Mixing Temptation

 

Dedication

For Amanda, thank you for opportunity to write Caroline and Josh's story!

 

Acknowledgments

T
O ALL MY
wonderful readers, I have a secret to share with you. Caroline's story was never part of my plan for this series. When I initially proposed this series, I'd planned to keep Caroline and Josh in the background. But some characters demand their own story.

I first met Caroline while writing
Serving Trouble
. I was researching something else and stumbled upon an article about a woman who'd gone AWOL after she was sexually assaulted while serving in the military. I looked for more first-­hand accounts and interviews with veterans and active duty women who suffered from MST (military sexual trauma). A feeling of helplessness filled each story. For many, they felt that there was no way out of the situation.

The more I read, the more time I spent with Caroline—­I couldn't leave her in the background. She deserved her own story. And I won't lie. This is the hardest story I've ever written. There were so many times when I wondered if another writer could tell it better. I feared I would not be able to do justice to her plight.

I took extra time thanks to my wonderful, supportive editor. Thank you Amanda and everyone at Avon Impulse for allowing me to follow my heart with this story! I also owe my family a debt of gratitude (and cupcakes for the kids when the book releases!) for allowing me to disappear for hours and sometimes days at a time to write.

A huge ‘thank you' to Jill Marsal for being the best agent ever (too many reasons to list!). And for negotiating extensions as I tried to find a happy-­ever-­after to a situation that so rarely results in a positive ending in everyday life.

I also want to give my little street team, Sara Jane's Seducers, a shout-­out! I shared my frustrations and sneak peeks with this group of readers. In return, they drove me to finish this story. And to all of the readers on Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads, Amazon and other social media/review sites who took the time to read and review this series, thank you!! I hope you fall in love with Josh and Caroline.

 

Contents

 

Prologue

N
EVER TRUST A
man's smile.

The full moon shone down on the small clearing between the fir trees like a spotlight. Positioned high in the Oregon night sky, the beam of light narrowed in on the tall, broad shouldered man with curly red hair. He wore faded blue jeans, a button-­down green flannel, which hung open to reveal a white T-­shirt, and a smile.

Run.

Caroline Andrews glanced at the tattered black sleeping bag resting on the forest floor. Her backpack sat next to it. But her gun was safely tucked into the waistband of her black cargo pants.

“Evening, ma'am.” The greeting slipped through his smiling lips as he raised his right hand. She reached for her weapon. But before her fingertips touched the barrel, the man's fingers brushed his red curls. Caroline slowed her movements. Still, she kept her hand close to her gun, ready to pull it free from her pants if he gave her cause.

Look at that smile . . . You can't trust him.

Once upon a time in a war zone, her commanding officer had smiled at her. She'd mistaken the curve of his mouth for a gesture of friendship, a signal of comradery in a place that chafed at her nerves. They had arrived in Afghanistan on high alert, ready and waiting for an attack. And she'd kept her guard up.

Until that bastard smiled. . .

She'd anticipated violence and pain. She'd met soldiers who'd lost limbs completing ordinary tasks. Driving a truck from point A to point B. Walking across the base they called home. But no one had warned her that her attacker would win her trust first.

Caroline had walked away from her second tour through Afghanistan with all her limbs. But she'd learned that trusting a man's smile led to trouble.

“Evening,” she called back, her voice hoarse. She'd spent the past week traveling through the woods, heading north to small-­town Oregon. Timber Country. And home to her fellow Marine Noah Tager. Noah didn't smile much since he'd left their unit. But she trusted him. He'd stood up for her. And he would pay for it if she didn't warn him soon.

“I'm sorry,” the grinning redhead said. “But you can't camp here. This is private land. No trespassing and all.”

“Trespassing,” she repeated. After months of evading the cops, she couldn't waltz straight into their grasp, arrested for camping on private land when she thought she was still in the government-­owned forest. Not that the police were actively looking for her. But still, there was a federal warrant out for her arrest.

He nodded, his oh-­so-­suspicious grin fading. “The crew will be here before dawn. We start harvesting in the morning. The BLM hired us.”

She nodded. So she'd been right. The Bureau of Land Management owned this section of forest. Not that it mattered now that she'd been discovered.

And his smile vanished completely. “Look, if you're here to protest—­”

“No,” she said quickly. “I'm heading to Forever. The college town. My friend lives there and I need to find him.”

He cocked his head. “You're almost there. In fact, you're a mile, maybe two, from the Forever town line. I'm headed there myself. I could give you a lift. What is your friend's name?”

She could hear the suspicion in his tone even though she'd bet the last twenty-­dollar bill in her possession that she looked nothing like your typical protesting hippie, tree-­hugger type right now. Although it had been a long time since she'd brushed her hair—­she'd forgotten to toss a comb into her pack—­and she desperately needed a shower. But while her last deployment had stripped away pieces of herself, she still walked, talked, and stood like a Marine.

“First, I need your word that you won't tell anyone I'm looking for him. Someone is after him—­after us—­and if anyone learns that I'm here . . . He's already in danger, so I need you to promise.”

His red-­gold eyebrows lifted. With the moonlight streaming down on his face, she read his wide-­eyed look and it said: ‘OK, crazy-­pants.'

“All right,” he said slowly.

“I'm looking for Noah Tager.”

His expression blossomed into another smile. “Looks like you got lucky.”

“I doubt that,” she muttered. Luck had abandoned her the day she took an oath to defend her country.

“We'll chalk it up to coincidence then. My brother is over at Big Buck's right now. I'll give him a call and see if Noah's tending bar tonight.” His right hand slipped into his jeans' pocket and his brow furrowed.

“I left my phone in my truck,” he explained as he pulled his hand free and took a step back. “I'll grab it. Wait right here. After we give him a call, I'll drive you over.”

Accepting a ride from a smiling stranger? Impossible. And she doubted he knew Noah. The pieces fit too perfectly. Logic told her the charming redhead planned to alert the authorities.

Run.

“What did you say your name was again?” he asked.

She debated lying. But if he was telling the truth and if this smiling stranger knew Noah, then he could tell her where to find him. She took a step back and lowered to the ground, keeping her gaze fixed on him while she reached for her backpack. “Caroline. And you don't need to give me a lift. Just tell me where to find him and I'll go there.”

“I know I look like the big bad wolf, but you can trust me.”

Not the wolf,
she thought. If he walked off the pages of a fairy tale, he'd be mistaken for a prince. The savior. The good guy . . . In another lifetime, she might have returned his smile and climbed into his truck.

“No, I can't,” she said flatly. “I can't trust anyone.”

“Noah can vouch for me,” he added, still oozing confidence and carefree charm as if nothing ever went off course in his life. Then he turned his back on her and disappeared into the trees.

I could have shot him in the back.

She would never take out an innocent bystander. Hell, she'd never even taken a life. Yes, she could handle a firearm. But she'd driven and repaired trucks for the Marines. Not a lot of ‘shoot to kill' missions when it came to replacing belts and changing tires.

But he'd walked away as if he trusted her, as if he knew she wouldn't retrieve the gun from her waistband and aim it at him.

Once upon a time, she had walked past fear. She'd shouldered her gun and reported for duty. She'd driven roads potentially littered with IEDs. Fighting alongside men twice her size, she had pulled her weight. And sometimes, while she ate a rushed meal and joked with men she'd considered friends, she'd laughed and relaxed into the feeling that she was one of them.

But her fairy tale had veered off course. Her commanding officer had given the big, bad wolf, the fire-­breathing dragon, and every other make-­believe monster a run for their money. Because rape did not belong in fairy tales. And rape under command, under the order of someone she'd sworn to obey, a man she'd risked her life for? Her reality was a living, breathing nightmare without a happy-­ever-­after ending in sight.

And she could no longer walk through fear any more than she could march through a forest fire. It held her back, always threatening to consume her. Right now, there was only one way to survive.

Run.

She shouldered her pack. Then she took a knee, rolled up the sleeping bag, and tucked it under her arm. She heard the crunch of leaves. He was coming back. Slowly, she slipped into the forest he'd accused her of trying to protect. But right now, she needed to find Noah and keep him safe. She couldn't rescue the trees. Hell, when all was said and done, she probably couldn't save herself.

Tonight had proved one thing. It was only a matter of time before the past caught up with her. The police, the man who'd raped her—­someone would find her. And when they did, they'd take away the only thing she had left—­her freedom.

J
OSH
S
UMMERS STOOD
in the empty clearing and made a silent promise. Tomorrow, he would apologize to Caroline—­if that was even her real name. Of course, he'd have to find her first. In the time it had taken him to return to his truck, she'd run. And replaying their conversation in his mind, he couldn't blame her.

He should have given the mysterious Caroline directions or handed over his cell. He should have asked what she needed from him instead of insisting that she climb into his truck. Heck, if his sister had accepted a ride from a strange man who happened to be wandering the woods at night, he'd question her common sense.

He'd been caught off guard tonight. And yeah, his first thought on seeing a woman camped in a clearing pointed toward
shit, we're going to have a problem with protesting tree-­huggers
. Josh didn't have an issue with environmentalists as long as they kept their distance from the tracts of land Moore Timber had been hired to harvest. And in most cases replant. He loved this land. So did the guys who worked alongside him. Hell, his sister was one of the most outspoken supporters of taking the excess from the timber harvests, the limbs that fell to the forest floor, and turning them into biomass fuel.

But he'd run into plenty of protesters before. Some possessed the same lived-­in-­the-­forest-­too-­long look, but he'd never met one running on pure fear and desperation. And his only excuse for not spotting her blatant fight-­or-­flight terror?

Even sporting a hairstyle that suggested she'd forgot to pack her hairbrush when she'd selected flight over fight, Caroline's bright green eyes, creamy skin dotted with a few girl-­next-­door freckles, and heart-­shaped face had thrown him. And her bold, don't-­fuck-­with-­me stance had landed him square on his ass.

But shit, the last time that happened he'd ended up in a dead-­end relationship. It had taken him months to break free. But he'd done it. Tonight, before he'd walked into the forest to check on the trees, he'd broken up with his girlfriend. He'd lost his head—­but thank freaking God not his heart—­over the stacked nursing student who moonlighted as a topless waitress. Although sometimes it seemed like her true focus was serving breakfast at the strip club instead of her classes. But Megan had made it clear she wasn't interested in settling down. And when he stepped back and looked at their time together, he couldn't see a future with her.

He was done playing games. And he'd had enough of cute and coy to last a lifetime. When it came to his dream woman, straightforward and honest now topped the list.

And big green eyes. . .

Don'
t go there,
he thought. The woman in the woods had held back. But he had a hunch she'd been telling the truth about the key facts. Her name was Caroline. She was looking for Noah Tager. She was in trouble. And her problems were bigger than whether they cut the trees or not.

Hadn't he had enough trouble to last him a lifetime? He'd survived a run-­in with a big-­ass logging hook on the end of a freaking helicopter. The hit to the head had stolen his short-­term memory. And the struggle to reclaim it had pushed him pretty damn close to depression.

He pulled out his phone and dialed. “Hey Chad,” he said when his brother picked up. “Is Noah working tonight?”

“Yeah,” his brother said. “Where are you? We're at the bar waiting for you.”

“I'll be there in fifteen. Maybe twenty.” He turned and retraced his steps to his truck. “I stopped by the harvest site. Favor for Eric Moore, our awesome boss. And Noah's going to want to hear about what I found.”

He ended the call and opened the door to his truck. He glanced over his shoulder one last time. But no sign of her. As soon as they found Caroline, he'd make things right. And he'd bake her a pie. He hadn't met a woman yet who could resist homemade pie ­coupled with an apology.

Then he'd steer clear of the beautiful, mysterious woman. Life—­and a team of doctors—­had granted him a second chance. He damn well better make the most of it.