No Reservations (Special Ops: Tribute Book 1) (11 page)

“And you didn’t think it wise to change first?”

“Oh, come on. I told you I hate suits. I’d rather mess this
up than my favorite t-shirt, right?” His smile teased her and tempted her at
the same time.

“So you signed the lease? The place is yours?”

His arms outstretched. “You are now looking at the newest
Maryland Avenue shop owner.”

Dropping her ladle into a bowl, she squealed. It hadn’t been
her intention to dart over to him for a hug. But she found herself in his
embrace, feeling his hard body against hers and his thick arms wrapped around
her. She could sell tickets for hugs from this guy.

Straightening her back, she pulled away from him. “Sorry. Got
a little wrapped up in the moment.” A warm blush crept up her neck, and she
quickly turned away from him, washing her hands free of the drywall dust that
she’d just acquired from the brief embrace.

But that moment had been worth a little dust on her hands.

“I’m open for a hug like that anytime.” His eyes sparked
with mischief when she looked at him again, confusing the hell out of her.

Was that
flirtation
she heard in his voice, just
then?

It couldn’t be. He had Becca for hugs—and all things
requiring bodily contact. He didn’t seem the type to stray. He
couldn’t
be. If he were, there’d be no way she’d feel anything but contempt for him.

And the sultry sizzle she was feeling right now as her eyes
locked on his was definitely not contempt.

Giving herself a mental shake, she turned from him again,
refocusing on the batter in front of her. Or
trying
to refocus, which
was a little harder with the sensation of Maddox coming up behind her, standing
so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body.

“Back off, buddy,” she warned. “I’m not letting you get
chunks of drywall in my concoction here.”

Stepping back with a low laugh, he asked, “What are you
making?”

“Well, now that the website is up, I figured I better work
on some more breakfast recipes. So I thought I’d make breakfast for dinner. Care
to join me?” She glanced over her shoulder. Big mistake, she realized as he
tugged off his suit jacket, the simple action accentuating the pecs that teased
her from beneath the cotton of his dress shirt.

He rested the jacket on a chair and came up alongside her again.
“Lady, if you’re cooking, then I’m eating. So what’s on the menu? Pancakes?” he
guessed, looking at the batter.

She stiffened abruptly at the sensation of his hand on her
hip. “Well, I had an idea. You know, I’ll always offer something different in
the morning. But my worry is that some people just might not like whatever I
happen to be cooking up that day. So I thought I should have a back-up.”

“And your back-up is pancakes?”

“Well, kind of. My thought is to have a pancake bar.”

His face contorted. “A pancake bar?”

“Yeah. Kind of like a salad bar or those potato bars that
are so trendy at wedding receptions these days.”

He looked confused. “Okay, but I’m not sure what that has to
do with pancakes.”

“Well, I thought I’d set a bunch of special ingredients out
every morning, sort of buffet style, and people can spoon whatever they want
mixed into their pancake batter into a bowl. I’ll take their bowl, and make it
into pancakes.”

“Huh. So you’ll have things like blueberries and stuff?”

“Yeah. Blueberries, strawberries, some dried fruits. I don’t
know. I’m still brainstorming. Pecans, maybe papaya or kiwi or a few less
traditional options. But also some unhealthy stuff—I mean, they’re on
vacation, right? So chocolate chips, toffee…”

“And they can combine whatever ingredients they want?”

“Exactly. Strawberry and chocolate. Blueberry and toffee.
Chocolate and Kiwi. Whatever they put in their bowl, I’ll put in their
pancakes.”

“That’s so freaking cool.”

His compliment warmed her. He was so free with them that she
found herself longing to be around him just because he nudged out all the
insecurities she felt about opening the inn. “You think?”

“Yeah. It’s brilliant.”

“I figured it’s kind of a sure thing. I mean, I’ve never met
anyone who doesn’t like pancakes, and there will be choices for everyone.”

He moved closer to her, his arm brushing against her as he
stole a few chocolate chips.

She gave him a light smack on the hand. “Those are for dinner.”

His wide grin was enticing. “Looks more like dessert to me.”

Her breath quickened with him so close.
He’s taken. He’s
taken.
She repeated the words in her head like a mantra.

“How about—” When she turned to him to finish, he was
right there, face so close to hers that she could see the perfect outline of
his lips taunting her. She wanted to touch them to her own, see if they were
really as soft as they looked. She wanted to taste him, trace her tongue along
his teeth and feel his hands scrape against her back as he held her close.

Oh, crap.

“How about what?” he prodded at her silence.

She could swear she saw desire in his eyes.

She straightened, adjusting her apron. “How about you sit in
the dining room and I serve you like I would any other guest? I kind of need
the practice.”

Pulling away, his expression was unreadable. “Great idea.”

***

Bridget swung open the door to Crabby
Before Coffee and plopped into a leather chair. Just after the dinner hour, the
coffee house was quiet now that the after-work crowd had retreated to their
homes.

Pressing her eyes shut, she tossed her head backward.

 “Trouble with the guest?” Leia asked, sitting beside
her.

“Trouble doesn’t even cover what I’m having right now. Here.”
She handed Leia a flier. “Maddox helped me make these.”

Leia glanced down at the sheet. “An open house?”

Bridget nodded, the simple motion exacerbating the headache
building behind her eyes. “Do you mind if I leave a stack of them here for your
customers?”

“Of course not. So this means you’re open?”

“Kind of. I don’t have any reservations yet, but we hung the
new sign above the door and I put the website up, too.”

“Wow. You’ve been working hard.”

“
We’ve
been working hard. Honestly, Maddox is like a
workhorse. I don’t see him rest ever.”

“I know. I kind of snuck a peek of him kicking down some
walls next door earlier today,” she finished, fanning her face with her hand.

“I’ll bet you did.” Bridget grinned back. “He should be
focusing on his place, and not helping me so much.”

“Why is he being so nice to you?” She asked the question as if
she already knew the answer.

Bridget shrugged.

Leia pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Well, I’ve always
discovered that with men, action tends to be driven by the desire to get laid.”

“How very profound. But it doesn’t apply here. He has a
girlfriend.”

“Ah, yes, the absentee girlfriend.” Leia gave her a knowing
look. “She’s in Sedona. And a guy has needs.”

“Maddox wouldn’t do that.”

“Don’t be so sure. He might be baiting you.”

“Baiting me?”

“Yeah. You know, walking around your place without a damn
shirt on. What’s a girl going to do but throw herself at him?”

“That was only after he’d been running. And I think I have a
little more control than that.”

“Well, just watch it. Guys do that, you know. They tempt
you—try to get
you
to be the one to make the move. Then he can
blame you, not himself.”

“That’s so negative. How’d you get so negative when it comes
to men?”

“Life experience,” she replied sagely. “How can you
not
be negative about men? I know what you went through with Tyler.”

“That wasn’t Tyler’s fault. That was my fault. I let him
slip through my fingers. And I didn’t figure out it was the real thing until it
was too late.”

Her friend grumbled something in response. Bridget didn’t
ask what it was; she knew. Her friend was a devout believer in destiny,
believing that if Tyler had been meant for Bridget, he’d be sitting with her
right now. “And Maddox is not baiting me,” she felt compelled to add.

“Oh, you just watch it. First he’s got his shirt off. Then
he’s brushing up against you, making all your nerve endings twitch. Then his
hand mistakenly holds yours… but it’s not a mistake at all.” Leia glanced
upward as she noticed a customer waiting and her barista nowhere in sight. A
frustrated look passed over her face. “If she’s texting in the back room
again…” she began, rising from her chair to wait on the man at the counter.

In silence, Bridget’s mind wandered.

Oh my God.
There had been that moment when he was
standing so close to her as they made pancakes. That moment when she was
certain she saw raw need in his eyes just as powerful as her own.

But it wasn’t intentional. It couldn’t have been.

Leia returned after sending her customer out the door with a
steaming extra large cup and a blondie. “Look, I’m just saying that guys stray.”
She continued their conversation without missing a beat. “Not all of them, but
a whole hell of a lot of them. And you two, alone in that bed-and-breakfast. Well,
things are bound to get tempting. I mean, when I saw you two together, I
couldn’t help thinking you’d make a cute couple. Him with his burly arms and
you with your blonde hair and a figure that frankly, I’d kill for.”

“Aw, thanks. But if you’re going to kill for a figure, I’d
really set your standards a little higher than mine.”

“Oh, please. You know it’s true. If you put a little effort
in, you could be serious eye candy.” She glanced her up and down. “I mean, really,
what is that on your leg?”

Bridget glanced down. “I don’t know. Flour maybe. I was
cooking. Or scouring powder because I was cleaning. I’m trying to get the place
ready for Friday’s open house. I don’t exactly have time to try to look like
eye
candy
.” She spat out the last two words.

“Right. And that’s another thing. What appeals to men just
as much as eye candy? A woman who will cook and clean for him. You know, the
old Donna Reed thing.”

“Who’s Donna Reed?”

Leia’s brow furrowed in disbelief. “Donna Reed is who
your
grandmother and
my
grandmother aspired to be.”

“Well, I never knew either of my grandmothers. They were
dead before I popped out onto the scene.”

“Oh, sorry. But anyway, you’re living with the guy, cooking
for him, cleaning up after him. He’s bound to be at least tempted.”

“I don’t want to tempt him. I like our friendship too much
to want to mess that up by becoming some girl he cheated on his girlfriend
with. I respect him too much. I respect Becca too much. Hell, I respect
myself
too much.”

“Atta girl. Just don’t go wearing one of those prim little
aprons or you might just push him over the edge.”

Bridget’s eyes widened. “Oh, shit. I wear an apron whenever
I cook.”

Her friend frowned. “Aw, hell. That poor guy’s going to get
blue balls if you keep that up.”

“Hey! Trying to catch the Blue Angels rehearsal?”

After a busy morning of demo and after an afternoon of
talking to locals about contractors, Maddox spotted Bridget on her front stoop.
He glanced at his watch. He hadn’t considered taking the time to enjoy the
rehearsal today, since he’d planned to see the real flight demonstration
tomorrow with Bridget.

“Uh, no.” Her smile was forced and it didn’t quite reach her
eyes. “How was demo?”

“Great. Just try to tell me that there’s anything more
satisfying than hitting something with a sledgehammer.”

“Depends on what you’re hitting, I’d imagine.” Her tone was
laced with rage.

Raising an eyebrow, he plopped onto the stoop beside her. “Ah,
and what is it that you’d like to hit with a sledgehammer today?”

“For starters, the damn wasps that have overrun my living
room.”

“Wasps?”

“Yeah. Or maybe yellow jackets. I wouldn’t know—I didn’t
let them get close enough to find out. I don’t know how they got in and I’m
pretty freaked out about it.”

“Oh, they’re just bugs. No reason to be freaked out.”

She pulled an auto-injector out of her purse. “Plenty of reason.
One sting and my throat swells up like a cantaloupe.”

“Shit. How long have you been sitting out here?”

She lifted her cell phone off her lap and glanced at the
time. “Two hours.”

“Two hours? Why didn’t you call me?”

She shrugged. “I called an exterminator, and they said
they’d try to swing by in between calls today. But they didn’t make any
promises.”

“You don’t need an exterminator. Got some bug spray?”

“Yeah. In the hall closet. But I’m telling you, there’s a
lot of them. I just couldn’t take the risk.”

“It’s no risk for me. I’ve been stung so many times, I don’t
even notice anymore. Cancel the exterminator,” he said decisively.

Slipping through the front door, he was greeted by the angry
hum of wasps. After grabbing the bug spray, it didn’t take long before the last
wasp fell to the ground, but the buzzing continued. Following the sound to the
fireplace, he eyed it curiously, and then walked back to the front door.

Peering out, Bridget’s worried eyes greeted him. “Are they
dead?” she asked.

“I think I got them all. But there’s a lot of buzzing from
the fireplace. I think there’s a nest in there.”

“Oh, crap. Should I call the exterminator back?”

“No. Do you have some firewood?”

She directed him to a stack of logs near her shed, and he set
a pile of it and last week’s newspapers in the fireplace. Reaching up warily
into the darkness to open the flue, he heard the buzzing intensify as he
jostled the lever and then quickly lit the newspapers.

By the time the last of the newspaper crinkled up and disappeared
into a fiery oblivion, the hum of the wasps had been completely replaced by the
popping of the logs on the fire.

Glancing around him in the firelight, he paused, taking in
the quaint atmosphere the firelight provided. He could picture her inn later in
the year. She’d probably put a Christmas tree in the corner, maybe hang a
garland over the fireplace, and a couple stockings. Sure, she didn’t have kids,
but this was one of those old fireplaces that just begged for stockings.

The strangest feeling came over him just then as he looked
around the room. He wanted to be there to see this place at Christmastime. And
he could now. It was an odd sensation, knowing where he’d be in the next
months, the next years, or even for the next decade if he didn’t tire of this
city.

When he’d been in the military, he hadn’t dared to think about
things like that. Even if he was lucky enough to not get PCSed to another base
before he had the chance to grow accustomed to a place, he still always ran the
risk of needing to deploy within twenty-four hours.

Imagining a place at Christmas, or when the leaves turned a
golden hue, or when the cherry trees along the streets blossomed—that was
a luxury for civilians. Not for a SEAL like him.

But he wasn’t a SEAL anymore. As he reminded himself that,
the usual emptiness didn’t follow the thought this time. Instead, enjoying the
fire’s glow in this cozy room, he found himself glad for it.

“It’s safe now,” he told her when he finally popped his head
out the front door. “And we’ve got a toasty fire. Just what you wanted in 80
degree weather,” he added with a hint of sarcasm.

“Seriously? You’re an angel.”

As his eyes skimmed over her while she stood, he somehow
felt shamed for that comparison. Because that fire he’d built didn’t just make
him think about Christmas. It made him imagine making love to Bridget in front
of it.

“Believe me, I’m no angel.”

***

Bridget watched the flames dance upon the stack of wood, the
aroma filling her senses. The firelight flickered, rising and dimming in fits
and starts, lapping along the sides of the logs.

It was hypnotic, calming her, despite the fact that she
still had her auto-injector within arm’s reach in case a stray wasp was hidden
inside the house.

Maddox returned to the sofa, carrying a beer for himself and
a glass of wine for her. She frowned briefly at the sight of the glass as he
extended it to her, then forced a gracious smile. When he’d gone to the fridge
to get a couple drinks, she assumed he’d grab her a soda. A glass of wine in
her hand made this scene that she’d found herself immersed in so much more
romantic than she could handle.

“I saw the Chardonnay in your fridge, and no offense, but
you look like you could use a drink.”

“Thanks,” she said.

He was right. She could use a drink. But not because two dozen
wasps tried to abbreviate her life today. More because the man sitting beside
her now made every nerve in her body spark to life.

Enjoying a long, indulgent sip, the alcohol warmed her veins,
lulling her immediately as though she had just downed a shot of whiskey. It was
such a pretty picture—all of this. The fire, the man, the wine. She felt
her body relax into this scene that she’d unwittingly found herself a player in.

“Did you take your fliers over to Leia’s place?”

“Yeah, I ran some over last night. And a few other stores
let me hang them in their windows this morning. I even popped one in the mail
to my parents.”

“Do you think they’ll come?”

“No. I just…” Her voice trailed before she finished. “I just
wanted them to know. They’re good parents, but they kind of want me to fail at
this, I think.”

“Doesn’t seem too good to want to see your kid fail,” he
commented.

Frowning, she felt the familiar urge to defend her parents.
It had always been that way.

“I know. It sounds horrible. But they want me to do well in
life, better than they did. So when I got a job at a really renowned firm, they
were proud of me. It was like a relief to them, just knowing that their
daughter wouldn’t have to struggle to pay the bills like they always did.”

“What do they do for a living?”

“They have a surfing and SCUBA equipment outfitter on a
barrier island in South Carolina.”

“No kidding? Now I see where you got that entrepreneurial
spirit.”

“Maybe. But they actually hate the uncertainty of it.”

He set down his beer. “Okay… so why do they do it?”

Bridget fidgeted, shifting on the soft sofa. “Well, Dad ran
into some legal troubles after college and they kind of haunted him when he was
trying to get a job. He just—” she shrugged, “—couldn’t find anyone
to hire him. At least not at the level he was expecting with a degree from
Princeton.”

“Princeton? Jeez, the guy’s way out of my league.”

“Yeah, he’s really smart. But—he made some bad
decisions in his early twenties.” She ended it evasively, as she always had to
when it came to talking about her dad. “So, anyway, they got fed up with it all
and moved to Costa Rica where they could live for a hell of a lot cheaper and
no one judged him by his past.”

“Costa Rica? Cool.”

“Yeah. That’s when I came along. We didn’t move back to the States
till I was ready for kindergarten. A few years after that, Dad decided to open
the shop. They’d both been working at a SCUBA outfitter in Costa Rica, so it
seemed like a good fit for them. But I think they’d give it up in an instant
for a more secure living, which they remind me every time I talk to them.”

“Yeah, but if this fails, you can always get another job. So
could
they
, for that matter.”

“Well, my mom could, but probably not my dad. At least, not
the kind he’d want. He—” She looked at him, seeing the questions in his
eyes, just like there always were with anyone when she talked about her dad. But
for the first time in her life, she felt compelled to give him answers. “He
went to jail for a couple years before I was born. It’s hard getting a
job—it’s hard doing anything—when you’ve got a record.”

It felt liberating somehow, to hear the words escape her, and
to see the lack of judgment or condemnation in his eyes. “You don’t seem
shocked by that,” she noticed.

He chuckled. “Sorry, but being in the military, you hear a
lot of war stories. And most of them have to do with family. Not the war at all.”
He reached for his beer. “Though if you now tell me he’s a mass murderer or
something, that might shock me a bit. I’ve never known the daughter of a mass
murderer before.”

“I think he would have gotten more than two years for that.”

“You never know. There are a lot of slick lawyers out there…”
His voice trailed as he let the joke sink in.

“Cute,” she said, giving him a little shove.

So, what did he do?
The question was in his eyes; she could
see it. But he didn’t ask it, and he wouldn’t. She somehow knew that. And just
because of that, she actually wanted to tell him.

“Right out of college, he and his roommate started a company
providing tech services to the government. They were really doing well. Then
one day they realized they’d overbilled them. And no one noticed. So they
didn’t report it. Then, they did it again. And again, no one noticed. It pretty
much went on from there. You can guess how that ended, a year and a half later,
with the FBI pounding on their door one morning.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. My dad is ashamed of what he did. He said it was like
a gambling addiction to him. Each time they’d get away with it, he’d vow he
wouldn’t do it again. But then he’d think, ‘Just one more.’ He was 24 when he
was convicted.” She shook her head. “I don’t want to sound like I’m justifying
what my dad did back then. He was young and stupid. But dammit, he paid for it.
I just wish he could have picked up his life after that.”

“But he didn’t?”

“Not really. Funny how businesses tend to not trust people
convicted of defrauding the government. He actually got a job bartending in
Richmond for a while and that’s when he met my mom. They got married and stayed
there for a few years till his boss found out that he had a criminal record and
fired him. No cause or anything. Just said he couldn’t trust him anymore.”

“It’s hard to build a future when people won’t let you
forget your past.”

Silent for a moment, she nodded, swirling the wine in her
glass contemplatively.

She’d just told someone, she thought. It wasn’t until the
words had escaped her that she realized how desperately she had always wanted
to
tell
someone. She’d never even told her best friends in college. Not
even Tyler—the man who held her heart in his grasp for years.

It wasn’t her crime; she knew that. Yet all her life, she’d
felt the need to protect her father from people’s judgment.

“Yeah, it is,” she finally agreed with him. “So that’s when
they decided to leave the country.”

“Do you remember it—Costa Rica?”

“Not a lot. Just vague memories of the beaches there. The
feel of the sand between my toes and my mother’s hand holding onto me as we let
the waves crash over our feet. I know I loved it there. My first crystal clear
memory is when we got back to the States. I was in kindergarten, and some kid
was teasing me, saying my dad was a jailbird.”

“Oh, hell.”

“Yeah. I don’t know how he found out. But I cried and cried
when I got home and begged my parents to move us back to Costa Rica.”

His arm draped over her shoulder and Bridget chose to not
fight the show of support.

“After a few moves, we ended up in South Carolina. They like
living on an island—the reclusiveness of it. The people who rent
equipment from them are usually tourists and never get chatty—just always
anxious to get their equipment and get out to the beach. My parents like
that—not getting too close to people. But the finance side of it has
always been rough. It’s so seasonal.”

“Like opening a B & B in Annapolis.”