game? Make sure everyone’s on the up and up?”
“Deal.”
“Did you get sick of sharing the car with your brothers? Or do you have a girl you want to impress?”
More like the woman he wanted to impress lived over two hours away. No four-hour, round trip commute tacked onto a three-hour date could go unnoticed when sharing a car. “I can’t tell if it’ll impress her. But I need to pull out all the stops and try.”
Lucien froze, halfway through refilling his glass, and shot him a knife-sharp look. “She’s special, huh?”
“That’s an understatement.”
“Well, I haven’t met a woman—besides my hardheaded Mollie—who doesn’t get turned on by a giant engine rumbling between her legs. I’ll get it tuned up and cleaned, and I’ll leave you two helmets so you can take her for a ride.”
Taking Delaney for a ride was exactly what Kellan had in mind. And he didn’t mean on a bike . . .
; Chapter Five
It was minute one of their date.
It was already fantastic.
Delaney’s mouth dried out as her jaw dropped. Kellan looked just like the faceless man in the fantasies she mentally flipped through alone in hotel rooms. His dark hair was mussed from removing his helmet. But it was a good mussed. Like she’d raked her fingers through it during sex. The muscles in his thighs contracted as he swung off the bike.
Her thumbs raced across her phone’s screen. Em, is there anything hotter than a man on a motorcycle?
E: Duh. Of course not. Remember, we rated ultimate hotness factors years ago. At the top were men on motorcycles, followed by men in uniform, and then men on horseback. Amended, once you joined the Marshals Service, to stipulate that men in uniform only covered firefighters and the military.
True. Delaney dealt with too many police officers in her day-to-day work. She’d had to strike that visual fantasy from her mind completely. Well, my date just pulled into the parking lot on a big old Harley. Be very, very jealous.
E: Think he’ll give you a ride on it?
God, she hoped so. That’d be one thing to check off her bucket list. If I’m very, very good.
E: I’ll bet he’ll do it for sure if you’re at least a little bit bad.
Delaney bit back a giggle as she slid her phone into her purse. Her bulky purse, complete with service weapon—not a cute little clutch appropriate for a first date. Some things had to be sacrificed as a marshal. Yes, she was off duty, but she was with her protectee—even if very unofficially. Being armed on a date was a first for her, something not exactly in the rule book.
Kellan tempted her to want to throw away the rule book completely.
“Hi.” His eyes raked down the low-cut V neck of her white top. The top that stopped several inches short of meeting the wide bow on her long seersucker skirt. Delaney had a killer midriff, thanks to all her training. It was fun to show it off every once in a while. Especially to a man as appreciative as Kellan. “You look gorgeous.”
“Thanks. You don’t look half bad yourself, getting off that bike.”
“Like that, do you?”
“Mmm-hmm.” Because it was too hard to form actual words to describe how much she liked seeing Kellan as a biker.
“A friend loaned it to me. To tide me over until I can buy one of my own.”
“You’re waiting until after the trial for that?” Rafe and Flynn had made it clear that fully adopting a new life was on hold until after the trial.
In case they didn’t survive it.
Delaney hated that they lived with that in the back of their minds. It was her job to keep them alive. To protect them at all cost leading up to and during their testimony against the Chicago mob. Their actions over the past few months had proven that they had faith in her ability, that they trusted her dedication and training.
But they also trusted that Danny McGinty’s need for vengeance could be greater.
Kellan’s right hand clenched into a fist. “No. Hell, no. I’m not letting that fucking mobster have sway over one more piece of my life.”
She loved his vehemence. Loved that all the trouble his brothers had inflicted on him since deciding to yank him out of Chicago hadn’t beaten him down too far. “Good for you.”
“I need to find the right bike. Take my time.” Kellan pulled her snug against him with a strong hand at the small of her back. “Find one that fits between my legs just right.”
Delaney licked her lips, looking up at the twinkle in his pale blue eyes. And then, she gave in to a very naughty impulse and rocked her hips back and forth against him. Because she knew he wasn’t just talking about a motorcycle. “Proper fit is very important,” she said solemnly.
His other hand immediately grabbed hold to still her movement. “Holy Christ, Delaney. You can’t tease me like that. Not in a parking lot. Not unless you want me to throw you on that saddle, lift your skirt, and take you right here.”
“I like everything about that threat except for the ‘right here’ part. In case that knowledge is of interest to you.”
“It definitely is.” After a light brush of his lips against hers that set every minuscule hair follicle on her body to tingling, Kellan pulled away. “I brought you something.”
“Guess we’re on the same wavelength. I brought you something, too.”
Kellan lifted the back seat up and pulled a travel mug—covered with Bandon’s ubiquitous cranberries—out of the compartment. “I got this from Coffee & 3 Leaves.”
“You brought me coffee? Aren’t we having dinner?”
“Dinner’s in a bit. I thought we’d stroll through Old Town Florence first. Talk. And I brought you some stress-relieving tea. A special blend of herbs and roots that Norah swears by.”
She sniffed it. But then asked in a tone dripping with suspicion, “Will I still pass a drug test if I drink this?”
“Yes. Norah promised that her special ingredient isn’t in there. It’s St. John’s wort, chamomile, rose hips, and lemon balm.”
“Do I look that stressed?” Clearly the new under-eye serum with carrot extract Emily sent from Hong Kong wasn’t doing the trick. Self-conscious, Delaney dabbed at what might be dark circles under her eyes.
“Oh—ha, no. You look like a million dollars. You look completely edible. It’s supposed to be a joke. Because being around me always jacks up your stress levels.”
“That’s both adorable and sweet. Thank you. But . . . I thought we had a plan? To stop the bickering and do lots of kissing instead?” Kissing was integral to lead into the next step of casual sex to get him out of her system. Have sex so satisfying that she wouldn’t need any more for at least a year. Or at least until after the trial was over and she’d moved on to a new case, far away from Kellan and his temptation.
“Indeed. It’s a solid plan. But you and I don’t like to leave anything to chance. We’ll call the tea a backup.”
After a sip of the still-warm tea, Delaney smiled. “A tasty one. Please tell Norah that it’s delicious.” She set it on the roof of her car while she unzipped her big purse. “Here’s your present.”
“Where?”
Delaney pointed at the shiny .22 caliber gun nestled right next to her 9mm service weapon. “Right here.”
“Fast work, Marshal. I’m impressed.”
He should be. But Delaney didn’t want to dump on him just how much paperwork and tap dancing and promising of favors she’d had to do to orchestrate this. Kellan might read too much into it.
“Well, you made a strong case for how important it was to you. You’re in a situation entirely out of your control.” Delaney zipped her purse and put a hand on his forearm. Tried—and failed—to resist tracing the thick ridge of vein snaking beneath her fingertips. “Whatever I can do to make you feel safe, I have to do. It’s that simple.”
Kellan lifted her hand to his lips and planted a soft, warm kiss just below her knuckles. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. There’s quite a bit of homework before you do anything with this present. Gun ownership isn’t like buying a new pillow to toss on the sofa. Learn how to clean it, dismantle it, exactly what sort of damage the bullets do, shooting distance, the whole shebang. Only after that will we go to a range and put your hands on the trigger.”
“Whatever you say, Marshal.”
How did her title sound both sexy and teasing when it came out of his mouth? Would he say it like that when they were in bed together?
Delaney retrieved her tea so they could start walking.
It was a picture-perfect June night on the Oregon Coast. And the town they were in was a postcard itself. To the right was the wide blueish gray expanse of the Siuslaw River, spanned by the tall bridge of the Oregon Coast Highway. Ahead was a cluster of shops and restaurants that couldn’t be cuter. Every one sported low, overflowing flower boxes that popped summer’s bright colors against the white-shingled buildings.
“Learning to shoot now will g
ive me a leg up on my training to be a deputy.”
“Uh, the job’s not yours yet, last I heard. Didn’t I get your interview scheduled for next week with Mateo?”
Kellan waved off her comment with his hand before interlacing his fingers with hers. “That’s a formality.”
With the ease of a bad habit, the pilot light on Delaney’s temper lit at his words. “Actually, it’s not. I put myself on the line vouching for you with the sheriff. This job isn’t a slam dunk. You have to impress him, Kellan. You have to take this seriously.”
He stopped, abruptly, beneath the brown-and-tan-striped awning of the Siuslaw River Coffee Roasters. A deep growl furred over his words. “This is my entire future we’re talking about. You’d better believe I’m taking it seriously. I’m as serious as a heart attack.”
“Okay. Sorry. I promise that’ll be the last knee-jerk snap-back of the whole night.” They still needed a little more practice at talking like people on a date. It was all new and different and put Delaney off-balance. Maybe it was because she was jonesing for a kiss. That would smooth things right out.
Except Kellan still had the furrowed brow and intense stare of someone making a point. And in all her experiences with him, she’d seen him drop the charm and go full tilt serious probably only once before.
This was major.
“I’m going to be a deputy. Because when I put my mind to something, I make it happen. Nothing stops me.”
Delaney licked her lips again. How could her mouth be so dry and yet her panties be so wet from the resolve and strength in every hard edge of his face? “I’ll remember that.”
“Good.”
“I’m not trying to throw wood on a fire, I promise,” she said cautiously. “But are you ready for your interview? Or do you maybe want to talk through anything with me?”
Kellan swung their hands a little between them as they resumed walking. And like a flip had switched, the intensity vanished. “I’d like that. I, uh, didn’t want to ask for any more help from you. Only what was absolutely necessary. But you’ve got an inside perspective that would be invaluable.”
Got it Bad Page 7