Man of Honor (Battle Scars) (8 page)

I’m glad they both love the job, but I wouldn’t trade my garage for any of it. I left my Special Ops days back in the desert, and the only mission I want to be a part of now is one that involves chrome and grease.

I can’t help watching Mea across the table. She’s chatting quietly with Greta and Berkeley, all three girls’ heads put together. Long blond waves, glossy raven locks, and wild, wild curls all put together in one spot. They’re a beautiful sight. But almost like she can feel my gaze, Mea glances up, and when her eyes meet mine a flame ignites inside me and shoots off like fireworks. She smiles, not her usual bright and shiny smirk, but an almost shy grin that tells me she’s feeling all kinds of emotions she doesn’t understand when it comes to me, just like I am when it comes to her.

I toss her a wink, and her tongue darts out to lick her lush bottom lip. That’s all it takes to send visions of her lying naked in my bed spinning across my vision.

Grisham leans over, his voice quiet. “Sparks are flying. You for real when it comes to her?”

I frown, glancing away from Mea to meet his gaze dead on. “I don’t know what this is yet. But I’m not planning on bringing more hurt into her life if that’s what you’re talking about.”

His blond brow lifts. “
More
hurt?”

There it is. After the way I saw Mea the night she was trembling from nightmares and tangled up in my sheets, I knew right then and there that something in her past had hurt her. Had changed her. Had made her into the strong, yet closed-off girl she is today. But no one else knows what I saw that night. There’s no one she’s let in to that degree. Not even her best friends. So I know that I won’t be someone who causes her to fall apart again. I could never do that to her.

“You don’t have to worry about her,” I tell Grisham, my voice gruff. “When she’s with me, she’s safe.”

He nods once, my admission clearly enough for him.

The thumping tones of a song that the girls love, something popular on the radio, begin, and they jump up to dance. Mea exchanges one last fleeting look with me before she’s swept away, and I zero in on her in the crowd. Around the hazy conversation of Grisham and Dare, I watch Mea as she shimmies her stuff on the little circle of wood. When a crowd of college-aged dudes begins to crowd in around our ladies, both Dare and Grisham start to pay attention. Our conversation drops as we take in everything that happens on the dance floor.

The girls are oblivious at first, just dancing in a circle and laughing at whatever silly move Berkeley dishes out. Mea’s the true dancer of the group; her body seems to move like a sultry snake to whatever rhythm the music plays, and it’s a damn sexy sight. The problem is, it’s a sexy sight to more than just me. One guy in particular, all decked out in his collared shirt and backward baseball cap, doesn’t seem to know any better. He swerves behind her, looking for his best way in. When Mea puts her arms up over her head to sway to the beat, he steps into her personal space and places his hands low on her hips. She instantly freezes.

Now usually, I’m not a jealous guy. I’ve honestly never claimed a girl as my own, so there’s never been any reason for the envy to take over. But the memory of what happened when the guy at See Food grabbed her, combined with a spark of rage at another man’s hands on her body, have me out of my seat before I know what I’m doing.

It takes me about four strides to eat up the distance between me and the dance floor, and then I’m forcibly stepping between Mea and the college D-bag.

“Fuck you, dude. I don’t see your name written on her.” College boy clearly isn’t happy with the way things are going down. His friends are nowhere in sight, and Dare and Grisham are standing right beside me. Not that I need ’em.

I flick my hand back toward the tables. “You should have looked a little closer, then.” He opens his mouth to spit back, but then I pull myself up to my full height and advance on him. He looks up at me, and then out at the sheer width of my body before taking a couple of steps backward.

“It’s cool, man.” He raises his hands and turns away.

Berkeley is grinning from ear to ear at my streak of green, but Greta is eyeing Mea with concern.

“You okay?” she asks over the thump of the music. “You don’t look so hot.”

Glancing down at Mea and stooping a bit so I can see her face, I notice that she’s lost some of her color. When I rub my hands down her arms, they’ve broken out in goose bumps, and I can feel the slightest shiver in her muscles.

It’s so similar to the reaction she experienced at See Food, and my brain rockets into overdrive to try and compensate for it.

“You ready to go?” I ask her, my voice low and close to her ear so that she can hear me.

Looking up at me with wide eyes, she nods.

I bark a quick good-bye to Dare and Grisham, while Mea gives a weak smile and wave to the girls. Then I’m grabbing her hand and making our way out of the bar as quickly as I can without picking the little thing up and running with her.

Once we’re seated in the Challenger, the quiet is eerie compared to the noise of the bar. But I can finally really assess her without all of the distractions. Her face is glowing orange in the light from the dashboard, and when I gently take her hand in mine, she doesn’t pull it away.

“Are you ready to talk?” I ask, keeping my voice quiet so I don’t startle her.

A thousand emotions cross her face all at once, and every single one of them makes me want to pull her into my arms and never let her go. I don’t know where this protective instinct is coming from. I mean, sure, I served in the army where it was my job to protect people. But this is different. It’s my personal mission to make sure that at any given time, Mea isn’t hurting or feeling pain. I carry her happiness on my shoulders, and it’s a load I know I can bear for miles.

“I think…” In the silent car her whisper screams at me. Or maybe it’s because I’m so completely tuned in to her that to me, her whisper will always seem like a shout. “I think that when I’m ready to talk about it…you could be the one I tell.”

We stare at each other for a long minute after that, neither of us speaking, but her hand clutches mine.

“Can I…” She trails off. Her eyebrows knit together and the little frown lines on her forehead tell me she’s reconsidering what she’s about to ask.

God, at that moment, with her eyes so big and bright in the darkness of my car and her hand so tightly squeezing mine, I’m pretty sure I’d swear to give her the world.

“Anything, sweetheart.”

“Would you sleep beside me again tonight? The nightmares are coming…and when they do, I don’t want to be alone.”

If you had asked me a year ago how it felt to have your heart broken, I would have told you some sad story about growing up with a mom like mine. And then about how it felt to know that I left her by herself as soon as I could get out. It’s been eating me up alive since her death, knowing that maybe I could have done something to change her life, but I didn’t. I just left and never looked back. Made something of myself, but didn’t reach back to pull her up with me.

But now…hearing Mea’s request?

I’m shattered.

This
…this is how a heart breaks.

And I’ll deny her nothing.

W
ow. This place is super nice.” I turn in a slow circle in the living room, stopping to focus on the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the lush and fancy Forsyth Park.

The three-story, white brick home Berkeley’s parents rented for us is right in the heart of the Savannah’s historic district. The picturesque street is lined with huge old oak trees draped with Spanish moss. The streets are always occupied, either by cars, people, or horses and carriages. It’s my first time in this city, and its energy is invigorating me in a way I essentially needed.

As a group, we take a tour of the house. Our shoes echo across the maple hardwood floors as we take in the ornate walls covered in colorful hues of wallpaper, the gorgeous, comfortable furniture, and the accented ceilings. On the ground floor is a large eat-in kitchen with a center island. The cabinets are white and detailed, and there are stainless steel appliances for all the cooking we won’t be doing over the long weekend. There’s also a great room with a flat-screen TV above a redbrick wood-burning fireplace. Comfortable seating lines the room, and there is one wall of bookshelves filled to capacity. A dining room completes the floor, laid out to the max just like the other rooms.

The second floor has four bedrooms, each one beautiful. I find myself falling in love with the “lavender” room. The huge four-poster bed is lined with a lavender and white patchwork quilt. White wallpaper with small purple flower buds just gives me a feeling of whimsy—something brand-new and exciting.

I want to do so much yoga in this room.

“Mine.” I sigh, rolling my suitcase in with me and flopping backward on the bed.

Berkeley laughs and scans the room. “Yeah, this is perfect for you. Want to stay here and get settled while the rest of us pick our rooms?”

I nod, sitting up on the bed and perching cross-legged. The rest of the group files out of the room. All except for Drake, who leans against the walnut wood doorway with the coiled, quiet confidence that makes him so damn sexy. He studies me.

We were a three-car caravan on the way down to Savannah. I rode shotgun in Berkeley’s Escalade, with Greta, Grisham, and Berkeley’s friend Olive, who works with her at the interior design firm. Also squeezed into the third row with her was Dare’s friend Ronin Shaw, who also works special security services at Night Eagle. Ronin and Olive were smushed in pretty tight in the backseat, considering all of the luggage, but neither of them seemed to mind. They were either giving each other sideways glances or talking quietly together. It was kind of cute, and it makes me wonder if maybe there’s some chemistry between them that will one day catch fire.

The car in front of us, Dare’s big red Ford F-250, housed the rest of the guys. Drake rode up front while Jeremy Teague, another security specialist and ex-army dude from Night Eagle, and Dare’s brother Chase rode in the back. Chase’s wife, Shay, would have come, too, except she’s very busy taking care of their toddler at home.

After everyone else is gone from my room, Drake sizes me up. “You want me gone too, sweetheart?”

Ohhh, Lordie.
Every single time the word
sweetheart
rolls off his tongue, shivers roll up and down my body like they’re riding a current of heat. His deep, dark voice just does something sinister to my insides, and it’s not the kind of sinister I want to run from. It’s the kind I want to dive into and roll around in.

“Well, I dunno, Drake. What’s everyone gonna think if we share a room?” I grace him with a coy smile from my spot on the bed.

Like a stealthy predator, he moves farther into my new bedroom. “Don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks, baby. Only care about making sure I’m the one warming your bed at night.”

Drake in my bed…the thought brings flames of heat creeping into my cheeks. I like him there…he’s been there for me a few times since the night I asked him to sleep beside me. It doesn’t matter who’s bed we’re in…I feel comfortable sleeping beside him. Safe. Protected.

And it scares me to death. Depending on him could be dangerous…but I haven’t been able to stop myself from walking right into his arms.

I suck in a breath, and creep backward on the bed. I’m still not sure I’m ready for everything this big, sexy, deep and dark man is willing to dish out. “I have an idea. Why don’t you go and pick a room. You can keep your stuff there, and I’ll keep my stuff here. But if there’s ever a time during the night that we want to be together, well…” I trail off suggestively.

I want to be with him in the worst way. But that’s what scares me most. Being with Drake, giving him all of my mess-up bits and pieces, might pull me so far apart I’ll never be put back together again. And my head’s a mess, thinking about the possibility of having to see my father again. I still haven’t given my aunt an answer about whether or not I’ll attend the parole hearing. I’ve been wanting to talk to Drake about it, but I haven’t found the right words. And now the hearing is only two weeks away.

Drake backs up. “Sounds like a plan. I’ll see you later.”

He disappears from my room, and I sigh a sigh that could be heavy with either disappointment or relief.

I’m just not quite sure which.

I spend a little bit of time unpacking and admiring my room until the evening sky tells me I should be getting dressed for dinner.

For the first week of March, it’s unusually warm. It’s not a surprise, considering the easy winter we’ve had down south. So I put on a little black dress. I leave my hair free flowing and wild, and apply a bit of makeup. Mostly bronzer, to give my face a slight shimmer for the evening in Savannah.

By the time I make it downstairs, everyone is already there. They stand around the island in the large kitchen, discussing the dinner reservations we have for tonight at an exclusive restaurant in downtown Savannah.

“I think we can walk there from here,” Dare is saying.

Greta looks at him like he’s lost his mind. “In these heels? Ain’t happening, man.”

Berkeley giggles. “Maybe we could take a couple of carriages? I’ve always wanted to ride in one!”

The way Dare looks at her in that moment needs no words. He’d move heaven and earth to get her whatever she wants. And I know without a doubt that we’ll be riding to the restaurant.

From where he’s standing by the wet bar, pouring himself a drink that I know to be whiskey, Drake turns and meets my gaze. The temperature in the room instantly rises two degrees just from one look alone. I nod toward the glass in his hand and he shrugs as if to say,
We’re here to party, right?

Frowning slightly, I try to remember the last time I saw him
without
a drink.

In the few years that I’ve known Drake, he’s never been much of a drinker. He would be the guy who when out with his friends would nurse one or two beers the entire time. Not until that first night a couple of months ago at See Food—the day of his mother’s funeral—had I seen him with a glass of straight liquor.

My frown deepens when he raises his glass to me.

Sidling over to where he stands, I nudge him with my shoulder. The damn mountain of a man doesn’t even budge. “Starting the party early?”

He gives me an amused glance. “It’s a party, isn’t it?”

I shrug. “Is it? We’re just getting ready to go to dinner.” I scan our group. Everyone is getting ready to walk out the door.

“Guess I better finish this, then.” Drake downs his whiskey and places his hand on the small of my back. As soon as he touches me, heat radiates through the fabric of my dress and straight through my skin. Heat flushes my face, and my eyes hood as I look up at him.

Leaning down, his lips brush the shell of my ear, and my knees wobble slightly. “You look amazing, tonight, sweetheart. Really beautiful.”

He’s decked out in all black. Black sweater that hugs the bulge of his biceps and gives just the barest hint of the chiseled beauty of his chest and abs. Charcoal gray slacks. Drake never wears slacks, but it’s nice to know that when the occasion calls for it, he can fit the bill. The pants fit him just right, and I already can’t wait to watch him walk out the door so I can ogle his perfect ass. He’s missing his usual black combat boots, instead rocking really nice black suede brogues.

“You clean up nice, Sullivan,” I mutter as I follow our group out the door. His chuckle, rumbling behind me, chases the shivers up and down my spine.

The restaurant Dare and Berkeley have chosen is actually a renovated historic mansion. The Olde Pink House is straight up not my usual scene, but I can always appreciate good food. The charm of the place has mesmerized me. Completely pink on the outside, the inside is gorgeously redone in the style of the old South. Tons of molding, dripping chandeliers, and old hardwood floors make this a building I want to explore for hours. As I’m studying the menu, my eyes widen, because I definitely have not budgeted for this type of place. I really have no business even sitting here. I’m not sure what to do. Order an appetizer only? Just one drink and a salad? At these prices, one drink and one entrée would mean I can’t pay my utility bill this month. I continue scanning the menu, trying to be as nonchalant as possible while I’m having a minor panic attack inside.

Jeremy Teague, who I’ve learned is kind of a jokester, whistles. “Whew! You trying to break the bank on dinner the first night, huh, Conners?” He glances at Dare and winks, letting his buddy know that he’s kidding. Jeremy shakes his head, his short blond ponytail bobbing against the collar of his starched white shirt.

No kidding
. Fire forms a blush in my cheeks, but I’m once again grateful that my skin tone most likely hides it. That and the flickering candlelight in the center of our table. Berkeley gushes that she can’t wait to sink her carnivorous teeth into a steak, her fiancée agreeing wholeheartedly. Greta, a foodie and a whiz in the kitchen herself, is comparing each item on the menu in great detail while Grisham listens closely, happy to follow her lead. After all, she’s the one who introduced the boy to grits.

Drake leans over, his movement subtle and smooth. “So what do you think looks good, sweetheart?” His voice, meant just for me, makes a flurry of wings beat frantically in my chest. I react to him like a schoolgirl, and it’s a fact that would usually annoy the hell out of me. But at this moment in my life, with Drake, it seems right.

His large hand lands on my thigh, and it feels like it could wrap fully around my flesh if he only squeezes. I swallow hard as I peek over at him. “Um, I love a good salad with some kind of protein in it. Chicken or shrimp, maybe. But—”

At that moment, the waitress arrives to get our drink orders. I sigh, and Drake appraises me. His shrewd glance narrows as everyone orders what they want to drink.

“I’ll have a whiskey, neat, and she’ll have a sangria.”

The table stares at Drake, and then at me. Chase snorts, glancing back down at his menu to cover his laughter. Ronin Shaw, who also works with Dare and is more reserved than Jeremy, gives me a curious glance.

There’s been more than one friendly gathering that we’ve both attended where conversation has flowed easily between Ronin and me. With his dark brown hair curling around his ears, bright green eyes, and his olive complexion, he’s completely gorgeous in a way that stands out in a crowd. But it’s been a while since the last time we talked, and I haven’t been able to see much past Drake for over a month now.

I mean, hell, I
do
love sangria, but Drake ordering for me? It causes my blood to boil with irritation at the same time it soaks my panties with lust. What the hell is this man doing to me?

I clear my throat. “Thank you, Drake.” The sangria was one of the special drinks the server announced when we were first seated, and I thought it sounded delicious.

“Yeah, girl. Can’t wait to try that sangria.” Berkeley covers her grin with her hand, and I shoot her a warning glare. She’s sending me a mixed message and she knows it.

The other members of the group who don’t know Drake and me that well go right back to their conversations, but Berkeley, Greta, Grisham, and Dare continue to dart curious glances in our direction.

“I hate being the center of their attention,” I hiss quietly to Drake.

He grins, suddenly reaching around me and pulling my chair closer to his. I gasp. “Know you do. Might as well give them something to stare at.” He bends down and inhales at my neck, sniffing deeply and running his nose along my skin. My thighs instantly squeeze together as my toes curl in my peep-toe pumps.

Oh, my God. If he keeps doing shit like that, I’m not going to make it through this dinner.

“Dinner’s on me,” he whispers, moving a tendril of hair away from my ear so he has more access.

I shake my head. I want it to be firm, but he’s turning me into something wobbly and gelatinous. I just want to close my eyes and lean into him and offer him as much of my body as he wants to take. Just the thought of it makes my skin flush hot and has memories of the way he worshipped me with his hands and his tongue chasing each other through my head.

Oh, crap.
I actually had closed my eyes during my little trip down memory lane. It’s been weeks since I’ve been close to Drake that way, and I realize I’m craving him the way an addict needs a high. When I look at him, he’s staring at me with such lustful intensity I almost moan with my own desire. His eyes are gleaming with his secret knowledge, the knowledge of exactly what I want and how I want it.

Finding my voice, it’s low and raspy. “You…you don’t have to pay for my dinner, Drake. I can get it.”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he says. “I think you can do just about whatever you put your mind to. But tonight, you don’t have to. Let me do this.”

I study him for a long moment, searching for any sign of pity or expectation in exchange for him picking up the tab on my dinner. I find none of it, and finally, I nod my assent.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

Then, just to make him squirm, just to make him know a fraction of what I’m feeling, I place my own hand on his rock-hard thigh. He tenses. I squeeze. He swears under his breath. Now it’s my turn to lean in. “I can’t wait to see you in my purple bed tonight.”