Defending Serenty (2 page)

“Some women are more trouble than they’re
worth. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you of that,” Hunter
says.

I nod because he’s right, but it’s not going
to stop me and he knows it. He sighs. “Haven’t you lost enough
because of her?”

“Too much,” I agree. And I intend to get some
back.

I drink my beer and listen to them talk about
the legit businesses. The gym which we all have a stake in.
Walker’s garage, which it turns out I’m half owner of. Ryder and
Lake actually own a bail bondman’s company which blows my mind.
Hunter apparently has his fingers in quite a bit of local real
estate and construction. I know there’s other stuff. I’m not sure
why they’re keeping me in the dark. Maybe the gym isn’t safe to
talk. Maybe they don’t trust me anymore. One more thing Serenity
took from me. It isn’t long before the group splits up. Hunter
walks out with us, stops me at the car.

“Trace.”

“Yeah?” I ask.

He nods and cracks a smile. “It’s damn good
to have you home, brother. Walker will fill you in. We’ll talk
soon.”

I nod, still not quite sure how to read the
situation but willing to wait until I can get my brother alone to
chat. I climb in the car and we’re on our way. It’s only a few
miles until Walker pulls off the road into the garage’s parking
lot. We drive around back and I spot the small white house, which
looks exactly like the pictures Walker sent me. It appears to be
well cared for, with a narrow porch stretching across the front.
I’d expected to see it, to live in it, although I’m not sure if
I’ll ever consider it home.

To my surprise, a woman lounges on the porch
waiting for us. Her booted feet are propped on the rail as she
gently rocks in one of three rocking chairs near the door. Her long
legs are encased in jeans, and she wears a tight T-shirt with a
light jacket thrown over it. Her long brown hair is caught up in a
ponytail at the back of her head. My heart races when I realize who
she is.

I get out of the car and take my time
approaching her, halting when I reach the bottom step. Her feet
thud to the floor as she stands up and looks me over from top to
bottom, and then up again. She’s thinner than I remember, but
nothing else about her is different. Her eyes are still icy blue,
her skin still smooth and lightly tanned, freckles dust her nose.
Tempting red lips curl up in a slight social smile.

“You look good, Trace,” she says, in the
husky voice that haunts my dreams. My cock hardens in a half second
flat.

“Serenity.” My voice is hard. Edgy. I can’t
keep the anger from it and don’t really try. “I didn’t expect you
to be part of my welcome home committee.”

“I’m not.”

There is no change of expression on her face.
No sign she thinks of the past at all. Feels any remorse or guilt
for her part in my incarceration. It fuels my anger. I want to
shake her up, want to crack that serene composure to expose the
passionate woman underneath. I walk up the few steps, don’t stop
moving until I’m close enough that she is forced to tilt her head
back to look at me. Her eyes flash, but she doesn’t back away. She
thinks she can handle me. I see it on her face and almost smile.
She has no idea what I’ve become, but she will.

“Why not?”

She frowns. “Why would I be?”

“You’re the reason I was there in the first
place.” I let some of the rage I work so hard to control--at my
imprisonment, at her abandonment--color my voice. And wrapped up in
that rage is always,
always
, the lust. The craving for a
girl, a body, I’ve only had once. Her calm mask slips. So many
emotions cross her face, but the only two I care about are the
guilt and the desire. She gets control of herself quickly, hides
herself back behind that infuriating calm mask, but this time it
was okay. I know what she hides, know I can reach it. She steps
back, as if she finally realizes what kind of danger she’s in, and
looks around him to Walker.

“Can we go inside a minute?”

“Sure.” He steps to the door with a key.
Serenity shakes her head and arches an eyebrow, no doubt wondering
why someone would need to lock their door in tiny Madison. Well,
let her wonder. Walker extends his arm, like he’s a fucking
gentleman or something. I snort.

“After you.”

Serenity steps through the door and leads the
way down the hall to a small kitchen. I hate the suspicion that
snakes through me. How does she know my brother’s house so well? My
curiosity must show on my face, because Walker laughs.

“It’s not what you’re thinking, brother.”

Walker reaches into the refrigerator, pulls
out three beers and passes them around. Serenity twists off her cap
and takes a long swallow. I stare at the movement of her throat as
she gulps down the cold brew, wondering what it will look like full
of my cock. Tonight, I promise myself. I’ll have her tonight.

Serenity

I feel Trace’s gaze on me, and remember with
a start what drew me to him all those years ago. He has a way of
making a woman his complete focus, and the naïve girl I was hadn’t
stood a chance in hell against him. Good thing I’m all grown up
now.

But I’m dismayed to learn I’m not immune to
his intense masculinity. It takes all I have not to cross my legs
against the heat pooling in my pussy as his cool dark eyes spear me
with a mixture of lust, anger, and hate. I feel it like a blow to
my stomach. I didn’t know he
hates
me. And he wants me to
know it. Almost as much as he wants me to know he plans to fuck me
again. I can see it all on his face. In his eyes. This is a major
problem. I’m not sure if I can resist him if he touches me. I’m
pretty sure I don’t want to. I’ll probably melt at the first
stroke.

Walker clears his throat and I wrench my gaze
from Trace to see him leaning tense and coiled against the counter.
I almost laugh. Who does he expect trouble from? Anxiety stiffens
my muscles. Maybe from where he stands, it’s a toss up.

“I found your thief,” I say in the hushed
room. Then I take another draw of beer. It’s not my preferred
drink, but the situation and my nerves seem to call for it. I can
feel Trace’s focused gaze, can feel his intent, and struggle not to
respond to it. It’s a losing battle. I need to fill Walker in and
get the hell out while I still can. “You were right. Jimmy
Richards.”

“I thought so.”

I roll my eyes.

“You need to press charges, Walker.” I hold
my hand up when he starts to interrupt. “Not pressing charges is
just going to lead to more trouble for this kid.”

I know I’m wasting my breath. Walker ain’t
exactly clean. I know he strips cars. I know he’s involved with
underground fighting. And I’m pretty sure he’s got a nice sideline
in illegal loans. I can’t prove any of that and I’ve never tried.
Odd as it sounds, he’s my friend. As long as he’s staying away from
drugs or murder (though I wouldn’t put that past him either) I
won’t actively try to bust him. And he and his buddies are very
careful. They aren’t flashy. They don’t flaunt their money or
power. But I’ve seen Hunter Wallace in River City, the city just a
few miles from us, and in Montgomery and Panama City. He commands
respect without even trying and that says a lot. I know it’s time I
get out of this business. I don’t see in black and white anymore,
and it doesn’t feel right to keep doing police work. I’ve been on
the verge of making this decision for weeks now. But what else can
I do? I’m sure as hell not going dark side.

Walker shakes his head. “Trust me on this,
Lynn. He’s not a bad kid. He just needs a firm hand. A little
guidance.”

Fuck. Walker is smoking crack if he believes
that. From the corner of my eye I catch Trace’s incredulous look
and snicker. I don’t know what his objection is, but mine is easy
enough to voice. Jimmy Richards is a juvenile delinquent who is
fast on his way to becoming an adult delinquent. He doesn’t need a
firm hand--he needs to spend a night in my jail. I’ve told Walker
as much, but our conversation was frustrating and got me nowhere.
Just like now. Finishing the beer, I put it down and walk to the
kitchen door.

“Fine,” I say, hand on the doorknob. “Do it
your way. But the next person
will
press charges,
Walker.”

“There won’t be a next time,” he responds
calmly. “I’ll track Jimmy down tomorrow and put him to work. He can
pay off what he took that way.”

I roll my eyes. I’ll be amazed if that
straightens the kid up. Of all the hard cases I’ve known over the
years, Jimmy is at the bottom of my list of likely reformers. I
have to concede that maybe reformation isn’t what Walker wants. He
might want someone he can control. Who will work for him.

“You’re dreaming, Walker. Let me know if you
need me,” I add as I open the door, careful not to look at Trace.
If I do I know he will see I want him so bad I’m quivering inside.
If I see that craving reciprocated, I might throw caution to wind
and beg him to come over later. I’ve spent ten years building my
defenses and one touch will shatter them. I refuse to contemplate
what a rejection will do to me. “See y’all later.”

When I pull the door shut behind me, I
release a pent up sigh of...what? Angst? Lust? I don’t stop examine
it too closely. Can’t. Whatever I feel for Trace, whatever his hold
over me is, any real chance at exploring it ended years ago. I have
to focus on the life I have now and quit yearning for something
that never really was. And this fucking sucks because it’s so clear
to me now. Seeing him. I’ve led the wrong life. If he hadn’t gone
to prison, we’d probably be together. I wouldn’t be a cop. He
wouldn’t hate me. I want to sob but I know it’s my own damned
fault. I gave up and he knows it. There’s no way to go back now. I
just need to get someplace safe so I can have the mini breakdown I
know is coming. I can’t change the past. I can only deal with the
present. But it hurts and I need to deal with that. Accept it. I
need to get home.

Our little cove off the river is visible down
the slope of the backyard. Lit by the glow from the back porch and
the dock Christmas lights, I stroll that way, meeting the parallel
path and turning toward m house. Forcing my mind away from Trace, I
spend the five minute walk concentrating on work.

Something is very wrong in Madison, but I
don’t know what. Not yet, anyway. In the normal course of events
there isn’t much activity in our little town off the main flow of
the Chattahoochee. But a few days ago, someone turned in ten
thousand dollars found on the riverbank, and I have reports coming
in all the time of strange activity on the river. Boats running
without lights, and lights where there shouldn’t be any. Of course,
by the time I arrive on the scene each time, there are no sign of
anything. I regret I haven’t taken the incidents more
seriously—didn’t until the money showed up. Very stupid of me. We
don’t have much in way of crime in my town. The major stuff takes
place over in River City or down in Panama City.

My back porch comes into view and I quicken
my pace. The house is a replica of Walker’s, down to the peeling
paint. I’d caught the look on Trace’s face when I’d entered the
house and was familiar with the layout. For a minute, he had
actually wondered if I have something going on with his
brother.

I imagine my smile is bitter. No way. I’ve
learned my lesson about screwing the town bad boy. Then there’s the
small matter of conflict of interest. Hello? Cop and criminal? Very
bad combo. Walker seems to have it in his head I’m off limits,
anyway. We make for an odd friendship, but it’s real. Trace doesn’t
have a friendly bone in his body. Not that I blame him.

So why does his presence turn me on so much?
Even now my pussy is wet and throbbing. It’s a sensation I’m not
used to. The few men I’ve spent time with over the years never
turned me on the way Trace did when I was eighteen. I’ve started to
think that maybe I just have a very slow fuse. I groan. Apparently
not. I obviously have a thing for men who redefine the term
bad
boy.

I pause at the bottom step and look up at the
stars. Why did he come back? He is such a threat to my self
control. I’ve spent ten years paying penance for what happened
between us. Ten years dating the right kind of men. Okay, maybe
they were a little boring, but I’m a cop and they aren’t criminals.
A definite plus. Shaking off the funk, I jog up the steps and open
my back door.

I don’t bother with a light and stalk
straight through the kitchen to my bedroom, tugging my shirt off
over my head as I go. A bath is just the thing to ease the tension
strumming through me, and maybe I’ll use my new waterproof vibrator
for good measure. I peel off my jeans, step into the small
bathroom, and flip on the light. Doing a quick mental inventory of
what I need--a towel, a glass of wine, a book and the vibrator--I
hurry back into the bedroom and come to a complete standstill.
Trace lays stretched out on my bed.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Enjoying the view.”

He leers at me and I resist the urge to try
and cover myself. Instead, I give him my coldest look.

“Leave,” I bite out between clenched teeth.
“Before I arrest you for breaking and entering.”

He jumps up from the bed and looms in front
of me. I hate that I back up, and what is worse, his display of
aggression turns me on. Oh God, please don’t let him touch me.
There is no way I’ll be able to resist him if he closes the inches
separating us. His head dips down and my breathing hitches. This is
it. I’m a goner. He will either kill me or fuck me and I don’t
really care which. I’m an idiot.

“Waited ten years for this,” he murmurs
before catching my lips with his.

His tongue is slow and gentle as it slides
over my lower lip and pushes inside my mouth. Gliding over my
teeth, thrusting in and out, it is a tease of a kiss. Frustrated
with its taunting nature, I groan and lean into him, pressing my
breasts against his chest hoping to spur him on. He withdraws,
breathing hard from his effort to stay in control.