by Alison Mello
At this time of night, Main Street was deserted and eerie, but Summer only had a short distance to walk to her car. She had traced these steps hundreds of times and never once felt nervous or scared. Tonight, the hairs along her neck prickled at the echo of a distant can being kicked. She gazed left and right, checking the immediate vicinity, and proceeded. Once she reached the fork in the narrow alleyway, a shadow grew and elongated. Summer froze as heavy footsteps tapped in a fast rhythm. Swiveling around to retrace her steps, she halted as two distinct figures strolled toward her. Adrenaline pumped through her veins and her heartbeat galloped. She wanted to run, but as she twisted back and forth, she realized both directions were blocked.
The dark outline of a man in front crept closer until he stood under a bubble of bright amber light, highlighting his soft features. It was the troublemaker from the diner earlier. Her heart bashed against her ribs, and she clutched her bag, ready to lash out. The man facing her gave a wicked smile as he ran his lecherous gaze up and down her body.
“You know, if you had been a good girl, Summer, I would’ve let you go. But you’re not, are you? I think you’re a stuck-up bitch who needs to learn some manners.”
Summer drew in a breath and glanced behind at his two tall friends closed in. She darted right and left to avoid capture, but a pair of strong arms grabbed her around the waist and held her prisoner. She swung her bag, thrashing the blond man who held her, but he laughed when his partner snatched it away.
A wet kiss landed on her right cheek, and the reek of alcohol wafted over her.
Hell, they’re drunk.
She struggled and stamped her foot down, making him groan, but he didn’t release her. She shoved her elbow back, hard into his stomach, winding him. Finally, he let go.
“Bitch.”
Everything happened fast as the leader of the group ripped her plaid shirt open and landed a stinging slap on her cheek. Her head jerked back, and black dots erupted inside her head, blurring her vision.
“Matt, I didn’t agree to this. You said we were just going to scare her.”
“Shut up, you idiot.”
Summer blinked and shook her head to regain her focus as she studied Matt.
Remember everything.
“Let me go and I promise I won’t say anything.”
Tears slipped down her cheeks, but the low rumble from a motorcycle caught his attention, and Matt twisted around. The growl of the engine grew louder, and he backed away.
“Shit.”
The arms that held her prisoner shoved her away. She spun around to watch her assailants charge down the alley.
Summer stood, unable to move on shaky legs, and wiped her mouth, feeling sick. Standing there, the world imploded. Adrenaline surged through her, and she couldn’t focus on her surroundings anymore. She clasped her arms to stop the familiar downward spiral her panic attacks created, but she couldn’t. The alleyway shrunk into an endless black as the past reached up and possessed her. Hyperventilating, and with her heart racing, she collapsed to the ground in a heap, locked in her private nightmare.
The ear-piercing squeal of brakes rang in her ears, engulfing her, and her eyes searched the darkness as trees whipped by. Squeals sounded out as the car scraped against bushes and thudded over rocks to careen out of her control. Her hands gripped the stirring wheel. She couldn’t let go. Outside, the rain fell in sheets and white fog surrounded her. She was going to die.
Summer.
“Summer. Shit, come on, look at me. You’re all right. They’ve gone. Summer, look at me.”
A powerful impact threw her forward, lifting her out of the seat and knocking her head into the windshield before she jolted back. Pain ricocheted through her skull. She screamed as she slammed back hard against the seat.
Summer.
A pair of strong arms hauled her off the ground, and a wall of steel surrounded her. A familiar orange, spicy scent reached through her stupor, and slowly, she opened her eyes as the nightmare vanished, bringing cold reality back with a bite. Summer thrashed out against the arms that held her.
“Summer, it’s okay. It’s only me. I won’t hurt you.”
Blinking, her vision cleared, and she faced a worried Rafe from the diner. Realizing he had saved her, she flung herself at him, looping her arms around his neck as he held her. At that moment, nothing else mattered. Unwilling to let go, she clung to him as she trembled.
“Shhh, it’s all right. Those asshats have gone. I’m here,” he said into her hair as he stroked her back.
Summer sniffed and leaned into him. Standing together in the deserted alleyway as a light breeze rose, Summer raised her head and stared at the black sky that twinkled with a million stars. She pressed a soft kiss to Rafe’s lips. The tentative kiss was quick, but swirling butterflies fanned out from her belly right down to her toes, and she stared at him, mesmerized.
“Summer, are you all right?”
Dazed from the assault and the kiss she had planted on her rescuer, Summer examined his handsome but stern face, stunned. Shock rippled through her, and all she could do was nod. He had reached her in the middle of a panic attack, dispelling the nightmare. Slowly, he let go of his hold until she stood alone. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to kiss you,” she said quickly, needing to clear the air. The tears and shakes started again from the shock and the cold.
Rafe arched an eyebrow and his eyes roamed over her torn shirt as she attempted to gather the ends together, tying them in a knot. “Forget it. Did they hurt you?”
A shudder passed through her. They hadn’t, but Matt would have, if he had the chance. She crossed her arms over her chest, attempting to restore some semblance of control, but when Rafe’s hand smoothed over her cheek, a clear picture of her assailant swam before her, and she pressed her eyes shut. She winced at the pain from the assault and the vivid memory.
“We need to get some ice on that cheek and report this to the police.”
Summer rubbed her forehead where the scar was, and Rafe grabbed her hand and held it in his as he traced his finger over the pale thin line. That intimate action made her stand still and look away, unwilling to witness the look of pity she was certain would be in his eyes.
“The scar is from a car accident last year. I was in a coma for over a month, and ever since then…I zone out. It’s getting better.” She frowned, not wanting to divulge anything more because she was a mess.
“Look, I’ll let you in on a secret. I served in the military as a Navy SEAL, and I know what post-traumatic stress disorder looks like. You don’t have to hide it from me, Summer. You need to talk about it. Tell me—are you seeing a doctor or taking any meds?”
Pressing her lips together, his admission about his background didn’t surprise her one bit nor did his empathy for her situation. It fit somehow with his rugged persona.
“Yes, and it’s helping.” She lied about both but figured it was something she needed to deal with alone.
“Are you sure you’re okay? Because I can take you to a hospital, just to get you checked over.”
“No, I’m fine. I just want to go home.”
“Okay, I understand. I don’t want to push you. I’ll give you a lift.”
She was glad of his offer because the thought of driving right now was not appealing. If he could just get her home, she would be fine.
“Thank you. I don’t think I could drive.”
Rafe collected his helmet from the back of his bike and placed it on her head, clipping it in place. “You’ve had a shock. There’s no way in hell I would let you.”
Summer wasn’t used to leaning on others, especially strangers, but she accepted his help without question.
“Where is your wife, Rafe?” The minute those words left her mouth, she regretted them. She had no business asking him and saw a flash of pain sweep over his face as his eyes narrowed.
“I let her down, and she left me.”
Summer caught hold of his hand and squeezed it. That simple touch br
ought his attention right back to her face, and he frowned.
“I’m okay. She was way out of my league. It’s better this way.” Rafe smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. There was more to the story, she was certain.
CHAPTER 4
Rafe
The soft look in Summer’s eyes after she kissed him made him feel like a man capable of anything. She always had that effect on him. Now, having Summer cling to him as he navigated the bike downtown and through the dark empty streets of Bridgton equated to torture. He drove slowly, not wanting to scare her any more. Seeing her in such a vulnerable state made him tighten his grip on the handlebars. Each bump and vibration brought her slim thighs closer, and his manhood responded in a painful but pleasurable way.
Engage your brain, man, not your libido.
As he drove around the bends and headed down the back streets, he didn’t want the ride to end.
But a short while later, Rafe indicated left and drove down a narrow dirt road that led to her cottage. It was only ten minutes from the center of town but isolated, and he knew most of the residents here were mainly seasonal, which worried him. Thinking about the men at the diner and how they waited until she was alone made the carotid artery in his neck throb. Back in the alleyway, his protective instinct insisted he charge after the motherfuckers. But seeing Summer in distress highlighted his mission, which was to keep her safe.
Rafe slowed the bike as the terrain became more uneven, less tarmac and more rubble. Navigating his Harley to the side of the cottage, he pulled in and stopped the bike. The unassuming two-story cottage with a tired wraparound porch sat idle on the edge of the enormous black lake. Rafe twisted around as Summer swung her leg over and handed him the helmet, which he stowed on the handlebar before he followed her. The full pale moon reflected upon the glassy lake, and he understood why Summer would enjoy this tranquil setting.
“Thanks for the lift. Would you like to come in for a coffee? I don’t have much else. I might have some cheese and crackers, I think,” she rambled on.
As Rafe studied Summer’s body language, he knew the shock was setting in.
“Summer, stop. It’s not important, unless you’re hungry. Are you?”
She flicked her gaze back at the cottage and up at him. “Hmm?”
“I said, are you hungry?”
Summer shook her head, and he nodded, understanding food was the last thing on her mind. Rafe studied her as she pulled on the end of her sleeve, and he knew he needed to get her to relax.
“Come on, why don’t you get out of those clothes while I fix you a drink? Something to help settle you.”
Summer didn’t budge and folded her arms, frowning at him.
“Shit, I didn’t mean it to sound like that.” He coughed and rubbed the coarse whiskers on his chin as she studied him with her large brown eyes and pink lips pressed together in an adorable way that made him want to scoop her up in his arms and make everything better. But that wasn’t the plan.
Control your arousal: a good rule as a Navy SEAL and one to use right now. Or maybe he should forget the fucking rules and act on instinct?
A drowning sensation gripped him. The need to wipe the fear off her face pressed him. A gust of cold wind made her shiver, and his awareness of her discomfort made him grab her elbow to lead her toward the house.
“I think I can manage from here. Thanks for bringing me home, Rafe, but I will be fine now.”
Her words made him halt. Taking control was second nature to him, but behaving this way was only scaring Summer, and she was backing away. Rafe wanted her trust. He didn’t want to be an extra problem.
What a dick.
He let go of her arm and rubbed his neck with his hand, feeling awkward yet unable to leave.
“Summer, I can stand here debating back and forth about anything you wish, but you should know that you can trust me. I just want to make sure you’re safe. Standing in the cold means nothing to me. I have spent many a night sprawled on my belly in Afghanistan in the dead of winter, and it’s freezing, believe me. But I’m trained to deal with it. You, on the other hand, are getting cold.” Inclining his head toward her, he let his eyes wander over her open shirt.
Summer followed his line of vision and reacted by crossed her arms over her chest, blocking out his view of her hardened nipples. She glared at him before she spun away. When she reached the cottage, she twisted the door handle and stepped inside, glancing over her shoulder at him.
“I do trust you. I’m not sure why, but I do. Come in. You make the coffee while I change, okay?”
“Sure. Two coffees, coming up.”
He didn’t need the caffeine. He was wide awake, but he nodded, happy to ensure she was all right. He knew he needed to dial back his automatic reaction to her. Cool and calm always won the day.
Focus. This is Summer.
But he didn’t budge from where he stood. Replaying her action as she walked into the house, he scratched his head. She hadn’t used a key.
What the hell?
Rafe inhaled a deep breath and shook his head. The need to address her nonexistent security was now uppermost on his mind.
It was bad enough that she was out here alone with no neighbors to speak off, but her lack of regard for basic safety blew his freaking mind. She may be in the wilderness, but leaving her place unlocked was plain crazy. He followed her inside and studied the lock, making a mental note to discuss the issue later. She needed to add a deadbolt; that much was certain.
Closing the door, he turned around and studied the modest space before him. The fresh smell of paint lingered, with a subtle hint of cinnamon. Inside the living room, the vaulted ceiling and white walls made the compact square footage airy. Facing him was a floor-to-ceiling pale stone hearth with a built-in gas fireplace. Rafe strode over to switch it on to generate some much-needed heat. A long, white fur rug lay in front of the fire, and he stood there, rubbing his whiskers, as his gaze ran a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree tour around.
As well as painting, Rafe suspected Summer had replaced the flooring, along with some of the windows. Overall, the building, from what he had seen, appeared solid, although he would need to check the roof and basement to be certain. The furnishings were modern, but she had retained some rustic charm. He stared up at the antler light fitting that held several slim candles. Not the most practical appliance, and they certainly wouldn’t provide much illumination, but he smiled. Her taste hadn’t changed, even if other details about her had.
Sitting down on the soft gray sectional, he unlaced and removed his heavy boots, placing them next to the hearth, not wanting to leave a mess. He slipped his jacket off and settled it over the armrest but couldn’t relax. Looking behind him, he studied the narrow galley kitchen at the back, with shiny, new, white quartz tops and maple wall cabinets. He noticed the wide picture window looked like the original with only single-paned glass, and the wind whistled through.
Overall, he admitted Summer’s taste in interior design made the compact nine-hundred-odd square feet a welcoming home. Remembering about the coffee, he rose to head for the kitchen but stopped by the fireplace to study the photographs. There were several pictures in sleek, silver frames on the mantelpiece, and he picked up one of them. The color photograph showed Summer in a tiny yellow bikini as the waves from the turquoise ocean crashed around her. She looked young, confident, and incredibly beautiful. His hands shook as he held the frame, but he placed it back on the shelf, forcing himself to focus on the present, not the past.
“Did you find the coffee? I know I have some…” Summer strolled into the room.
Rafe wanted to close the distance between them but didn’t dare. The hits kept coming. His gaze ran over the faded navy Patriots shirt she wore over her cream sweatpants. Trying to remove the mental picture of her from his mind, his eyes widened, and his dry throat tightened. Knowing his gaze lingered over her, he lifted his eyes to meet hers and watched as she tugged at the top.
“It’
s an old shirt, but I love the Patriots, especially Tom Brady. Don’t you?”
You can do this.
Rafe rubbed his hands over his face to break the spell and convince himself he could carry on, unaffected by her performance. Marching into the kitchen, he opened the cupboards for some liquid support.
She must have some alcohol somewhere.
Perched on the top shelf stood a full bottle of Rémy Martin, which he grabbed, along with a couple of crystal glass tumblers. They could both do with a stiff drink, and he switched around to face her.
“Hm, a good team, but I’m more of a Brad Marchand fan myself.”
He shrugged and kept his reply monotone. A simple lie, but enough to change the direction of conversation knowing she hated ice hockey. At least she used to. Not allowing emotions to cloud his actions was a life skill beaten into him from the teams. There was no way he could not rake over the past and not let something slip.
Focus. This is a mission, like all the others.
Remove the emotion, stay focused on the task, and get the hell out as quickly as possible.
Avoid. Avoid. Avoid.
One drink would steel his resolve, and he would leave before anything else surfaced.
“Ah, you found the brandy. I don’t really like the taste. Actually, I meant to throw it out.”
Rafe unscrewed the top and poured an equal amount of alcohol in each glass tumbler. She stepped closer and searched the cupboard, looking at the sparse selection of spirits on the shelves. Her sweet fragrance of vanilla and coconut held him to the spot as he handed her the glass, which she took. He knocked back the alcohol and absorbed its warm bite as it slid down his throat.
“You only need to have one. It’ll warm you up and help you relax.”
Summer placed the glass back on the counter. “I’m fine.”