Nothing But Trouble (20 page)

Then she'd have no one to blame but
herself.

They drove for quite a while longer, away
from the clouds which seemed to be chasing them. Finally R.J.
pulled off the interstate and headed east again. They drove a while
longer, until the sky was almost dark. Several times Rebecca wanted
to ask R.J. where they were going. But the hard set of his jaw told
her he wasn't in a conversational mood. His left hand held a tight
grip on the steering wheel, while his right rested on the
gearshift.

She wanted to reach out to him and ease the
tension that had him wired so tight. Was it her mere presence that
did this to him? Was it something else? Could it have to do with
where they were going?

Rebecca kept her mouth shut and studied their
surroundings, which weren't much to look at. Finally they came to a
stop at a place called McCarger Cemetery.

A cemetery?

With a baseball glove?

He parked in front of the entrance and killed
the engine.

Rebecca didn't know of any close relatives of
his that had passed away. Courtney had never mentioned anyone in
their family being buried here. Come to think of it, she'd never
mentioned visiting any gravesite before.

R.J. reached into the back seat and grabbed
the baseball glove.

"I'll be right back," he muttered just before
exiting the car and leaving her alone.

Translation:
Stay in the car.

Screw that.

He asked her to come along and expected her
to wait in the car?

Okay, so she did kind of show up
unannounced.

But she was dying to know why he brought a
baseball glove to a cemetery in the middle of nowhere.

His fine backside disappeared to the other
side of the graveyard, baseball glove hanging loosely from one
hand. His gait was slow and relaxed but the hard set of his
shoulders completely contradicted that. She'd learned a long time
ago how to read R.J.'s body language. It was pretty easy once she'd
gotten the hang of it. Feet braced wide meant relaxation and
comfort. Add hands in the pockets and he was settling in for a long
haul. Shifting from foot to foot meant agitation. Crossing his arms
over his chest meant trouble. Kicked back in a chair with his hands
behind his head, and he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

She also knew he got quiet when he had a lot
on his mind. R.J. had never had trouble telling it like it was or
speaking his mind. He'd barely spoken to her the whole ride up
here.

Despite his order of staying in the car,
Rebecca threw the door open and followed the path he'd taken.

Some people were creeped out by graveyards.
They'd never bothered Rebecca. Death was a natural part of life.
She just made sure not to step on the graves. Something about
walking on another person's resting place made her skin crawl.

She spotted R.J. kneeling in front of a small
headstone, with the glove on top. The lack of light made it hard
for her to read the names or see anything for that matter. R,J.'s
white shirt was like a beacon in the darkness that she followed
until she reached him.

He straightened and glanced over his shoulder
with an unreadable expression when she approached. She expected him
to reprimand her or make some smartass comment about not listening
to him.

Nothing.

The muscle in his jaw ticked, but he didn't
speak.

He turned his attention back to the headstone
and shoved his hands in his front pockets.

When was the last time R.J. had been this
quiet? How long had it been since he'd tossed out some careless,
smarmy comment designed spark her temper.

Very un-R.J. like.

With a hesitant movement, she placed a hand
on his shoulder. If anyone needed someone to lean at that moment,
it was R.J. Even though she didn't know why.

Not knowing was killing her.

The muscles in his shoulder were hard and
big. As she rubbed her hand over the sleeve of his t-shirt, she
felt every groove, every sinew. Nine years ago, he'd been big and
defined, as a man should be. At thirty-two he seemed bigger, taller
even. His shoulders were broader, his forearms more chorded. Even
his back muscles were more mouth-watering than ever.

What is wrong with you?

Something weighed heavily on his mind and all
she could do was ogle him. All she could think about was his hard
muscles and how good he felt under her touch.

"How did you know him?" Rebecca asked
softly.

R.J. was silent for so long she didn't think
he was going to answer her. Then he said in a low voice, "He was my
brother."

His brother?

Rebecca knelt down so she could see the name
on the headstone. It was so dark that the wording beneath the name
was unclear to her.

Trent Michael Devlin
.

R.J. and Courtney had had a brother?

In all the years Rebecca had known the
Devlins she'd never heard any of them mention a brother or anyone
named Trent.

He must have died a long time ago for Rebecca
to never have known him.

She glanced at R.J., but he was stony silent
and motionless. Trent's death must have left him terribly wounded
and maybe even permanently scarred.

"He had a rare form of cancer," R.J. said
into the quiet night. "He was diagnosed with Osteosarcoma at the
age of eight. They only gave him six months to live but he held on
for a year. I was ten when he died."

Rebecca shook her head, trying to digest the
information. A brother who'd died from cancer. What a horrible and
tragic thing for a family to endure. The only loved one Rebecca had
lost was her great-grandmother. But she'd been a hundred and two so
her death hadn't been a shock to anyone. More of a relief.

But a child? And one who'd been battling such
a nasty disease? She couldn't begin to imagine what Trent's death
had to done R.J. and his family. Just the fact that they never
talked about it was telling of how painful it probably was.

"I never knew," she finally said. There had
to be something more she could say. But what?

"No one ever knew. Except Martin."

His voice was strained and low, as though
speaking about it tore at some deep dark place inside him,
scratching the wound raw and bleeding. He'd watched his brother
whittle away and had lived with the pain for twenty-two years. Was
that why he always kept everyone at a distance? Or was there more
to the story that he wasn't ready to share with her?

"Today's his birthday," R.J. continued. "He'd
be thirty-one."

Oh Lord
.

Her heart broke open at the agony in his
voice. Did he do this every year? Alone? Come to his brother's
grave and grieve for the little boy who'd died?

No one should have to go through something
like that alone. No one should have to bear the weight of such a
life-changing event by themselves.

Rebecca slid her hand down R.J.'s arm, over
the sinew of his forearm and slipped her hand into his. His fingers
were warm and so much bigger and rougher than hers. She gave his
hand a gentle squeeze if only for the reassurance that he didn't
have to grieve alone. How much comfort it actually afforded him,
she didn't know. Probably not very much. But she was at a loss of
what else to do. She felt like she had to do something. Say
something.

"I'm sorry," she murmured lamely.

"We used to play catch together. Because we
were so close in age we were always on the same little league team.
We always wanted to be better than all the other boys so we
practiced together." He paused and shifted his weight to his left
foot.

Agitation.

"I stopped playing after he died."

"Oh, R.J." She turned to face him and cupped
his stubble-covered jaw with her free hand. "I'm so sorry. That
must have been devastating for your family."

He lowered his forehead to hers and inhaled a
shaky breath. "I've never told anyone about him. I hate coming
here."

His breath was warm against her lips,
reminding her how mind-numbing his kisses were. She wrapped both
arms around his neck and whispered in his ear, "So let's
leave."

The darkened sky
swallowed up the surrounding foothills as R.J. flew down the
interstate toward Trouble. The woman next to him was playing with
fire. She kept rubbing his thigh and threading her fingers through
his hair. Every slight touch, every small smile and his gut
tightened until he felt like his muscles were about to shatter. It
was damn painful and his balls felt like they were going to
explode.

The second she'd stepped in the car she'd
sealed her fate. R.J. told himself to keep his hands off her, but
screw that. She should have known to stay away from him and she
hadn't. He only had so much will power and his had snapped.

Talking about Trent had opened up that old
wound that always oozed for days. His brother's death had altered
their family forever. He hated dealing with it. Hated remembering
the pain and the unanswered questions of why this had happened to
them. Why Trent had to be the one whose bones had been infected
with rare tumors. Why R.J. had to sit back helplessly while his
younger brother had fought for his life. And lost.

Every year he dreaded this. Dreaded the day
that marked another year that Trent wasn't with them. Visiting his
brother's grave wound R.J. up so tight that only two things would
relieve the tension. Drinking and sex.

Only R.J. had really had no desire to bed one
of the many women he had in his proverbial Rolodex. His only plans
had been to come home and drink until the memory of that bleak time
in his family's life was gone. Because the only person he'd been
interested in taking to bed was the woman sitting next to him.

Since he'd known doing that would be bad for
both of them, he'd only planned on drinking the night away.

But damn, how was he supposed to resist her
when she kept looking at him like that? How could he keep her away
when she'd held his hand and told him how sorry she was? Then she'd
wrapped her arms around him, giving him ample opportunity to feel
those spectacular breasts against him. After that he'd tossed his
rule out the window.

Trying to stay away from Rebecca had always
been exhausting and he no longer had it in him.

He turned off the interstate, not bothering
to slow down even though the speed limit warned him to back it off.
If he went any slower he'd have to pull over and take Rebecca in
the car. That would be no good because he needed his big bed in
order to fully enjoy her.

His muscles twitched again when she squeezed
his thigh. "Hurry," she said.

"If I go any faster they'll throw my ass in
jail."

"No they won't," she responded with an evil
grin. "Martin knows the sheriff too well. Plus, you could always
use that R.J. charm on them."

"You mean the charm that always worked so
well on you?"

"It worked better than you think," she
answered quietly.

Luckily he lived on the edge of town, so they
reached his house that much faster. Which was a good thing because
he was about to shoot off in his pants. Rebecca had no idea how her
nimble little fingers really affected him.

He had the car in the driveway and was out
the door in practically one move. When Rebecca came around the car,
he took her hand in his, mostly because he needed to keep touching
her. Her skin was the softest thing he'd ever touched. As though
she'd never done a hard day's work of manual labor in her life.
Unlike him, who'd spent his days beneath the hood of a car, covered
in grease and abusing his hands.

Where he was rough she was soft.

And curvy.

She had curves in all the right places that
made him want to drop to his knees and howl at the moon.

He fumbled with the lock on the door like
some horny jackass who couldn't handle a key. Rebecca's insistent,
wandering hands didn't help. She kept cupping his rear end and
making his eyes cross.

"Stop if you know what's good for you," he
warned.

"Or what?"

He shoved her against the door and took her
mouth in his. Without hesitation, he swept his tongue inside her
slick heat, prompting a startled gasp from her. The kiss was hot, a
flat out demonstration of all their pent up sexual frustration for
each other.

"Or I'll take you right here where all my
neighbors can see," he whispered in her ear.

That shut her up.

Her teeth stabbed into her lower lip, which
was still damp from his ferocious kiss. But he could have sworn he
saw her smile, as though satisfied with herself.

Witch.

He'd show her satisfaction.

When he finished with her she'd have a smile
on her face like no man had ever given her.

He finally got the damn door open, mostly
because Rebecca had stop distracting him with her hands.

After kicking the door closed, R.J. whisked
Rebecca in his arms and carried her to the bedroom. She muttered
something about having to use the bathroom. He actually had no idea
because her face was buried in his neck and she kept sniffing.

Why were women always trying to smell
him?

Once in his bedroom, which seemed like a ten
mile walk, he dumped her on the bed. Not much finesse behind the
move, but there'd be time for that later. Right now all he cared
about was getting inside her.

He kicked off his shoes, then ripped his
socks off. "Clothes. Off," he ordered.

She sat up on her elbows and watched him as
he whipped his shirt over his head. "Wouldn't you rather take them
off yourself?"

He tossed the shirt on the floor and went to
work on his pants. "Next time. Just get naked."

Her eyes went wide and she fumbled with her
shoes. "Yes, sir."

That's right,
yes sir
. R.J had been
waiting for this moment for nine years, and he wasn't about to wait
another second. All he could think about was Rebecca and getting
lost in her. Feeling her hands on him and all that silky hair
tickling his nose and getting tangled in his fingers. Right now was
about the two of them and he planned on making every moment
something she'd never forget.