The Braddock Boys: Brent Page 6

  “I don’t want a vibrator. I’m interested in a hand-held massager.” The customer rubbed at her neck. “For stiff muscles. The doc says it’ll help even more than the pain medicine. You sure you don’t have one stashed in the back?”

  The clerk shook her head. “We ain’t had none since Maybelle Dupree gave herself a bad burn last year, if you know what I mean. Elmer,” she pointed to the white lab coat-clad man who stood in the back measuring out a bottle of pills, “refused to stock anymore of ’em. Says he ain’t setting himself up for a lawsuit because half the women in this town are undersexed and don’t know how to read the operating instructions. It said plain as day right there on the label—For External Use Only. Why, she had to go to the emergency room and everything.”

  “I heard about that,” Charmaine said. “Heard tell it took three doctors and a nurse to dislodge the thing.”

  “It was four,” the clerk corrected, “and I heard there’s still a piece missing.”

  “No wonder she looked so happy when I saw her dancing at the VFW hall last week.”

  “Ain’t that the truth.” The clerk nodded, handing over the prescription and the woman’s change. “I heard Doo or Dye is offering massages now. Got one of the hair stylists doin’ it in between the perms and the colors. You ought to check that out.” The clerk turned her attention to Abby. “Name?”

  “Abby. Abby Trenton.”

  “Trenton with a T,” the woman murmured as she turned toward the massive drawers that lined the wall. “I’m afraid it’s not here. When did you drop it off, hon?”

  “I didn’t. I’m not here for a prescription.” She pasted on her most hopeful expression. “I was hoping I could ask you a few questions.”

  “Elmer,” the woman called over her shoulder. “Better get that space cleaned up back there. The Feds are here again.”

  “I’m not a government official.”

  One perfectly penciled eyebrow shot up. “Not even the IRS?”

  “No.”

  “Jimmy Jo’s Detective Agency? Landsakes, I told Elmer not to go off meeting that redhead from the diner for lunch. Pauline’s on to you,” she called over her shoulder to the man behind the glass partition. “I knew it was only a matter of time.”

  “We’re just friends,” Elmer called out as he filled a plastic container with tiny white pills. “She likes to play dominoes.”

  “I’m not a detective,” Abby told the clerk. “I’m a receptionist. From out of town. I’m here looking for an ex-boyfriend of mine. His name is Rayne Montana.”

  The woman’s gaze went wide with excitement. “You’re Rayne’s girlfriend?”

  “Do you know him?”

  “Everybody knows him, honey. He grew up around here. Lived his whole life just up the road.”

  “What about recently?”

  “Sure enough. He’s been living out at his grandma’s place just over the railroad tracks. At least, he was. I ain’t seen him around for the past few weeks. Not since he left on his honeymoon.”

  Abby had anticipated a lot of scenarios, but this hadn’t been one of them. “He’s married? Are you sure?”

  “Didn’t watch ’em tie the knot myself—they kept it small with friends and family only—but Milly Haskins heard about it from Darlene Chapin who heard from Ethel McIntosh who heard from her daughter, who’s a waitress at the bar where Lucy—that’s his wife—works. Said it was a nice little ceremony—rose petals down the aisle, huge flower sprays on every row, violin music and everything.”

  “Married?” She tried to digest the turn of events. He’d gone AWOL and endangered everyone in their unit to come home and get married? He’d never even had a girlfriend to Abby’s knowledge. Sure, he’d mentioned an old high school flame once or twice, but there’d been no letters from home. No trips back for the holidays. He’d always spent any time on leave volunteering for extra assignments. Keeping busy. Filling the void because he’d had no family to return to. No home.

  Abby knew the feeling because she’d done the same. With her father gone, she’d had no one to share the holidays with. Even before, they’d never celebrated much. No big turkey. No massive tree. No presents.

  Her father had believed in discipline and structure and self-sacrifice. There’d been no rushing down the stairs on Christmas morning. No rummaging through the stockings. No giggling and laughing over turkey.

  Not that she’d wanted those things. Okay, maybe she had once or twice, but the bottom line is that she’d been fine without them. She was fine now. And Rayne had been, as well. Or so she’d thought.

  “You’re sure we’re talking about the same Rayne Montana?”

  “Trust me. We ain’t got an overabundance of ’em around here. He’s spoken for, sugar. So if I was you, I’d head back home and forget all about him.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  The clerk arched an eyebrow and her eyes danced with excitement. “You ain’t knocked up are you?”

  “Of course not.”

  The excitement disappeared. “Then go home, get even and forget all about him. That’s what I did with Harley. He’s my ex. Broke up with me on the one year anniversary of our first date. Instead of showing up at my house with an engagement ring, he showed up with Ellen Carlysle. Told me they were running away together to Del Rio and that he wanted his pearl handle hunting knife back on account of they were going hog hunting together. I slammed the door in his face, put the knife up on eBay and then gave specific measurements of his privates on my Facebook page. Length and diameter. Then I headed down to the VFW Hall and found myself a new man, and that’s all she wrote.” She wiggled her ring finger. “Been married for over six months now.” She leveled a stare at Abby. “Forget about him, sugar.”

  “You don’t happen to know where he went, do you?”

  “Bermuda, I think. Or maybe it was Bali. Either way, there’s no sense running after him. He’ll be home by next Saturday. His wife starts summer classes at Travis County Community College the following Monday. She’s studying to be an interior designer. Good looking little thing.” When she realized what she’d said, she added, “Not as good looking as you, hon. You’re much prettier.” She swept a gaze over Abby. “I like the pink.”

  A rush of warmth swept through Abby. A crazy reaction considering she felt about as comfortable as a stuffed sausage. But she went a little warm inside nonetheless and for a split-second, she forgot all about Rayne and her desperation to find him. She thought about Brent and the fire in his eyes and she found herself wondering what he would think about the pink.

  Not that it mattered. He wouldn’t even see her in it for that matter, since she fully intended to stay as far away from him as possible while she was in Skull Creek. She didn’t need the distraction. She needed to concentrate on Rayne.

  He’d left the unit for a woman.

  As simple as the truth was, it only made the situation that much more complicated. It just didn’t add up. It would have been easy for him to leave the military with an honorable discharge rather than risk his reputation by running off. He could have left after his last tour to settle down and start a family rather than re-enlisting, which he’d done three times.

  He didn’t have to risk a court marshal.

  But he’d done just that. He’d gone AWOL and jeopardized his mission, not to mention his unit. Just like that.

  Because of a woman?

  The question dogged her as she headed down to the corner diner. It didn’t make any sense. A dedicated soldier would never do such a thing and Rayne had been one of the most dedicated. There had to be more to it.

  Not that it mattered.

  She was here to find him, haul him back and clear her reputation. Not uncover his motives. The MPs could take care of the hows and whys.

  She was here to bring him back, period.

  Which was exactly what she fully intended to do once he came back. And he would come back. He had a wife now. A family. A home.

  A pang of envy rushed through h
er before she managed to remind herself that she’d never been cut out for the home and hearth thing. She didn’t cook. She didn’t clean. She didn’t stay in any one place for more than a few months. Her job didn’t permit it, and her job was everything.

  “You’re military,” her dad had always told her. “It’s in your blood. It’s who you are. No sense denying fate.”

  He’d been right. The one time she’d tried to change her life, to put on makeup and dress up and be a normal sixteen-year-old girl, Hockey Hunk had laughed in her face.

  Abby ignored the strange sense of regret that rushed through her and pushed through the doorway of the diner. She spent the next hour eating chicken fried steak and verifying the clerk’s story. Rayne Montana had, according to Doris the waitress and Monty the cook and Ellen and Irma from the Ladies Auxiliary, gotten married in a small, private ceremony two weeks ago to a woman named Lucy Rivers. They’d left on a vacation to the Bahamas/Bermuda/Bala/fill-in-your-favorite-vacation-spot-that-started-with-a-B. While no one knew exactly where they’d gone, everyone said the same thing—they would be back in time for Lucy to start classes the following week.

  It was Saturday and Rayne was expected to return home a week from today, which meant the only thing for Abby to do was bide her time and wait.

  While she was relieved that she’d found him, she couldn’t shake the restlessness that settled in the pit of her stomach and followed her around for the rest of the day as she scoped out Rayne’s old house and visited the bar where Lucy Rivers worked.

  A crazy feeling because she’d done more than her share of surveillance over the years. She’d killed endless hours waiting for the right moment to strike. She’d spent one hundred and sixty-three days down in Guatemala watching the entrance to a cantina, day in and day out, and she hadn’t felt nearly the anxiety she felt when she finally made her way back to the motel.

  She pulled up next to Brent’s Camaro and awareness skittered up and down her spine.

  Her knuckles brushed the smooth black finish as she angled between the cars and headed for her motel room. Her hands trembled as she slid her key into the lock and opened her door. Her ears tuned, listening for any sounds, but the only thing she heard was the hum of the air conditioner and the click of her own doorknob.

  She tossed her keys aside, flipped on the TV and watched as Winona waltzed around a brass stripper pole and demonstrated proper hand technique when doing a spin. The sight was frightening (we’re talking a seventy-something-year-old woman), yet oddly fascinating at the same time. Abby had never actually seen a stripper pole, nor did she know what to do with one. Five minutes with Winona and she felt as if she could grab hold and work it out. She envisioned Brent parked in a chair, watching intently as she strolled back and forth in front of him wearing a racy outfit and sky-high heels. She dropped pieces here and there, teasing him, tempting him.

  It was the craziest fantasy because Abby didn’t do either when it came to men. But she wanted to.

  The realization hit her as she heard the shower turn on next door. The pipes grumbled and the water rushed and she knew that Brent was about to climb in.

  Her hands trembled and her nipples pressed tightly against the bodice of the sundress. But she didn’t just crave an orgasm. She craved the warmth that had rushed through her last night when she’d become aware that he was standing there, looking at her, wanting her.

  The surge of feminine power.

  The certainty deep inside that she was every bit the woman she tried so hard to hide.

  Just a woman.

  Soft and feminine and sexy and vulnerable.

  That’s how she felt when he looked at her. And while she couldn’t afford to feel that way in her daily life—her survival in the field relied on the respect of her men and the power of her authority—she had to admit that it was kind of nice. For now.

  She felt like a beautiful, desirable woman when Brent looked at her and that’s what she found herself wanting to feel again. Not just the sweet rush of warmth when she came, but the certainty that he wanted her and only her at that moment.

  She had no illusions that he felt more. He didn’t really know her. He thought she was the poor, jilted girlfriend, not some ball buster with the military. Should he learn the truth, she had no doubt that he would turn and walk away just like every other man in her past.

  Men were intimidated by her. They always had been and they always would be.

  But not Brent.

  Not yet.

  While she wasn’t fool enough to think the feeling would last—once he realized the truth about her, he would run the other way like every other man in her past—there suddenly seemed nothing wrong with playing dress up and indulging her feminine side in the meantime.

  She reached for one of the shopping bags and pulled out the silver strappy heels and the tight red dress she’d bought on a whim. Her memory stirred and she saw herself standing on the doorstep watching Hockey Hunk leave with the head cheerleader. It had been the most humiliating moment of her life.

  Because she’d put her heart on her sleeve.

  She hadn’t just liked Hockey Hunk. She’d loved him. After months of sitting across from him during tutoring sessions, rooting for him at every game, sharing her lunch on those days when he forgot his, she’d been head over heels for him.

  This was different.

  This was sex.

  And so she didn’t have to worry about making a fool of herself. She would be the one walking away this time.

  A thrill rushed through her as she ran her hands over the stretchy fabric. It was nothing like anything she would ever wear in real life.

  Which was the point entirely.

  To abandon her tomboy image and be the woman she’d never allowed herself to be. She was through wondering what it felt like to dress up and tempt a man.

  She was going to experience it firsthand.

  Starting now.

  10

  THIS WAS NOT GOOD.

  The thought struck even before Abby knocked on Brent’s door. He knew it the moment she made up her mind to stop resisting and give in to the lust that burned inside of her. It was a knowledge that had nothing to do with his heightened vampire senses and everything to do with the awareness that sizzled in the air around him. The expectancy that settled in his gut. As if something monumental was about to happen and it was just a matter of time.

  The feeling dogged him while he finished up his shower. Then a knock sounded on his door, confirming his worst suspicions. His heart skipped a beat as he stepped out of the shower. His hand trembled as he reached for a towel. Excitement zipped up and down his spine and he stiffened.

  The last thing he wanted was to see Abby on his doorstep. He needed distance. Safety.

  He wiped at the water dripping from his face and knotted the towel at his waist. Another knock sounded and his muscles clenched.

  He wasn’t going to answer. That’s what he told himself. He would pretend to be asleep and slip out once she’d given up.

  But then she knocked again and he caught a deep whiff of her sweet shampoo. He reached for the knob.

  “Yeah?” He hauled open the door and got the surprise of his afterlife.

  She looked nothing like the Plain Jane woman who’d followed him from the Dairy Freeze and everything like the woman he’d glimpsed last night in her bedroom. Sexy. Seductive. Irresistible.

  Her dress was short and tight, cut down to there and up to here. Red spandex hugged her voluptuous curves and left little to the imagination. And where there wasn’t shiny red fabric, there was skin. Lots and lots of soft, supple, tempting flesh that made his mouth water and his pulse race.

  He didn’t mean to stare. He meant to play it cool, to close the door and ignore her, but he couldn’t help himself.

  His gaze shifted up before sweeping back down and pausing several places in between. The smooth column of her throat. The frantic beat of her pulse. The bare curve of her shoulder. The deep swell of her luscious
breasts. The press of her ripe nipples against the thin material that barely passed for a dress. The flare of her hips. The long, bare legs that seemed to go on and on.

  “I hope I didn’t wake you up,” she murmured, only the faintest tremble in her voice giving away that she might be the slightest bit nervous.

  “I was in the shower.”

  “I see that.”

  And so could he. For a split-second, her guard faltered and he read the thoughts that raced inside her pretty little head. Her gaze drew him in and suddenly he was right there, seeing through her eyes, feeling what she felt, wanting what she wanted.

  He’d been partially hidden behind the door when he’d first answered her knock, but he was completely visible now. Visible and nearly naked, with only a towel slung low on his lean hips and water beading on his dark skin.

  Nearly naked and oh so close.

  She could feel the heat coming off him, smell the enticing aroma of clean soap and virile male. She took a deep breath as her eyes drank in the sight of him. The white cotton wrapped around his lean waist was in stark contrast to his tanned muscle. Broad shoulders framed a hard, sinewy chest sprinkled with dark hair that tapered to a slim line and disappeared beneath the towel’s edge. The same hair covered the length of his powerful thighs and calves. He was every bit as hot as she remembered and she gave herself a great big mental kick in the ass for not acting on her feelings sooner.

  She wanted him.

  Her body clenched and wetness rushed between her legs. She should have reached for him last night, pulled him down, invited him in. She’d held back. She was still holding back, but not because she was afraid. She wanted to fulfill her deepest fantasies. To tempt him with her body and lure him with her smile. She wanted him so hot that he couldn’t keep his hands off her. She wanted him to throw her on the bed and strip her bare and lick her from head to toe—

  “What do you want?” he blurted, killing the vivid image.