Where You Least Expect (14 page)

The whole situation was somewhat surreal. It was all so vivid, every kiss, every touch, every quiet moment, but in the evening that had passed since they’d been together, she’d started to wonder if she was misreading what had happened, or maybe making more of it than there had been.

While she was definitely no longer a virgin—and Lord how she’d thought about him above her, inside her, wishing she could feel that almost indescribable pleasure again—there was still something fantastical about the whole thing, like maybe, possibly it had all been a dream.

And if she was being honest, she was bone-deep terrified. What if he regretted what had happened? Her gut twisted at the thought, one that seemed more plausible with each passing second. What if, while she’d been replaying every moment in her head, he’d been lamenting the entire thing? He hadn’t contacted her either, a decision she’d hoped was born of something other than regret. Or maybe it had meant nothing at all to him. Ugh, she didn’t know which was worse, but this feeling, the swirling confusion that crowded her brain, was the reason she had to be careful, why she had to keep her distance, emotionally if not physically.

But she needed to put her emotions aside for the moment. Her car wasn’t getting any closer, and that walk wasn’t getting any shorter. So she bundled up as best she could, grabbed her keys, and walked out the front door, bumping into a retreating Joe.

She jumped, startled, and he turned, laughter—and was that guilt?—lighting his eyes at her no doubt ruffled expression.

“I know,” he said, the thunder of his deep voice surrounding her and soothing any irritation she felt, “I gotta stop sneaking up on you.”

After nodding curtly, she turned and locked the door, mostly using the motion as an excuse to break eye contact and to buy time so that she didn’t throw herself into his arms despite how much she wanted to.

“Well, what’s up?” she asked a moment later.

“I…” He trailed off and looked toward her driveway. “I wondered if you had thought about your car.”

“Yep,” she said, “I was just going to get it.”

It was his turn to look irritated. “Alone? Were you going to walk?”

“Yes. And yes.”

He gave her a chiding look that would have made her father proud. “Why didn’t you ask me?”

“Joe, I didn’t want to bother you. I know you probably have stuff to do, and getting Verna Love out of trouble should not be your job.”

Surprisingly, he chuckled and she returned the laugh on instinct, though she wasn’t sure what had triggered his humor.

“What?” she finally said.

He reached up and cupped her cheek, trailing his thumb along her jaw before letting it come to rest atop her thick scarf. It took everything she had not to burst into flames, his touch having ignited fierce desire inside her in a single instant.

“I was just thinking. If Joe MacDermid referred to himself in the third person, Verna Love would positively skewer him for his arrogant self-regard.”

His expression silently dared her to disagree, the laughter in his eyes deepening into lust and what she thought might be affection. She pursed her lips, hoping to convey displeasure, but she knew he could see right through it to the longing that she felt.

“Well, Verna Love does have a certain panache that others may not, so while you’re correct that she might ordinarily find that habit unfortunate, when she does it, it’s totally cool.”

Laughter, rich and deep, rumbled from his chest and she joined in.

A moment later he said, “It’s no trouble, Verna. You’re no trouble.”

Those simple, kind words softened her resolve and made it impossible for her to say no to his unasked question.

“I suppose you could give me a ride,” she said, her tone far more even and flippant than she’d thought she’d be able to manage.

“Yeah, I could do that,” he said. “And maybe dinner after?”

He looked at her with a heated gaze that promised so much more than sustenance, one she couldn’t wait to see later.

“What are you waiting for, Jojo? Let’s go.”

Chapter Twelve

Through some unspoken agreement, they’d fallen into a routine. Verna would spend all day sewing or sketching and he’d do whatever. Then, around dinnertime, maybe a little after, he’d call or come over and drag her to his place, where they’d share dinner, one that she usually prepared, her chiding him for the “totally illogical” way he’d set up his kitchen. At one point, she’d gotten fed up looking for something, and she’d spent three hours rearranging things to her satisfaction. But he hadn’t minded, because he’d had a chance to tease and stroke her, watch the fire of arousal light in her eyes as she’d tried to maintain her huffy exterior.

And then he’d gotten to make love to her right there in the middle of the kitchen. She still blushed when she looked at the spot on the floor where he’d stroked her with his tongue until she climaxed, an expression that made him want to do the same thing again and again.

In fact, he was still constantly surprised by how amazing sex with Verna was. It was dickish, he knew, but he’d kind of thought he’d be with her a few times, and then she’d be out of his system and then be free to move on, leaving him to do the same. But nothing could be further from the truth. Sex with Verna—he struggled mightily to keep himself from thinking of it as making love—was as combustible as the woman, sometimes funny, sometimes sweet, sometimes shy, and even pissed off on occasion. He feared he was fast becoming addicted to it. And to her.

And it scared the crap out of him.

Sure, some bedroom games with a friendly enemy were one thing, but somewhere along the way, it’d become something more than that, at least to him. He craved her, not her body, but
her
, the way she chattered, the way she swore, the way she asked a million questions about everything. Having Verna around had made him realize that he’d been so lonely for so long that he’d lost sight of what it was like to have someone in his life. Not that there’d ever been someone like her. There hadn’t. Ever. And that scared him even more, as did the way his thoughts strayed to her no matter what he was doing, and the way that he had to forcibly restrain himself from asking her to stay over at night.

She hadn’t slept over since the storm; he figured she didn’t want to wear out her welcome, so at some point during the night, whether they’d made love or not, she’d gather her things and leave, and he’d watch her walk across the lawn and into her house, biting his tongue not to scream at her to stay. He’d never even suggested it, and to his shame, preferred she think he didn’t want her over to having her find out the truth. He could barely believe it himself, but he wanted nothing more than to again hold her in his arms all night, wake up to her smiling eyes in the morning.

He’d also ignored her gentle overtures at spending time together outside of the house. She was subtle, well, as subtle as Verna could be, casually mentioning this movie or show or some place in Charlotte she wanted to check out. And while Joe hadn’t rebuffed her, he hadn’t shown any particular enthusiasm for the ideas either.

He couldn’t. In the confines of his home or hers, they were just Verna and Joe, but going out with her would give things a different dimension, one he wasn’t sure he was ready to confront. Which made him the world’s biggest asshole, as Verna had often proclaimed. He’d taken her virginity for God’s sake, knew her body and mind more intimately than he’d known any other woman’s, but something as simple as dinner scared the crap out of him.

He told himself he was doing it to protect Verna, that he wouldn’t want her to get the wrong idea, but that was a laughable lie. He was trying to protect himself, didn’t want himself getting the wrong idea, any more so than he already had. Because the truth was, he was completely adrift, didn’t know where he was headed, and Verna deserved someone who was sure, knew what he wanted to offer to the world. And that wasn’t him.

The irony of it was not at all lost on him. He could vividly recall Verna’s awful drunken words as she castigated herself for being a failure, but it was he who didn’t know what he would make of himself. And to make no mention of the guilt he felt. If another man was treating Verna as he did, he’d kick the guy’s ass happily and without question. He knew he was wrong, that she deserved more, but despite how wrong and unfair he knew it was, he hadn’t been able to let her go and didn’t know if he ever would.

Move it, Verna.

Case in point, he thought as he texted her. He should just let her be, maybe take a night off, especially considering the thoughts swirling in his head, but he’d dismissed the idea before it had fully formed. It had been almost eighteen hours since he’d last seen her, far too long in his book.

He walked from his kitchen to the front door at the sound of the bell and then let her in. He’d told her to come in whenever, but she hadn’t availed herself of the opportunity yet, and she still always rang the bell whether it was three in the afternoon or three in the morning.

“What took so long?” he asked as he ushered her in.

She swept into the living room and settled in her preferred spot, sighing dramatically.

“It was a tough day in the thread mines, Joey. Have you any idea how hard it is to execute the perfect slip stitch?”

“Don’t even know what that is,” he said, “but maybe this will make you feel better.”

He leaned down and covered her lips with his, thrilling at the way she opened to him automatically, let his tongue in to taste and tease her. When he pulled back, her eyes were bright and her breath a little more rapid than before.

“It’s a start,” she said with a mischievous glint in her eye.

“I live to serve,” he said. “And soup’s up in five.”

He headed back to the kitchen to finish preparing dinner. A few minutes later, he heard her walk up behind him.

“Hey, Joe, what’s this?” she asked.

He turned quickly, his gaze zeroing in on the paper she held and just as quickly, he turned away again. The silence stretched for a few moments, and then she cleared her throat.

“Sorry to pry,” she said, and then he heard the rustle of her clothing as she started to walk away.

“It’s okay,” he said, and then louder he repeated, “it’s okay. You’re not prying. I left it on the coffee table; it was practically an invitation to read it.”

He glanced at her and caught her quick smile, his heart stuttering at the sight.

“Have a seat,” he said, inclining his head toward the table. “I’ll explain in a minute.”

He could have talked as he worked, but he needed the time to consider what to say. Poole was the only person he’d discussed the topic with, and he still wasn’t sure how he felt about it, so he hadn’t wanted to share it with anyone else. But maybe this wasn’t a bad thing. Verna would be honest if nothing else, and she might have some insight that hadn’t occurred to him or his friend.

Plates in hand, he walked to the table and set one in front of her before taking the seat across from her. The paper that she’d brought from the living room sat on the table beside her, but she didn’t mention it.

“Thanks, Joe,” she said and then began eating.

“So,” he said after a few bites, “I’ve been thinking about changing jobs.”

She nodded, but didn’t speak.

“But I’d still be in the military.”

She stayed quiet.

“Except I’d be a teacher of sorts.”

“What? Like a drill sergeant?”

“No,” he said, “more specialized. The idea is that I’d train new SEALS, teach them how to execute maneuvers and stuff. I’d still be active though.”

She nodded again.

“So…?” he said.

“So?” she parroted.

“What do you think?”

“Is that what you want to do?” she asked.

He felt his frustration rising; if he knew the answer to that question, he wouldn’t be asking.

“I don’t know but that’s not the question.”

A quick glance revealed that she looked a little taken aback, so he lowered his voice.

“Sorry,” he said. “I just…I mean… Do you think I’d be good at it?”

He kept his gaze lowered for a moment and then, finally, looked at her.

And was floored by the luminous smile that met him.

“You’ll be the best!” she exclaimed, her voice full of enthusiasm and underscored by complete certainty. “I said ‘school for badasses,’ and that’s kinda what this is. Sounds like the best of both worlds in fact. You’ll get to blow shit up and beat up on newbs but get to chill a little and not go on so many missions or whatever the technical term is.”

She looked at him for confirmation, and he nodded.

“Great idea, Joe.”

“You sound very sure,” he said.

“’Cause I am. Your…foibles aside, I know you’ll give it your all and do everything you can to make the people you teach better soldiers. I can’t think of anyone who’d make a better tactical instructor.”

She said the last with a saucy little lilt in her voice that made Joe smile. The humor faded soon though, and he glanced over at her. Her expression sobered as she returned his gaze, and then, after a few moments of heavy silence, he spoke.

“I hate this, Verna,” he said.