Operation K-9 Brothers

by Sandra Owens

  “I’m meeting some friends downtown for a few beers. Thought you’d want to go.”

  “No, thanks.”

  He sighed. “Come on. It’ll be like old times.”

  Exactly.

  “You love riding behind me,” he said when she didn’t respond.

  Correction. She used to. She still enjoyed riding on a motorcycle. Just not with him. When he dropped his arm to his side, she ducked inside and pushed the door closed, locking it.

  “Damn it, Nichole.” He banged his fist on the wood.

  She leaned against the door and closed her eyes, willing him to go away. A few minutes later, after getting another damn it, she heard the rumble of his bike. She went to the window, letting out a relieved sigh when he backed out of her driveway. Seconds later Jack drove up. That had been close.

  “Hey,” she said, stepping out to the porch as he walked up.

  He smiled. “Hey yourself.” His gaze shifted to the road. “Who was that?”

  Drat, he’d seen Lane leaving her house. “No one.”

  Chapter Five

  “Mmm,” Jack murmured. He didn’t believe her. There had been tension in her voice, and she’d looked at the floor when she’d answered. The motorcycle had been backing out of Nichole’s driveway as he was coming down her street, and the rider had looked angry. That had Jack on alert.

  Unfortunately, he didn’t have any claim on her and couldn’t push the issue. Didn’t mean he wouldn’t keep a watch out for the dude. He smiled at her T-shirt. “Is that true?”

  Her eyebrows scrunched together. “What?”

  “This.” He tapped a finger over the words on her shirt. “You have magic hands?” The words My Hands Are Magic were printed over a picture of hands wrapped around a pottery bowl.

  The tension on her face eased, and she grinned. “Absolutely.”

  “I might need proof of that at some point.”

  “We’ll see.”

  He sure hoped so. “Your boy ready for his next lesson?”

  It was either that or kiss her, and he wasn’t sure she’d welcome his mouth on hers. Her gaze fell on his arm, and she gasped. That was it then. His scars repulsed her. He was disappointed. Had thought she might be different.

  “What happened?” She slipped her hand around his and pulled his arm toward her. “I can’t imagine how much this had to hurt.”

  Maybe she was different, and a warm feeling the likes of which he’d never felt before was there, somewhere deep inside him. He wasn’t sure what to do with that. When she gently traced a finger over the scars that were visible, he closed his eyes. It was the first time a woman had touched his arm since the bomb. Well, except for nurses and Heather, but they didn’t count, didn’t make him long for something more, didn’t make him realize how much he’d missed a woman’s touch.

  “What happened, Jack?”

  Her voice was gentle and caring, and he swallowed past the lump in his throat. Suck it up, SEAL. He opened his eyes, his gaze falling on her. All he saw on her face was compassion, the disgust he’d expected missing.

  “Your hands really are magic,” he said, almost whispering, afraid if he talked she’d stop touching him. His gaze followed the path of her fingers over the puckered skin.

  She lifted her eyes to his and smiled before returning her attention to his arm. When she slid her fingers under his sleeve to lift it, he put his hand over hers.

  “Don’t. It’s not pretty to look at.”

  She brushed his hand away. “Will you tell me what happened?” she said as she lifted his sleeve.

  “Got in the way of a bomb.” He watched her face for any sign of revulsion, but it didn’t come.

  “Well, that sucks. Is that how your dog got hurt, too?”

  “Yeah.”

  She feathered her fingers over the scars, and the sensation was kind of weird. Parts of his arm felt her touch on his skin, but the most damaged parts didn’t feel a thing. The thought of wishing for something more crept back into his mind. She was the first woman since his high school girlfriend—the one who hadn’t lasted past his first deployment—who had him wishing for more than a few tumbles between the sheets. That was dangerous thinking.

  Until he was out of the military, forever was not in his vocabulary. The way Nichole made him feel, even though he barely knew her, had him thinking he should walk away right now. Before he really developed feelings for her. But his feet refused to move.

  “Ah...” He had no idea what he intended to say.

  A whine sounded from behind the door. She tugged his sleeve back down. “He knows you’re out here, and he’s getting impatient to see you.”

  When she dropped her hand away from his arm, he wanted to snatch it back. Danger. Danger. Danger. He ignored the voice in his head as he followed Nichole and Rambo to the yard. It was a simple matter of control, something he had in spades as a SEAL. If he didn’t want to fall in love, he wouldn’t.

  In all fairness, though, he needed to make sure she was clear on the fact that he would be returning to his team. If they were on the same page, then all systems were a go. They’d have a bit of fun, enjoy each other’s company, and then he would leave.

  If she wanted more, now was the time to bow out before any feelings were involved. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her.

  They spent ten minutes on Rambo’s training, and Jack was impressed with the puppy’s progress on coming when called. He couldn’t help smiling at Nichole’s laughter each time Rambo raced to her when she called his name. Although he’d planned to have that little talk when they finished, he put it off, not wanting to have a serious discussion when she was so happy. She’d agreed to go hiking with him on Sunday. He’d do it then.

  * * *

  Saturday morning, he visited his grandmother. “Morning, Ursula,” Jack said to the retirement home’s receptionist as he signed in. “My grandmother in the craft room?” It was where she usually waited for him.

  “She is.”

  “Dare I ask what she’s made for me this time?”

  “Now, Jack, you know I never ruin her surprises.” She grinned. “I will say this one’s a doozy.”

  “God help me.” He headed to the craft room, shuddering at the sound of Ursula’s laughter.

  Last week his grandmother had painted a picture of what was supposed to be him without a shirt, telling him that he should give it to his girlfriend. She knew damn well that he didn’t have a girlfriend, at least not one he’d told her about.

  He wasn’t sure what category to put Nichole in, but she wasn’t girlfriend status. Not yet. Where the devil had that thought come from?

  The picture was a hint that he needed to get busy finding and marrying a woman so he could give her great-grandbabies while she was still alive to see them. She was also positive that as soon as he had said wife and babies that he’d stay home where he belonged and not go traipsing off to dangerous places where people blew you up.

  He’d downplayed how badly he’d been hurt and always wore a long-sleeve shirt when visiting her, so she’d never seen his scars. He also kept to himself his determination to return to his team. She was his only surviving relative, his father’s mother, and she meant the world to him. If only she’d stop making him embarrassing things.

  When he reached the craft room, he paused at the door. His grandmother was sitting at a table with Harold Robinson, her boyfriend. He grinned and shook his head. Harold couldn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds sopping wet—about forty pounds less than his grandmother—and didn’t have a hair on his head. He was beyond proud of his white handlebar mustache.

  “Hey, Grammie.” Jack kissed his grandmother’s cheek. “How’s my favorite girl today?”

  “Who the hell are you?” Her gaze slid over him. “You look vaguely familiar, but I could be mistaking you for my grandson, who seems to think he
can pop in occasionally and I’ll remember him.”

  Jack laughed. “I was here last Saturday morning, as you well know.” Whenever he was home on leave, they had a standing Saturday morning date for pancake breakfast.

  “I’m old. I don’t remember yesterday, much less what happened a week ago.”

  “Such a little liar. You remember in detail my every misdeed.” He glanced at Harold. “Morning, Harold. You making her behave?”

  “Never tried to, son. She’s perfect just like she is.” He stood. “I’ll leave you two to it. Time for my morning bowl of oatmeal and lousy cup of decaf.”

  Jack had invited Harold to breakfast with them a few times, but the man always refused, saying it was Lizzy’s special time with her grandson. It really was, and Jack appreciated that Harold understood.

  He perched on the edge of the table, glanced down at the knitting bag next to her chair, and stifled a groan. When the purple bag was present, it meant she’d knitted him something. That was never good. “You look very pretty this morning, Grammie.”

  She was the quintessential picture of what a grandmother should look like. Short white hair that curled around her ears, kind eyes behind her wire-rimmed glasses, an easy smile, age lines that gave her face character, and the ever-present string of pearls around her neck.

  She smiled up at him. “Thank you, Jackie. A woman has to look her best to keep her man.” Her eyes—not as bright a blue as they used to be, but eyes that never missed a thing—danced with laughter as she glanced behind him. “Incoming.”

  He groaned. That could only mean one thing. A pinch on his ass from Dirty Mary, his grandmother’s name for Mary Keselowski, her eighty-three-year-old friend who had the filthy mouth of a sailor. She also had a massive crush on Jack, much to his grandmother’s amusement.

  “Look who’s here, Mary. Your favorite hottie.”

  “You don’t have to encourage her,” he muttered.

  “Where would be the fun in that?”

  “Hot damn.” The second Mary reached him, her fingers landed on his butt. “Looking good, McHottie.”

  He eased off the table to get away from her questing fingers.

  She lifted her phone. “Smile, handsome. I need a picture for my spank bank.”

  Jack choked. Where did little old ladies learn stuff like that? When his grandmother chuckled, he glared at her.

  Mary studied the photo she’d taken. “Not bad. Would be better if you’d take off your shirt.”

  “Not happening.”

  “Oh, I almost forgot your present.” His grandmother pulled something red out of her knitting bag and handed it to him.

  He stared at the cucumber-size thing, then lifted puzzled eyes to her.

  “It keeps the family jewels warm.”

  “Oh, just say it, Lizzy. It’s a cock sock,” Mary said. “It was my idea.”

  Of course, it was.

  Mary’s gaze fell to the zipper of his jeans. “Do you think we made it big enough?”

  Aaannd, he was outta here. He stuffed the thing into his pocket, then put his hand on his grandmother’s elbow. “Breakfast. Now.”

  * * *

  “At least someone thinks it’s funny,” Jack said when Nichole laughed.

  “Oh, it is. Hilarious, actually.” She held up the family jewels warmer, dangling it in front of him. “I think I’d really like your grandmother. I would have given anything to have seen your face when Mary—”

  “Dirty Mary. Grammie’s name for her, not mine.”

  She grinned at hearing his growly voice. “Right. When Dirty Mary told you it was a cock sock. How old did you say they were?” There was something adorable about a badass SEAL calling his grandmother Grammie.

  “In their eighties. How the hell does a little old lady know what a spank bank is?” He shuddered. “I went home and poured a gallon of bleach over my head to get that image out of my mind.” He rolled his eyes when she lost it, but she caught the twitch of his lips. “Give me that.” He snatched it away, stuffing it in his pocket.

  She hadn’t laughed this hard in a long time, and it felt good. They were sitting on a boulder at the edge of the falls on a beautiful Sunday morning. The hike to get here had taken an hour down a sometimes-slippery trail, and unused to hiking, Nichole was dreading the trek back up. But it had been worth it. The sky was a brilliant blue, the air was blessedly cool from the icy water cascading into the crystal-clear pool, and the man beside her was downright fine.

  After playing in the water for a bit, Rambo was stretched out in the sunshine, enjoying a nap. Dakota sat in front of Jack’s feet, her gaze sweeping the area.

  “She seems very aware of her surroundings.”

  Jack leaned over and peered down at his dog. “To her, everything’s a job, even a Sunday morning hike. She’s keeping an eye out for bad guys, watching our six.”

  “Our six?”

  “Our backs. Comes from a clock. If you were standing in the center of a clock face looking at the twelve, the six would be at your back.”

  “Ah, I see.”

  When Jack had arrived to pick her up, he’d introduced Dakota to Rambo. Rambo had jumped all around her, trying to get her to play. Dakota had lifted her gaze to Jack, as if to say, “Can’t you do something about this pesky thing?”

  Nichole had been afraid Dakota would bite Rambo, but Jack had assured her his dog only attacked on command. She’d never seen a dog so well behaved. Maybe Dakota could teach Rambo some manners.

  “It’s beautiful here.” She leaned back on her elbows and lifted her face to the sun.

  “You’re beautiful.”

  She glanced at him to see him watching her. Everything around her stilled, the only sound that of the water as it splashed into the pool, and the only thing she saw was Jack’s blue eyes studying her. Not once had Lane said she was beautiful and looked at her as if she really was to him.

  “Thank you.” She wasn’t used to getting compliments from a man and wasn’t sure what to say other than that.

  He glanced away. “We need to talk, but I don’t quite know how to say it without sounding like an ass.”

  “Just spit it out, whatever it is.” His nervousness put her on alert, and she sat up, steeling herself for...well, what, she wasn’t sure, but she didn’t think she was going to like it.

  “Okay, here’s the thing. I really like you, Nichole.”

  “But?”

  “Yeah, there’s a but. As soon as my arm is healed, I’m returning to my team.”

  Ah, so that was where this was going. “And you’re not looking for anything serious?”

  He nodded. “I’m not. I learned the hard way through experience and watching my teammates try to keep relationships going that they just don’t work for men like me. I want to keep seeing you as long as I’m here, but I don’t want you to expect something I can’t give you.” His gaze shifted to the waterfall, then back to her. “That sounds really selfish, doesn’t it?”

  She shrugged. “Maybe a little, but I’d rather know where you stand than to find that out later.” When it was too late because she’d fallen for him. Because it was be an easy thing to do with this man if she didn’t guard her heart.

  “If you want me to take you home, I’ll understand.”

  “No.” She put her hand on his arm. “I’ve been warned. So we’ll agree that we’ll have fun while you’re here, and when it’s time for you to leave, the fun will be over.”

  She already knew it was going to be hard to walk away from him, yet she wasn’t going to be smart. She had a history of falling for bad boys. Jack was nothing like any of her previous boyfriends. He was a nice guy, an honorable man, and a hero to his country. She could only respect him for being honest with her.

  “Are you sure about this? Because the last thing I want to do is hurt you.”

  “I�
�m sure.” She ignored the voice in her head that questioned her sanity.

  “Then give me your mouth, Nichole,” he said as he leaned toward her.

  It was both a command and asking for permission. She knew that if she refused, he would respect that. Yet—oh God, yet—it was the command in his voice that snared her, that sent heat spiraling through her. That had her ready to offer whatever he asked for.

  “My mouth is yours,” she whispered.

  “There is a God.” He closed the distance between them.

  His lips touched hers, his mouth covered hers, and his scent wrapped around her. She’d been kissed more times than she could remember. Some had been great, some okay, and some forgettable. Never had she been kissed like this. Like she was being consumed, devoured.

  He slid his tongue across the seam of her lips, and all she could do—wanted to do—was open to him. So she did. He leaned closer, placed his hand on her hip, and spanned his fingers over her shorts.

  There was nothing innocent about his kiss. His mouth was a carnal thing, hot and demanding, his taste intoxicating. The heat from his body seeped into her. If she had a white flag, she’d happily wave it. She put her hand on his arm, wanting to touch him. When he tensed, she realized she’d placed her fingers on his scars. He was just going to have to get used to that.

  “You didn’t have to stop,” she said when he pulled away.

  “Yeah, I did.” His gaze shifted away from her, the heat that had been in his eyes fading.

  “Jack?”

  He darted her a glance, then returned his attention to the crystal-clear pool. “Not long after I got home from the hospital, I went out one night. I was lon...” He shook his head. “Sorry, this isn’t something I should be telling you.”

  “Why not? So you went out. I’m guessing hoping to hook up?” Had he been about to say he was lonely?

  “Yeah, that, so it would be bad manners for me to talk about that to you.”

  “Why would it bother me? We didn’t know each other then.” She moved her hand higher on his arm to where the scars began. “Tell me about that night.” Not that she really wanted to hear about him hooking up with someone, but she believed there was something he needed to get off his chest.