Stirring Attraction (3 page)

 

Chapter Two

“Y
OU HAVE FIVE
minutes to get off your ass and find your pants. Don't bother shaving. We don't have time.”

Dominic turned his back on the only appliance in the kitchen he gave a damn about—­the coffeemaker—­and faced the friend who'd saved his high school football team a time or two with a well-­placed field goal. But most of the time, Ryan had missed the uprights. And right now, the town rich kid turned air force officer had kicked one helluva foul.

“How did you get in here?” Dominic asked.

“Your super gave me the key,” Ryan said. His dress uniform sparkled under Dominic's crappy overhead lights. Between the severe look on his movie-­star face and the medals lining his chest, yeah, Dominic could see how the timid super had handed over the key. Hell, even Dominic was tempted to give in and pull a pair of jeans over his boxer briefs. Maybe find a clean shirt.

“Get dressed,” Ryan barked again.

“And if I refuse?” Dominic held tight to his steaming mug with his left hand. He'd given up on sleeping through the lingering pain months ago. Now, he sipped his cup of joe and tried not to think about the future.

“Three minutes now.” Ryan glanced down at his watch. “If it takes longer to find your pants and your wallet, I'm heading for an unauthorized absence.”

“You're a long way from base. I don't see how three minutes would make a difference—­”

“I need you to put down the coffee and put on your pants. They won't let you on the plane in your underwear. And if we miss this flight to Oregon, I won't make it back before my leave is up.”

Oregon. Ah hell.

“I'm not getting on a fucking plane. I don't give a damn who sent you to try and bring me home. I'm not going. You're risking your career for a lost cause.”

Ryan turned and marched the shiny-­ass shoes that matched his sparkly uniform across the apartment. Then he disappeared into the bedroom, leaving Dominic staring into the now empty living area. The space looked as if he'd hired one of the guys who'd served alongside him to play decorator. The worn brown leather couch pointed to a big-­ass TV mounted on the wall. A cardboard box sat in front of it.

When Dominic had first moved into the place, a ranger who lived down the road had stopped by for a beer. His buddy had turned over the box and declared it a coffee table. And now, months after leaving the only place where he had ever felt like he belonged—­the freaking army—­Dominic ate every meal with his feet on that box.

But the sorry state of his rental didn't leave him pining for his dad's farmhouse in Forever, Oregon.

His left hand tightened on his mug to keep his right from dropping the coffee cup to the linoleum. Sure, his brain had fired off the message—­hold on to the fucking coffee—­but the nerves in his right hand rarely listened anymore.

And neither did Ryan. He could hear his childhood friend opening drawers in his bedroom.

“Hey, careful with my dresser,” Dominic called. “I picked that up secondhand. The first owner didn't exactly treat it right.”

His friend from what felt like another lifetime—­those years before he'd joined the military—­ignored him and continued abusing his furniture. Ryan returned a minute later with a pair of faded jeans and plain red T-­shirt. “Put down the coffee,” he ordered.

Ryan tossed the clothes across the room. But Dominic didn't move to catch them. He'd spent the past few months learning his limitations. Thanks to a trigger-­happy terrorist, Dominic's right hand struggled to pick things up. And yeah, there was a laundry list of other things he couldn't do as a result of one bullet through the palm of his hand. Sure, the shots that had nicked his pulmonary artery had nearly cost him his life, but the bullet in his hand had changed his future. He wasn't a soldier anymore. Hell, he wasn't much use to anyone and he damn well knew it.

“If Noah sent you. Or my dad—­”

“No one sent me.” Ryan's mouth formed a thin line. Either the air force had knocked the playboy humor out of his childhood friend or . . .

Someone had died.

“I wanted to tell you on the plane,” Ryan said. “I came to drag your sorry ass back to Oregon because Lily—­”

Crash!

His good hand had taken a cue from his right and released the mug. Dominic struggled to stay upright.

“Not Lily,” he growled.
“Not Lily.”

Hell, she was the reason he stayed the hell away from Forever. She'd come to visit him in the hospital once he'd been transferred from Germany to a stateside facility. One look into those beautiful blue eyes and dammit, he knew why she'd come. Then she'd spelled it out for him.

Come home. Let me take care of you. This is our fresh start. The one we always talked about. We can get married and—­

“I have your attention now?” Ryan said. “Is that the magic word that will get you into your pants? Say her name?”

“What makes you think I still give a damn?” Dominic snapped. “We broke up months ago. For good this time.”

Ryan laughed, but the sound was brittle and harsh, devoid of genuine humor. Then he cocked his head and, staring at Dominic, said: “How many women have you slept with since Lily?”

“Fuck you,” he fired back. “I haven't spent the past year pining for a woman I can't have. That's your story. Not mine.”

“How many?” Ryan challenged again.

None.

He'd come close, messing around with a woman whose name he couldn't recall the next day. But he hadn't slept with her.

Because I didn't give a damn about her.

Because she wasn't Lily.

“You still care about her,” Ryan said firmly.

“Yeah,” he admitted. What was the point in denying it now? He'd missed his chance. Not that he had one at this point. “But she wanted a family. Marriage, kids. I sent her away.”

Because I knew I wasn't good enough for her. Too broken. Too battered.

Dominic looked up at his friend. “And now—­”

“She needs you,” Ryan said flatly.

“She's not dead.” Dominic closed his eyes and let the relief wash over him. It pumped through his veins, one wild rush, and then . . . shit, he felt as if he might faint, right here in his kitchen.

“No, man.” Ryan shook his head. “I would have started with the bad news if she'd been killed. And I wouldn't have waited five weeks to come get you.”

Five weeks?

He opened his eyes. Had his phone been ringing over and over, the caller ID flashing familiar Oregon numbers he didn't feel like answering, for over a month?

Probably.

“What happened?” Dominic demanded.

“Someone attacked her.”

The muscles in his messed-­up hand spasmed. He wanted to hurt whoever did this. Hunt them down and tear into the bastard who'd dared to touch his Lily.

She's not mine. Not anymore.

But dammit, there was one organ beating in his chest that hadn't gotten the message. He would never stop warring with the selfish part of his broken heart that begged him to go home and claim Lily, even though he knew she was better off without him.

“A stranger, possibly drugged or, hell, not taking the drugs prescribed to him,” Ryan continued. He spoke quickly as if reciting a report to his commanding officer. “He came at her with a knife while she was jogging.”

He let out a noise that sounded a helluva lot like an animal that had been hit. But this bullet, this list of facts, wasn't a kill shot.

“A fucking knife,” Dominic growled. “He attacked her with a goddamn knife.”

Ryan nodded. “Your sister tried to call you and fill you in.”

“I don't answer the phone,” he said as he sank to the floor beside the pile of clothes. Coffee and shards of his ceramic mug covered the T-­shirt and jeans. He didn't give a damn if the broken pieces cut into him and drew blood.

“Lily's out of the hospital and recovering fine.” Ryan claimed a spot on the floor beside him. “Except she's convinced that the cops, including your dad, have it all wrong. Lily believes she was targeted. According to your sister, the physical wounds are healing, but Lily's terrified. Hell, Noah gave her a job bartending at Big Buck's just to get her out of the house. But it has become clear to them that she's not sleeping. She's obsessed with finding out who hurt her.”

“And they think I can help her?” Dominic asked, his gaze fixed on the mostly empty living space. He holed up in here twenty-­four/seven most days, his feet resting on a damn box. He went to the gym and bought supplies. Nothing more. He'd even given up on the PT for his hand. It wouldn't make a difference. He'd already lost his place with the rangers. He'd lost his dream of providing that best damn future for Lily. He was freaking useless.

“Josie and Noah think that you can make her feel safe. She has driven almost everyone else out of her life,” Ryan said.

“Yeah, I'm on that list too. Only I shoved her out months ago. I don't think she'll welcome me back.”

“You're a ranger—­”

“Was,” Dominic cut in. He wasn't fit to help Lily now. And yeah, that fact hurt more than the bullets through his chest.

“I think she'd feel a lot safer with you watching her back than relying on your dad and his deputies. Your father's a good police chief, but he can't have cops patrolling Lily's street all night.”

Dominic nodded. Before he'd enlisted, he'd been a cop in Forever. And he knew the department wouldn't protect a woman twenty-­four/seven from a criminal they didn't believe had the first clue about where Lily lived.

The air force officer, the only one of the three of them still serving, pushed off the ground and adjusted his uniform. “So are you going to get off your ass, put on some pants, and get on that plane? Or do I need to tell my commanding officer that I won't be there Monday morning because I need to go hunt down a navy SEAL to watch over my best friend's ex because he was too chicken to do it himself?”

“I'll go.” Dominic reached for the jeans, shook off the pieces of broken mug, and started pulling them on. “Lily doesn't need a SEAL.”

And I'd bet the use of my left hand that she doesn't want me.

But he'd go. He'd look out for the woman he'd loved in what felt like another lifetime. Before a bullet had busted his hand . . . Before he'd lost his place with the rangers . . .

Once he knew that she'd found a way through her fears, he'd disappear again. He didn't have a clue what the future held for him, but he refused to screw with hers.

And hell, while he was home maybe he'd find the scumbag who'd taken a knife to his beautiful, perfect Lily.

 

Chapter Three

L
ILY TURNED THE
lock and flipped the sign indicating that the cows were home and Big Buck's Bar was closed for the night. Through the bar's front window, she saw a few college-­age patrons lingering in the parking lot and waiting for a cab. She'd personally placed the calls to Forever's lone taxi ser­vice ten minutes before closing. She might be serving drinks to keep busy until school started again—­and to keep her mind off the attack—­but she couldn't escape her instinct to look after students, whether they were five or twenty-­five.

“Would you like to have a drink before heading home?”

She glanced over her shoulder. The damaged skin on her neck pulled taut. Her wounds had scabbed over and healed. Mostly. The place where he'd slashed her neck had run deeper than the cuts to her forearms. And the wound on her side looked as if he'd tried to cut open her stomach and missed. The doctors had promised a quick recovery, going so far as to smile at the fact that “the crazy random stranger” had stopped short of doing permanent damage.

Lucky me.

But standing in the closed bar, she didn't feel lucky or healed.

“Sure,” she said to the dishwasher. Drinking with the reclusive Caroline sounded better than walking through the empty house she'd lived in her entire life. If she went home now, she would spend the rest of the night checking the locks and peering behind doors.

“Good. Wait here. I'll be right back.” Caroline offered a curt nod then headed for the swinging door that led to the back room. The Employees Only space housed the bar's office, spare liquor, the kegs, and the dishwasher.

Why did Noah's friend always sound like she was giving out orders? Lily wondered as she headed to the bar. She'd asked Josie and Noah about the quiet, petite woman who avoided the bar's front room whenever there were customers present. But Big Buck's owner and Dominic's little sister, who had somehow found their way to love and a baby after Noah returned from the army, hadn't revealed a word about Caroline.

Lily filled a clean pint glass with water and turned to the whiskey. She heard the door to her left swing open. “What would you like to drink?” she called to the other woman.

“What goes with marionberry pie?” Caroline asked.

Lily glanced over her shoulder and spotted Caroline holding what looked like a homemade pie with a lattice-­top crust. Caroline moved surprisingly fast, barely making a sound as she crossed the bar's wooden floorboards, despite wearing what looked like black steel-­toed boots.

Who wears combat boots to wash dishes?

But Lily forced the question aside and focused on the bottles lined up against the back of the bar. “I think an Oregon pinot noir would be best. Unless you would prefer whiskey.”

“I'll have a glass of the wine.” Caroline set the pie dish on the bar's polished wood surface. Then she reached into the pocket of her black cargo shorts and withdrew two forks. “Do you mind eating out of the dish? I didn't want to search for plates.”

“Or wash them later?” Lily said with a smile as she uncorked the wine and poured two glasses. She set them by the pie and headed for the ser­vice entrance to the bar. Lifting the piece of wood that kept the customers on their side of the space, she slipped out and headed for the stool beside Caroline.

Her coworker nodded, her long dark hair falling over her shoulders.

“You know,” Lily said, adjusting her stool so that she could still see the locked front entrance, “I've only been here a week, but that's the second pie Josh Summers has dropped off for you.”

“We're friends,” Caroline said in a tone that suggested she still didn't quite believe it herself. “And he likes to bake.”

“Friends with benefits? I grew up here, surrounded by loggers. I don't know many who spend their spare time testing new pie recipes,” Lily teased, sinking into the moment. When was the last time she'd sat down with someone and gossiped over a glass of wine? Ever since the attack, her friends and coworkers approached every conversation as if they needed to make it crystal clear they had all the sympathy in the world for her.

But she didn't want their pity. And she flat out hated it when they treated her like a child who simply didn't understand when she dared to bring up finding her assailant before he attacked her again.

“Just pie,” Caroline said. “I'm not ready for more. When and if I want to date, to have a relationship again, to fall in love, I doubt I'll still be here.”

“Planning to move back home?” Lily asked, raising her glass to her lips.

“Or just move on. I can't stay here forever.”

“Josh might follow you. I don't know him well, seeing as he went to school in Independence Falls. But we have some mutual friends. I've never seen him smitten or in a long-­term relationship. It's been a while since he started baking for you, hasn't it?”

Caroline nodded. “I first ran into Josh over a year ago. He'll probably come to his senses soon and move on. He'll start baking for someone else. So I should enjoy mine while I can.”

Caroline reached into the dish and withdrew a forkful of berries covered in crust. But before she raised the utensil to her lips, she glanced at the door.

Lily understood the instinct to search for threats, to anticipate, and to wait for the attack. It had only been five weeks, but she couldn't remember what it felt like to walk through the day without fear hovering close behind.

“Something happened to you,” Lily said, no longer teasing.

“Yes.” Then Caroline ate the piece of pie, chewing slowly before returning her fork to the dish. “I think that's why Noah and Josie asked you to cover for April while she's on vacation. They thought I might be able to help you. I know what it's like to feel hunted. To be convinced someone is after you.” Caroline glanced up and met her gaze. “And to be wrong.”

“I'm not—­”

“I'm not saying you are,” Caroline cut in. “Maybe the attack was intentional. Maybe the police are wrong.”

“They are.” Lily picked up her glass and swirled the red liquid.

“It doesn't change the fact that you look at the door, waiting for someone to burst in—­”

The unmistakable sound of a key in the lock silenced the conversation. Lily froze, her eyes focused on the door. It had to be Noah, didn't it? He was coming to check on the bar. Or maybe it was Josie. But why would they leave the baby in the middle of the night?

Her grip tightened on her wine glass, preparing to hurl it across the room at the man who might have stolen a key, waiting for his chance to find her and hurt her . . .

The door swung open and a large figure filled the doorway. The light from the parking lot made it difficult to identify his features. But she knew him. She'd know him anywhere.

“Now?” she cried as fury rose up partly driven by the pinot noir. But after all this time, how could Dominic Fairmore walk in holding a freaking key in the middle of the night?

Beside her, the dishwasher moved as if Lily's one-­word cry had been a directive. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Caroline reach for the pie dish. And then it was hurling through the empty bar. The pie collided with the target, covering Lily's ex with a mixture of berries, sugar, and homemade crust. The tin dish dropped to the floor.

“What the hell?” the man roared, whipping the pie from his face.

A year ago, Lily would have laughed at the sight of Dominic covered in dessert. She would have smiled and offered to help clean him up. She would have been happy he'd returned home. And she would have set aside all of the lingering heartache from their last and supposedly final breakup.

But too much time had slipped past. Too much had changed. And for him to show up now? In the middle of the night when her fear rose to fever pitch? For him to waltz in here without even knocking?

She felt Caroline's hand close around her arm and pull as if trying to drag her away. Lily grabbed her wine glass and hurled it at the door. She missed and the glass fell to the ground three feet in front of her and shattered.

“Turn around and leave, Dominic,” she snapped as she allowed Caroline to pull her behind the bar, into relative safety. Only she'd never be safe from the man she'd loved for so long, because he didn't aim for her face or her arms.

He went for the heart.

“You had your chance to come back,” she added as Caroline released her.

“Lily, please calm down,” Dominic called.

From their position behind the bar, she heard the door close. Caroline glanced at her. “You know him.”

She nodded. Caroline pushed off the ground without a word. And Lily followed her, turning to face the former love of her life, who had stepped just inside the door.

“Ryan dragged me back,” he said. “At Noah and Josie's request. How do you think I got the key? Or does your friend here throw food at everyone who walks into the bar?”

“It was the only thing I had,” Caroline said simply. “Noah locked up my gun.”

“Remind me to thank Noah in the morning,” Dominic said dryly.

His hands dropped to his side, abandoning the attempts to wipe away the pie that had hit its target with near-­perfect aim. Lily glanced at Caroline. She wasn't sure she wanted to see the dishwasher with a firearm.

Then she glanced back at Dominic. Marionberries clung to his beard. He'd always been clean-­shaven. But now, his dark hair was long and it looked like he'd lost his razor around the same time he'd kissed the rangers goodbye. She'd loved the hard lines of his jaw and the feel of his skin against her when they kissed. But this look . . .

She ached to touch and explore. He looked wild and unrestrained, as if he didn't give a damn, as if he didn't hold anything back. Her gaze headed south to the muscles she'd wanted to memorize before he left. He appeared bigger, more powerful.

Impossible.

He'd always been strong, able to lift her up and press her against the wall. He'd held her with ease while she fell apart . . .

And with that memory, her fury and her fear opened the door to another entirely unwelcome emotion—­desire. It was as if they were forming a club determined to barricade her heart, mind, and soul against the feelings that might help her return to her calm, steady life. But no, her unruly emotions took one look at the bearded, buff man in the bar and thought:
touch him!

Her feelings needed to shut the hell up, she thought as she stared at him. “Dominic, why are you here?” Lily asked. “Why did they
make you
come back?”

“To keep you safe.”

“You refused to come home after you were discharged, after you couldn't serve. But now you show up because Josie and Noah claim I need a bodyguard?”

He raised his right hand to his beard as if to remove the berries and then thought better of it. “Lily—­”

“Did they tell you that the police, including your father, think I was in the wrong place at the wrong time?” she demanded. “Did Ryan explain how everyone else believes he was just some crazy person who wanted to slash my face to leave scars . . .”

Her voice broke as his familiar green eyes shone with pity at her words.

“Yes,” he said simply. “Ryan told me.”

“So you came back to protect me from what exactly?” she said, hating that he looked at her as if she'd given in to fear. “My own shadow? The man out to get me that no one believes exists?”

He nodded.

No, no, no! I refuse to let him back into my life now.

“Well, if everyone is so damn concerned about me, if everyone thinks I need a bodyguard—­”

“It's not like that,” he said firmly. “They're worried and they want you to feel safe. It doesn't matter if someone is out there or not. If you don't feel safe, if you need someone to stand guard outside your house and watch the doors, make sure no one is climbing in the windows . . . I can do that.”

Lily let out a laugh. After all this time, after all her attempts to build a future with this man, he'd come back to patrol her street. But she wanted a false sense of security about as much as she wanted empty promises.

I'll try to make it work, Lil. I promise.

But then he'd deploy with his rangers and send an email listing a bunch of bullshit reasons why she was better off without him. And then after he'd been shot . . .

I'm no good for you, Lil. Look at me. I'm all busted up. I don't want you wasting your life taking care of me. You've done that once. I won't let you do it again.

Well, now she was broken too. And she refused to let him waste his time watching out for a threat he didn't believe existed.

No, she wanted security. She needed to feel safe to move through her life, knowing they'd identified and caught her assailant. But Dominic Fairmore was nothing more than a quick fix that would offer a false refuge only to pull it away. She couldn't trust him to stay, to help her, or to believe her.

“If I need a bodyguard, I choose her,” Lily said, pointing to the woman who wore combat boots to clean dishes. “I want the woman who knows how to throw a pie at my supposedly nonexistent bogeyman.”