by Lori Foster
“Sitting on the couch.” The corners of Dean’s mouth lifted with the memory. “Grover had been explaining to me that I was coming with him, that I wouldn’t be staying with my sisters. He was doing his best to make it sound like an adventure when this loud, enraged guy barged in without knocking.”
“Jesus, Dean.” Eve curled into him, putting her arms around him, squeezing him tight.
She wanted to comfort him, not excite him. Since returning to Harmony, he’d had more unique experiences with women than in all his years away.
They were good experiences.
With good reason, it had been years since Dean relived that day. He hated the memories, how they always brought back that hollow sickness and the awful sense of being lost and scared. “I remember that the guy was shouting about my father killing my mother, though I didn’t really understand what he meant. He kept saying that without her, he had nothing to live for.”
“The selfish bastard.”
Dean realized that Eve was crying again, but this time in anger. Her emotions really were on a roller coaster, and he wasn’t helping.
Best that he get through the rest of the story in a hurry. “Grover was impressive as hell. He charged across the room and shut the idiot up with a Superman punch that knocked him out cold.”
“Superman punch?”
“Sort of a flying blow. A short jab with the momentum of your body behind it.” His description didn’t really do the power punch justice, but Dean didn’t know any other way to explain it. “After that, Grover opened the door and dragged the guy out, down the porch steps, and to the curb. He left him there. When he came back in, he still looked pissed. He told Lorna to go take care of Cam and Jacki.”
“And she did?”
“Oh yeah. In two seconds flat, Grover and I were alone. He squatted down in front of me, and I remember he looked damned mean, but I wasn’t afraid. Not of him. He told me to ignore the man because he was no more than a drunken idiot and that I should never listen to anything a drunk said. He told me that I was going with him, and that he’d take care of me.”
“Pretty blunt,” Eve said.
“Yeah, but you know, I felt better, at least for a little while. Instead of worrying about the future, I was anxious to get a chance to ask Grover about fighting.”
“Did you get to say good-bye to your sisters?”
“No. We left right then. Grover told me that anything I needed, he’d get for me.” Dean shook his head, remembering how fast everything had changed and how different his life became that day. “When we got to Grover’s car, that guy was still lying in the street, and his face was all bloody.”
Eve’s mouth compressed. “Well, I can’t feel sorry for him. He got what he deserved.”
Dean laughed without humor. “That’s how I figured it, too. He was married with a child as well. Grover assumed he left his wife, but didn’t know for sure.”
“That’s an awful story, Dean.”
“Yeah, I know.” He brushed the backs of his fingers over her cheek. “Is it a story that Cam and Jacki should hear?”
“I don’t know.”
“There was money left to them, Eve. Plenty to last them both through college.” Dean sat forward with his elbows on his knees. “It doesn’t make any sense that they’d be strapped for cash like this.”
Almost by rote, Eve rubbed a hand over his back. “My mom thinks Lorna squandered too much of the inheritance on her own indulgences. But it’s not like she’s dripping in diamonds or layered in furs. Some people just aren’t very good at managing money.”
Looking back at her, Dean said, “I’m good at it.”
Her chin lifted. “Me, too.”
The challenge in her tone nearly made Dean smile. “I noticed that right off. Not many single women your age could afford such a nice house.”
“Oh. Well…thank you.” Flustered, Eve frowned at him. “I think Lorna probably tried, but she went from being a thirty-six-year-old single woman to the caregiver of two babies.”
“That sounds a lot like Cam talking.”
“She’s said it many times. Cam’s defensive of Lorna, of anyone she cares about.”
And that now included him.
“It’s getting late,” Dean said, “and I’m done strolling down memory lane.” He lifted Eve into his arms. “Time for bed.”
“What are you doing? I can walk.”
“I like carrying you.” As he started toward her bedroom, he nuzzled against her neck. “I can smell the scented soap and lotion from your bath. It’s nice.”
“It’s supposed to be soothing.”
“Right. I feel real…soothed.”
Eve wrapped her arms around him and rested her head against his shoulder. “I hate what you went through.”
“It was a long time ago. I probably shouldn’t even have brought it up.” He reached her bedroom and kicked the door shut behind him.
“You wanted to know if Cam or Jacki had heard the history. And Dean, I’m glad you trusted me enough to tell me about it.”
Very slowly, Dean let her slide down his body until her feet touched the floor. Hands at her waist, he smiled down at her. “You ready for bed?”
“I need a few minutes.” She went on tiptoe to kiss him, then left for the connecting bath.
Bemused by how he’d opened up to her, Dean watched her go. It didn’t escape his notice that Eve listened while he talked, contributed her own thoughts, but didn’t push him when he wanted to let it drop.
In more ways than he could count, Eve Lavon was one special lady.
While he heard water running in the bathroom, Dean went out to his car and retrieved his overnight bag. As Eve stepped out of the bathroom, Dean waved his toothbrush at her, said, “My turn,” and closed the door on her expression of surprise.
After brushing his teeth, Dean took off his shirt and jeans. He folded them and put them in his overnight bag, and left the bag, with his shoes, by the bathroom door.
When Dean stepped back into the darkened bedroom, he could make out Eve’s form already in the bed, under the sheet, and seemingly asleep. He sensed that having a man stay over was new to her, so he understood her need to hide. But he wouldn’t encourage it.
“I can’t see a thing.” He opened the curtains to let in the moonlight. “That’s better.” No reply. “So how did your appointment go today?”
Finally Eve peeked out at him. “Okay.” Her gaze touched everywhere, lingering on the front of his boxers. “I got the job.”
Dean went to the other side of the bed, lifted the sheet, and stretched out along her back. Sliding one arm under her pillow and the other over her waist, he settled in. “That’s good.” He kissed her ear. “Anything interesting?”
“A wedding.”
Dean paused. “Really? You do those, too?”
“I do it all,” she bragged.
“Hmmm.” To keep her from shying away, he put one hand over her belly and eased closer to her until his groin nudged firmly against her bottom. “Good to know.”
She snickered. “That’s not what I meant.”
“So what kind of wedding will it be?”
Looking at him over her shoulder, she asked, “You’re really interested?”
Unable to help himself, Dean kissed her again. “Why wouldn’t I be? You’re a very interesting woman.”
Suddenly she twisted to face him. “The bride has no idea what she wants, and the groom doesn’t trust himself. They gave me free rein to do as I please.”
Even in the darkness, Dean could see the glitter of excitement in her eyes. “You like that idea, huh?”
“Sure. If I can’t plan the perfect wedding for me, I may as well plan it for someone else.”
Damn, having Eve this close was nice. And stimulating, but he could ignore that for the pleasure of holding her. “So tell me the plan, honey. What do you consider the perfect wedding?”
CHAPTER 17
EVE couldn’t believe Dean wanted to discuss th
is. Most men shied away from any talk of weddings or white dresses or happily ever after.
Not Dean Conor. Nothing made him uncomfortable.
Except the love of his sisters.
Eve scooted to sit up in the bed and turn on a lamp. Dean didn’t complain. He just propped his head up on his palm and waited.
“They don’t want a big wedding. They only have fifty people invited.”
“What about you? How many would you want at your wedding?”
Without hesitation, because she’d already given it lots of thought, she said, “I have thirty on my side who’d need to come. But the size would depend on the groom’s relatives and friends.”
He grinned. “Can you imagine a bunch of guys like Gregor in tuxes?” The grin expanded into a laugh. “I’d either have to limit it to family alone or invite a hundred tattooed warriors.”
Fascinated with how easily he joined her in the planning of the fantasy wedding, Eve said, “I’m not into tuxes. I think it’s too formal.”
Dean trailed one finger down the length of her leg. “And here with the way you dress so nice and are always so polished, I figured you for a formal gal.”
“On occasion I like to dress up as much as any other woman. But for a wedding, I always thought it’d be nice to wear something comfortable and floating and soft, instead of yards of stiff lace. White, for sure. But maybe something in ultra-soft eyelet cotton. Ankle length.” She closed her eyes. “Instead of roses, I’d carry daisies and carnations. And instead of a veil, I’d weave some of those same flowers into my hair.”
While looking more at her legs than her face, Dean murmured, “Sounds really pretty to me.”
Picturing it in her mind, Eve pulled her legs up and put her crossed arms on her knees. “Bridesmaids could wear similar dresses in a rainbow of pastel colors. Daffodil yellow and sea-foam green and sky blue. The groomsmen could wear beige cotton drawstring pants and soft cotton tunics and…” She caught herself and laughed self-consciously. “A little out there, huh?”
Voice gone husky, Dean said, “I could see it.”
She made a face. “Well, that’d be my idea, and while I like it, I wouldn’t foist it off on my new clients.”
“Why not?”
She shrugged. “Because weddings are very serious things to most people. I like my job and don’t want to get a rep as a hippy nutcase. And besides, that’s my wedding. I’m saving it for me.”
Dean said nothing for several moments, then he held a hand out to her. “Come here. Let me hold you.”
“All right.” She turned off the light and, feeling stiff and silly, rested back down beside him. “I suppose for this couple, I’ll arrange something low-key but traditional.”
Dean spooned her. “Tuxes and stiff lace, huh?”
His body heat, spiced by his unique scent, surrounded her. “With the wedding march and orange blossoms. It’s what they want, just not too elaborate. I can handle it.”
“Whatever you arrange, I know it’ll be perfect.”
Eve bit her lip. “Thank you.”
His mouth touched her shoulder. “How’re you feeling? Okay?”
It surprised her to realize it, but she felt like her usual self. “Actually I feel fine.”
“Good.” His hand settled on her belly. “I’m glad to hear it.”
Eve hated to say anything, but she didn’t see how she could avoid it. In their current close position, she could feel his erection.
“Dean…”
“Shhh.” His fingers stroked her stomach, then stilled. “Don’t worry about it.”
He had to be kidding. “But you’re hard.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s not really something I’d miss. But trust me, it’s not a problem.”
Eve turned to face him, displacing his hand so that it naturally settled on her hip. “You’re sure?” She could barely make out his features in the dark, but she saw the whiteness of his teeth when he smiled.
After stroking back her hair, he kissed her forehead. “If it was an issue, I’d go take care of it and then come back to you.”
Words failed Eve. Her shock must have been obvious, because Dean laughed.
“Everyone does it, Eve.”
But not everyone talked about it.
His evil grin practically lit up the room. “You know it’s true, honey. The only people who say they don’t are liars and people with really bad memories.”
To hide her face, Eve curled into him. “Let’s get some sleep.”
Dean laughed again. “I can’t believe you’re being so shy about something that’s perfectly natural.”
By way of an answer, Eve pretended to snore. And thankfully, for her peace of mind, Dean gave her a squeeze, turned to his back, and pulled her into his side. “Good night, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart. That sounded so nice coming from him.
She didn’t say anything. But she did kiss his chest, close her eyes, and enjoy his closeness. Right before she fell asleep, she had the unsettling thought that Dean Conor could be a cure for PMS.
Too bad he didn’t plan to stick around indefinitely.
WHEN Eve awoke the next morning, a weak sun struggled to shine through a haze of clouds. She sat up, felt groggy from such a deep sleep, and looked to the other side of the bed. It was empty.
Straining her ears, she heard Dean’s voice and assumed he was on the phone. After a quick trip to the bathroom, she made her way into the great room.
Dean paced the floor with his cell phone to his ear. “It’s the two tires street-side. No, not slashed. But the valves are cut off, so they can’t just be refilled. Definitely deliberate.” He lifted a thick wrist and looked at his chunky black watch. “Thanks. That’ll work. See you then.”
The second he hung up, Eve said, “Someone let the air out of your tires?”
He turned with a smile. “Hey, babe.” With only a few long strides, he reached her. “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”
“No. I had to be up any—” A yawn took her by surprise, and he smiled while she covered her mouth. “Sorry. I’m not quite awake yet.”
“You have an appointment today?”
“In a few hours. But it usually takes me that long to get it together.”
With that familiar gentleness she now craved, he ran his knuckles along her cheek. “How can a woman look so damn good first thing in the morning?”
When she started to speak, he put his thumb to her lips. “It was a rhetorical question, so don’t bother telling me that your hair needs to be brushed or that your eyes are puffy.”
“All true.”
Gaze warm and intimate, Dean whispered, “And you still look good enough to eat.”
Sensation went through her, making her eyes heavy. “It’s way too early for you to do this to me, especially when I can’t take advantage of it.”
“Sorry.” He gave her a quick perfunctory peck on the forehead. “Coffee’s already made.”
“Bless you.” Eve hurried around him toward the kitchen, but said again, “Someone vandalized your tires?”
“A kid’s prank, maybe. The car service should be here within half an hour, but I’ll still be behind by the time they get the car ready to go again.”
As she poured steaming coffee into an oversized mug, Eve offered, “I can give you a lift to Cam’s if you want. I can be ready by the time the car service gets here.”
Dean pulled out a chair from the table and straddled it. “I don’t want to rush you.”
She didn’t tell him that after such a great night’s sleep, she felt ready to take on dragons. Taking a quick shower and doing a speed job on her makeup would be a piece of cake. “No problem.” Mug in hand, she started back out of the room, but paused to say, “Naturally your coffee is perfect.”
“Something else I do well?”
“The damn list is becoming endless.”
EVE surprised Dean by getting ready in just under half an hour. And of course, she looked incredible dressed in a classy croc
heted halter top, with brown gauchos and matching slide sandals, finished with several pieces of delicate gold jewelry.
Cam and Gregor stood outside, eyeing the cloudy sky with concern. The second Dean stepped out of Eve’s car, Gregor chucked down the rest of his coffee, handed the empty mug to Cam, and strode out to meet him. He passed Eve on her way to chat with Cam, but spared her no more than a nod.
“Your sister is already gone.”
Gregor barked that disclosure like an accusation, making Dean frown. “Yeah, so?”
“Cam says she took her aunt shoppin’, but I know that’s not it. She’s avoidin’ me.”
“Why?” Dean asked with a raised brow. “What’d you do now?”
Amazingly enough, impotent color rushed into Gregor’s face and neck. No words came to him until, in a low voice, he snarled, “Fuck you, Havoc,” and stormed away toward the backyard.
Huh. Dean watched Gregor go, wondering what had he done? The more he thought about it, the tenser he got. A few minutes later, feeling mean, Dean started after Gregor with the intent to confront him, when he heard a curse and a terrible clattering crash.
Cam and Eve shared a look with Dean, and a second later they all rounded the house at a sprint.
Gregor lay sprawled on the ground, the ladder partially covering him, a visible knot rising on his forehead.
Incredulous, Dean stopped near his feet. “Did you fall off the roof?”
Gregor stopped rubbing his head to glare at Dean. “No, I did not fall off the roof.” Furious, he threw the ladder to the side and sat up with a few winces and groans. “The damn rung broke.”
An awful foreboding went through Dean. “What are you talking about?”
“The tenth or eleventh rung up. Thank God I wasn’t all the way to the top.” He picked grass off a bloody scratch on his arm. “The wood snapped beneath my foot and that threw me off balance. I tried to grab for the gutter, but I didn’t make it. I went sailin’, and the ladder came down with me.”
While both Eve and Cam fussed and fluttered over Gregor, Dean bent to the broken rung, examining it. His simple check left him frowning. The ladder rung hadn’t broken thanks to age or wear and tear. No, given the orangey stains left behind, it seemed more likely that someone had used a rusty saw on it, chewing almost completely through the wood. It needed only a little pressure—or Gregor’s two hundred and seventy-five pounds—to snap it in half.