A Perfect Mess (2 page)

For a moment I was stunned. My car keys slipped from my slack grasp and fell into shadows, landing somewhere on the floorboards. Someone had thrown something through my window. The oddness of the eerie, sneaky figure added to my confusion.

My hand went to the back of my neck and came away red with blood. I twisted around left and right to see if whoever had broken my window was still out there, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. When I reached down to try to find my car keys, my skin crawled with the feeling I was being watched.

My self-control slipped and I had to get into the house as quickly as possible.

I looked around one more time, but couldn’t find anything unusual. To hell with it. I needed to call for help. I reached for my phone and swore under my breath. It was dead.

The rap on my window jolted me. I jerked my head around and saw the unmistakable outline of a broad-shouldered man standing outside the door. He was shouting something at me, but my nerves and the pounding rain drowned out what he was saying. When his fist hit the window again, I dropped my phone and redoubled my efforts to find my car keys, my movements jerky with fear, my breathing quick and uneven. His fist hit the window again. I knew he could easily come through the back window, and then I would be trapped just like the last day of my summer vacation on Wild Magnolia Road. The door handle jiggled.

My heart stopped, and then finally self-control made room for the rational part of my brain.

I wasn’t safe here.

But I wasn’t safe outside, either, and without my keys…I couldn’t get in the house.

The sound of the handle scared me. At least I had a chance to hide myself in the bayou.

I flashed back to that night, his hot breath, his groping hands. I bolted across the seat with a cry, pushed the passenger side door open and stumbled from the car. Immediately the deluge soaked me to the bone. I ran. My heart beat frantically, as if it would pound right out of my chest.

I heard a shout; the sound of a male voice set off a spurt of panic. What was happening? Who was he and what did he want? Why did he destroy my rear window? The roar of the rain muffled what he was yelling, blurred his image. When I saw that he was pursuing, my heart accelerated with fear, my breathing harsh in my ears.

And that terrible night flooded back as if it was happening all over again.

The soft ground beneath my feet dragged on my sandals, like I was running in quicksand.

The shout came again—this time much closer—and I screamed. I scrambled through brush that clutched at my clothes like gnarled, grasping fingers.

Urgency making my head light, darkness closing around me, I fought blindly through the thick underbrush.

Suddenly I was hit from behind. I went down hard onto a grassy area as a heavy weight flattened me. The soft ground saved me from scrapes, but the jolt rocketed through my body.

The minute I hit the ground, I fought to my back, bucking and snarling, frantic to get him off me. His voice lashed at me. But, in my blind panic, I couldn’t make out anything. All I could think was to get away.

I knocked off his baseball cap, my arms flailing. Pushing hard against his chest was like trying to push against concrete.

He did not budge.

The rain pelted my face in large drops, continuing to obscure my vision. I could only fight while my body vibrated with pulse-pounding terror.

At last the rain let up enough that the water finally cleared from my eyes.

He gripped my arms and shook me slightly, shouting my name into my face. Snapping out of my terror, his voice finally registered, I looked up, up into the face of my attacker.

All my muscles froze. I was unable to move or breathe. No. My mind spun wildly, trying to absorb the information. Of all the people, why did it have to be him?

I looked up into Booker Outlaw’s face and gasped. He was last person I was prepared to or wanted to see.

There was no mistake. I knew those sculpted lips, those soul-deep, dark blue eyes, the planes and hollows of his face, and the rock-hard jaw that had only gotten more handsome and mature. And there was no mistaking the sinfully dark hair that now lay like wet black silk around his handsome face.

Nine months melted away in a blink of an eye. The last time I’d laid eyes on him, he’d been in the bayou, a shovel in his hand, the shared perfect mess between us.

The unpredictable and wayward teen I had known looked more like a man, and that powerful maleness created such an uproar that my nerves were drowned out by the jingle-jangle of my senses.

He didn’t move; the look on his face was subdued, his eyes flat with anger. He stared down at me as if he was seeing a ghost. Then, his eyes changed as he took in my face and I’m sure the last hour of tears and guilt and pain were etched there naked for him to see.

I pushed at him, but he still didn’t budge. And I was suddenly aware of just how close he actually was. His muscled thighs crowded mine; his strong arms bracketed my head. He smelled safe, strong—like cinnamon and warm, male skin. His ragged breath fanned my neck.

My pulse sped up. My shaky breath snagged in my lungs. The heat of him radiated through the layers of clothes, his hard muscles pressed against me.

The intimacy shocked me, excited me. And then he shifted, and a sudden heat shot through my blood.

I tightened my grip on his arms.

His dark eyes locked on me.

“Aubree. Welcome back.”

His voice was husky, filled with that special tone that he seemed to reserve only for me. Guilt and a twisted longing tightened in my gut.

His soft Southern drawl was like a hot brush against tingling skin. He was close, so close. And I gazed back at him, trapped by the dark, raw heat in his gaze. I traced the hollows of his features with my eyes.

His eyes ran over my face in a rush, as if he was still trying to believe it was me, and then settled on my mouth. My breath grew erratic, my blood skipped crazily through my veins. And then his gaze returned to mine, and I was lost again in those dark, dark eyes.

“Booker,” I said breathlessly. I took in his strong neck, his hard jaw. “What are you doing here?”

“The sheriff sent me when he couldn’t get you on your cell. He didn’t want to leave your aunt, so I volunteered.”

“Why were you at the hospital?”

“Your aunt and I are friends. She had me on her list of emergency contacts.”

His even breath mingled with mine and I could only stare back at him. He and my aunt were friends? What the hell?

“Why did you run?” he asked.

Those words, uttered with hints of humor and accusation, coupled with his sudden appearance, caught me badly off guard. For a moment I thought he was talking about nine months ago. That he was finally asking me the question I’d been dreading. Then I realized that he was talking about the present. Why I had jumped out of my car and run like a banshee from Hell was chasing me.

My face flamed and as I looked away, tiny purple flowers touched my heated cheek with a silky caress.

“Someone threw something through the back window of my car. Then the knock on the window scared me. I couldn’t make out who you were. I lost my keys and my phone is dead. I got scared and bolted.”

“What?” He was immediately on his feet. Reaching down he simply lifted me upright as if I weighed no more than a feather.

He dropped his hands and stepped back, his gaze still burning on me. And then he turned, bent down and retrieved his baseball cap, his movements quick and decisive. He banged the hat gingerly on his thigh to sluice off the water and jammed it back on his head, his thick, wet hair curling at the nape of his neck. His eyes surveyed the area, dark and alert beneath the brim, his mouth a lethal slash.

“Don’t worry, sugar, the cavalry is here. Again,” he taunted softly and I stiffened. I hated that he thought of me as a woman who constantly needed rescuing. “Go on to your aunt’s house,” he told me. His eyes never veered from the area where my car was parked.

“Didn’t you hear me? I don’t have my keys.”

“Go up on the porch, then. Take my phone and call the sheriff. Most likely it was just kids pulling a prank, but call him anyways.”

Booker dug in his pocket and held out his cell. The plastic was warm from his skin. He grabbed my wrist and pressed the phone against my palm. It was all the more annoying that the feel of his palm lingered as if my cells had memorized every molecule. We were separated by a few steps, but it felt strangely intimate.

I was so embarrassed that I had lost my self-control. I should have been calmer and composed and simply asked who was there instead of running from the car like an idiot. Now that I finally had my wits back, his bossy tone grated.

“I didn’t ask you to come by, Booker. You’re the one who scared me to death!”

His gaze pinned me, and that freaking annoying, mocking smile curved his lips. “Always with the argument, Aubree. Just move it, sugar. We’ll argue right and wrong after I check things out.” He slapped me on my ass. I was so outraged. I punched him on the arm.

He had the nerve to laugh.

“Go!” he growled under his breath.

I turned and trotted toward the mansion. As soon as I reached the porch, I glanced behind me. Booker stalked cautiously towards my car. I should have been more aware of my surroundings, and should have been dialing the sheriff, but I couldn’t take my eyes off his powerful form.

I ran my eyes from the curling black hair edging his collar beneath the ball cap to the strong lines of his neck. Then on to the duster swinging around his legs. Faded jeans gloved to his muscled thighs.

Oh, yeah. Booker was definitely no longer a boy.

Faintly, at the very edge of my hearing, I heard a chilling, low laugh, but when I whirled to look there was no one there. My nerve broke and I rushed to the front door and pressed my back to it, shivering in the warm, sultry air.

I peered out into the night, only to find that Booker had disappeared. I scanned the darkness, my senses on keen alert, but nothing moved. Finally, Booker emerged, pulled open the passenger side door, and leaned inside.

I called the sheriff and he promised he’d be right over.

Booker walked steadily to the house. In that duster, he looked like some disreputable outlaw and the only thing missing was a gun belt strapped to those sexy, swaying hips. Who was I kidding? He
was
a disreputable Outlaw. One of three. The unholy trinity. The Outlaw triplets, Booker, Boone, and Braxton.

When he reached the front door, he handed me my keys. My hands trembled so badly I couldn’t get the key in the lock. His hand cupped mine, sure and gentle as he helped me. As the door gave way, I tumbled into the house, and he followed. He hurried to the linen closet at the top of the curving stairs, grabbing two towels.

“Whoever was there is gone now,” Booker said on his way back down the stairs. “Are you all right, sugar?”

I took the towel he handed me. My eyes narrowed. “I will be once the heart attack you gave me subsides.”

“I have that effect on all the girls.”

I rolled my eyes and stuck my tongue out at him, then immediately regretted it. Control, I told myself. Good girls don’t get angry.

“I see Tulane hasn’t worked the spitfire outta you. Must be that red hair.”

I thrust the phone I had clutched back at him. “What smashed the window?” I asked, unnerved by his familiarity with my aunt’s house.

“A very large rock. The rain soaked the interior, I’m afraid.” Booker accepted the phone and tucked it into his jeans pocket.

“Crap!” I finished wiping my face and neck with the second towel before I continued. “I hope there’s no permanent damage.”

He nodded, his eyes studying my face, as if he could find something there that would answer the questions I knew he had burning his tongue. I avoided his gaze, squared my shoulders against the forbidden discussion.

But Booker was unpredictable. You never knew what was going to come out of that damn… sexy mouth. To my surprise, he didn’t ask me anything. With a lazy roll of his shoulders, he rubbed the towel over his face and the back of his neck. Taking off his cap, he set it on the hall table, a quaint Queen Anne that was worth a fortune.

“Don’t put your wet hat there! It’ll ruin the wood.”