Serving Trouble (8 page)

If only he could find the strength to get off the ground.

“I could give you a blow job in front of the truck and hope someone drives by and sees us,” she said. “That would help cement your bad boy image.”

He laughed and this time he searched her face for a sign that she understood. Right now, knees planted in the dirt beside a box of fur balls, he hoped like hell she'd connected the dots. He didn't want to wear the hero label because the things he'd seen, the things he'd done, were flat-­out horrible. There was pride in serving his country, and also disgust. Because the ­people on either side—­American, Afghan—­weren't divided into bad and good.

And he didn't want pity either. God, he hoped she knew that. Sympathy and sex didn't belong in the same thought. He wanted to hold on to the hope that she couldn't help her attraction to him. Because that would pretty much mirror how he felt. He just wanted to lose himself for a little while—­in her.

“So what do you say?” she pushed. “Want a BJ right here, right now?”

“Josie, don't fucking say that if you don't mean it.”

 

Chapter Ten

“W
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in front of my kittens.” Josie stared down at the blond warrior kneeling in the grass on the side of the road. He blinked and his brow furrowed. The look in his blue eyes screamed
have you lost your mind?

“And seriously? You want to?” She nodded to the truck parked a good fifteen feet away from the box he'd expected to explode. “Here? Now?”

“No.” He shook his head as he planted one foot on the ground and rose up. “I'm damn near dying to kiss you again. And yeah, I'd like to feel your lips move a helluva lot lower. But not to prove a point to a random passerby.”

Thank God.
She'd tossed out the offer like a Hail Mary pass at the end of the game. But the goal wasn't to talk him out of his pants. Not here. She wanted to make him laugh and make it clear that she wasn't counting on him for another rescue. If this had been a bomb, she knew he would have done everything he could to save her, but she wasn't about to tell him that. The last thing he needed was her faith in him to carry around like a lead weight he didn't want or need.

“We're taking the kittens,” she said, bending down to pick up the box. With the squirming cardboard in her arms, she headed for his truck.

“You're taking them,” he corrected, moving to her side and matching her pace.

“Not at my dad's place. He's allergic. But they could live in your barn.” She stopped by the passenger side door and waited while he opened it. “I'll stop by and feed them.”

He took the box from her while she climbed into the truck. “But—­”

“I'm not asking you to feed and play with them,” she said. The last thing he needed was another burden. “Just share your mostly empty barn with them for a while. Who doesn't need a barn cat? Or five?”

“Fine.” He closed her door and walked around to the driver's side. Once he'd buckled up and turned on the truck, he added, “But you're responsible for the entire litter.”

“As long as you don't mind if I stop by your place twice a day.” She scooped the smallest of the plain grey cats from the box. The animals meowed, but curled up on her lap once she started petting it. “And maybe if you're nice, I'll take care of you too.”

“Nice.” He shook his head, but his lips curled into a smile at the sensual suggestion. “Don't count on it, Josie.”

“I'm not.” And she liked the surly, I'm-­not-­so-­perfect Noah better. “I might just wait for you to do the ‘things you want to do to me' that require more space than the cab of your truck.”

“Jesus, Josie,” he said as he merged onto the two-­lane road. “Let's go pick up the beer.”

N
OAH NODDED TO
the range safety officer and headed for the viewing area of the Willamette Valley Gun Club's range. He'd unloaded five rounds into paper targets, but he still couldn't escape the haunted feeling that had followed him around since he'd spotted the box on the side of the road.

“Noah!” a familiar female voice called.

He glanced over his shoulder and spotted Lena walking beside Georgia Moore. Out of everyone he knew in the Willamette Valley—­apart from the World War II vets who camped at the bar in the late afternoons sipping one beer at the pace of a snail—­these women would understand the mistake he'd made while driving to Portland. They'd served, though not together, and both returned home with PTSD. Georgia had tried to fight her demons by taking risks. And Lena had hidden away, afraid to let anyone close. Different ways of coping with the same root problem.

But he didn't have PTSD. Sure, he'd had the odd nightmare here and there. But who didn't? He'd seen a box and thought
bomb
. And he'd had to act because, shit, Josie had been in the truck. No, he didn't have residual and reoccurring anxiety from the war. Just a pain-­in-­the-­ass need to keep Josie safe.

“Didn't expect to find you here on Saturday,” Georgia said. “I thought your weekends were all work and no play. Or did the kittens change that?”

“April's opening for me today,” he said to the petite brunette standing beside Lena. “Wait, how did you hear about the kittens?”

“Katie said her brother Josh stopped by the bar to see your new dishwasher and met the kittens,” Georgia explained. “Josh told Chad, who mentioned it to Lena. And Lena told me on the way over here.”

Noah stared back the two women. Any other day, he'd welcome the chance to shoot with them. But right now he wished Dominic and Ryan would walk through the door, offer a “hey” and ask what he'd been firing on the range. He wanted to run from the small-­town gossip train that now included half the valley. Hell, Georgia lived over an hour from his bar and she knew about the damn cats.

“They're not mine,” he said. “Josie rescued them. I'm just keeping them in my barn for a while.”

Because I can't seem to stop taking in strays. . .

“Aww,” Lena said softly. “That's so—­”

“I need to get back to the bar,” he said, moving past the ladies to the door. He held an unloaded pistol in his hand, a round of ammunition in the other, and he couldn't escape the mental picture of Josie in his barn, ready and willing to explore all the things he wanted to do to her. He was a lot of things right now, but sweet wasn't one of them.

Noah walked to his truck and stored his gun. He'd come here to feel calm and in control. And he'd walked out on edge. Shooting wasn't going to cut it. Not today. Right or wrong, he needed Josie.

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parking lot was lined with cars and trucks when Noah pulled up an hour or so later. He'd stopped home to shower, stow his gun, and check on his dad. His grumpy old man had asked a few questions about the bar before settling in front of the television for the night with a glass of whiskey to ease his aching leg.

Noah headed for the back door, waving to Caroline and ignoring the kittens.

“It's crazy in there tonight,” Caroline called to him as she loaded a tray of pint glasses into the dishwasher. “Josie said it's a strange mix of locals, mostly guys who've been working on cutting the trees on that big piece of land nearby, the one Josh thought I was trying to protect?”

Noah nodded and paused by the door. He spotted the pie on the counter, untouched, but didn't say a word. He'd talk to Josh another time. Right now, he didn't want to add Caroline's feelings about apple pie to the list of things he needed to fix.

“Josie says the loggers and the frat boys make a wild combination,” Caroline added.

“Thanks for the warning.” He pushed through the door and headed into the chaos, welcoming the tangible problems a bar full of ­people who'd been drinking posed.

“Good to see you, boss,” April said as he joined her behind the bar. “Can you fill Josie's orders? I'm slammed here.”

He nodded and scanned the lines of ­people demanding drinks. The DJ hadn't even started yet and Big Buck's was packed. Caroline had been right—­the juxtaposition of young guys wearing flannel shirts to make a fashion statement and the ones who looked as if they'd spent the better part of the day holding a chainsaw gave the bar a weird vibe. He wasn't expecting a fight to break out. But if they ran out of Hoppy Heaven . . .

“Hey. You're here.” Josie rushed up to the ser­vice end of the bar. “Show those paper targets who is the boss?”

“Yeah,” he said with a smile. “I gave them hell.”

“I need three Hoppy Heavens and a shot of tequila,” she called as she punched the order into the computer. Her voice was calm despite the chaos around her.

“Coming right up,” he said as he reached for a pint glass. After he'd loaded up her tray, he turned to a group of women and took their orders. But he kept an eye on Josie, watching as she doled out drinks. He'd walked in here feeling lost and on edge. The shooting range usually put a cap on the out-­of-­control feelings. But today? Watching Josie—­that was enough. She didn't need him to rush to her rescue. He had a bar full of strays, but no one needed saving tonight.

That's one helluva relief.

Right now, he didn't want to be that guy. He wasn't sure he had it in him to rush to the rescue tonight.

He watched Josie head back to the bar. The sway of her hips drew his gaze to her legs. She wasn't tall, but that didn't change the fact that her legs would feel damn near perfect wrapped around him.

“Stop ogling your employees,” Caroline said as she placed a clean rack of pint glasses on the bar for him to put away.

“I wasn't . . .” Shit, he hadn't thought about how this must look to a woman who'd been raped by her superior.

But Caroline laughed softly. “I don't think she minds, Noah. Heck, she looks at you the same way.”

The tension eased from his shoulders and he reached for the clean glasses. “I'm not planning to take advantage of her.”

“But your assistant manager might take advantage of you,” his dishwasher said.

Noah stared out into the crowded bar and spotted Josie. “I hope you're right.”

 

Chapter Eleven

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at two thirty in the morning that night. Another thirty minutes would have brought in more tips, but the DJ had packed up an hour ago and they'd run out of Hoppy Heaven around midnight.

Josie sat in the back room, sorting singles and fives into neat piles on the metal desk. She'd made enough since she'd started at the bar to send off her next payment to the hospital. Another few shifts and she'd have cash in hand for the doctors. Everyone billed separately. She'd learned that after the burial when the bills had started arriving one after the other in quick succession.

Behind her, Caroline loaded the last of the dirty glasses onto a tray. The dishwasher had tried to drive Josie's Mini back to Noah's place, but the car refused to start. So she'd stayed and kept working.

“Caroline, you can leave the rest of the dishes for tomorrow,” Noah said as he pushed into the room. Josie looked up and almost dropped the bills in her hand. Noah was smiling, offering a glimpse of the grin that had come so naturally to him in high school and the years before he'd left for the marines. His black T-­shirt might as well have read “I'd look better on the floor” instead of “Big Buck's Bar.”

“Josie,” he continued as he turned to her.

“Yes?” She'd sampled the worst of what men had to offer—­or close to it. (She had a feeling Caroline might win the prize.) But when Noah's blue eyes turned to her, brimming with wanting, the answer was yes. There were some lines she couldn't cross. She couldn't offer her love this time. But the answer to the unspoken need in his blue eyes was still yes. Tonight, her desire trumped her fear.

“Grab your kittens,” he said.

Just what every girl wanted to hear. . .

“I'm taking you home too,” he added.

“I can't.” She glanced at the box of sleeping fur balls. They'd had a bowl of milk earlier, explored the bar's back room and passed out. “My dad—­”

“Home to my place,” he said. “We'll get the cats settled and then I'll drive you to your dad's.”

The three of them piled into the cab of his truck along with the kittens and the pie Josh had dropped off. Josie balanced the sleeping animals on her lap and tried not to think about how Noah had to reach across her bare legs to shift gears. But by the end of the drive, she wanted him to take her from first all the way to third.

“The light's still on,” Caroline said. She opened the door as soon as the car drew to a stop, not bothering to wait for Noah to cut the engine. “I'm going to take my pie up to the house and see if your dad wants a slice.”

“He'll grill you for details about tonight,” Noah warned. “He'll want to know if we were busy, if we're still a university hot spot.”

“Great.” Caroline moved away from the truck, leaving the door open for Josie to climb down with her kittens. “I can tell him all about how many dishes I washed.”

Noah chuckled. “Hey,” he called after Caroline. She glanced over her shoulder. “Mind taking my cell up and plugging it in? I won't be needing it and it's nearly dead.”

Um, bullshit.

Josie had seen his phone charging behind the bar all night. Someone didn't want to be disturbed for a few hours—­by Dominic or anyone else.

“Sure.” Caroline returned to the truck. Balancing the pie in one hand, she held out the other for his phone. Josie passed it over and then watched as Caroline slipped into the darkness, only to reappear on the front steps leading up to Noah's house.

“Come on,” Noah said. “Let's get your kittens settled.”

Josie followed him out of the truck and across the gravel to the barn. Five years ago, she'd have led the way eager to test the pull drawing her closer and closer to the man who'd labeled himself out of bounds. Back then, Noah had been her superhero, her white knight, and her fantasy rolled into one neat and tidy package. But it had unraveled in the end.

She set the box down by the edge of the cushions surrounding the bull. What if she crossed the line into naked-­kissing territory and it went haywire? Could she handle whatever happened next?

I'd better be able to pick up the pieces. He's made it clear that he's not the guy for the job.

And she didn't want him to play the part this time. She had the money she needed for now. Thanks to Hoppy Heaven, she had some semblance of job security. She was calm and in control of her life. She carried her grief with her, but it wasn't drowning her from sunrise to sunset. She'd been knocked down and she'd gotten back up—­with help. She'd buried a baby and she'd moved forward. She could take care of herself and the man who mistook a box of kittens for a bomb. For one night. Beyond that?

Don't think about tomorrow. Focus on the temptation right in front of you. . .

“They're still asleep,” she murmured as she stood. She kept her gaze fixed on the plain grey fur balls curled up against each other.

“Good.” He spoke from behind her and the sound echoed in the mostly empty barn. “If you won't let me cuss in front of them, you probably don't want them watching this.”

His fingers brushed the bare skin above the neckline of her shirt. If she took a step back, she would feel every inch of him, some harder than others hopefully, pressed against her. But she wasn't teasing this time, trying to make her white knight cross the imaginary line he'd drawn around her.

“I've been waiting all day to kiss you,” he said.

“Naked kisses?” she asked.

He let out a soft laugh. “Yeah, those too.”

His lips touched the nape of her neck and she stepped back. She needed to feel something solid, hold on to someone. His hands wrapped around her hips. He held her inches away from the muscles hidden beneath his clothes. And he kissed her again.

Is there an X on the back of my neck beside my ponytail? A map of where to kiss me to make me melt? Or do you remember from our bull ride five years ago?

She let out a soft moan as his tongue teased her skin. If there was a map of her body, Noah was the only one who'd bothered to read it. His lips glided across the back of her neck and settled on the other side. He was also the only one who took the time to explore every inch of her.

But she wasn't standing beside his mechanical bull looking to take everything he had to offer—­not without offering something in return.

“Ready to prove you're far from perfect?” she murmured.

He released her neck, but tightened his grip on her hips. “Josie—­”

“No audience.” She pulled free from his hold as she stepped forward and up onto the cushions. “We're not on the side of the road. But you can show me. I want to see how much you've changed. And you can start by taking off your shirt.”

He reached for the bottom of his T-­shirt and drew it over his head. “I don't know what you're expecting to see.”

“You.” She studied the wall of pure muscle he'd revealed. His body bordered on physical perfection. Not the bodybuilder physique that left her scrunching up her nose in distaste, but the powerful arms that suggested he could hold her steady anytime, anyplace while he took her. And those abs looked like they were designed to be licked and explored while she headed south.

“Planning to take off your shirt too?” he asked.

She reached behind her and released the knot in her T-­shirt. “You don't have any scars,” she said as the fabric loosened. She pulled the old Big Buck's shirt off and tossed it aside.

“I was lucky,” he said. “Always one truck behind the one that hit the IED or out on patrol when our base was under fire.”

“Lucky,” she repeated, knowing that bearing witness came with its own scars.

He nodded, his smile replaced by a grim frown. “And you know the crazy thing?” He ran a hand through his short blond hair, leaving it standing up and shooting out in different directions. “There are things I still miss. I liked the challenge and the feeling like I was going out each day and getting something done.”

We don't have room for long faces and serious words. Not tonight. Not in here.

“You miss the competition? How about a race? First one to get naked wins?”

Heat and humor chased away the bleak look in his eyes. Yes, this was the man who'd thought about giving her an orgasm on the side of the road, who'd kissed her in the parking lot.

“You're pretty damn set on these naked kisses, aren't you?” he murmured.

She nodded as her fingers toyed with the button on her shorts. “Ready.” His hands mirrored hers poised to release his pants. “Set,” she continued. “Go!”

She began stripping of her shorts while her gaze remained fixed on him. Her lips parted as he drew down the zipper to his jeans, allowing his pants to sink low on his hips, offering a glimpse of his blue boxer briefs.

He knelt down to untie his boots. She pushed her shorts over her hips and . . .

Oh shit, I should have worn the Converse.

With her cutoff jean shorts around her thighs, she was going to have a hard time getting her cowgirl boots off.

He pulled his shoes off, stood and stripped off his pants. Wearing his boxers and a hard-­on she was dying to explore, he placed his hands on his hips. “Not moving too fast there, are you?”

She drew her shorts back up. Should she bend over and pull them off, her bare breasts falling forward? Sitting down and wrestling with her shoes might extinguish the come-­and-­get-­me vibe that she'd tried to cultivate.

“Need a hand?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.

“Yes.” She selected option C—­lean back against the retired mechanical bull and place her palms flat on the saddle for balance. With her chest thrust out, she lifted one foot and extended her leg to his waiting hands. He pulled her boot off and tossed it aside. Then they repeated the process with the second one.

Her second boot hit the cushion and she released the bull. She tugged at her shorts.
Stupid, stupid hips.
She glanced down and tried to quickly maneuver out of her clothes.

“I win,” he announced.

She looked up and caught him holding his underwear. She heard his boxer briefs hit the cushion, but she didn't look to see where they landed. Maybe the kittens would drag them off and hide them. She certainly didn't want him pulling them back on and covering up seven, maybe eight, long hard and thick inches.

“Wow,” she murmured still not looking up from his erection. “You know this doesn't feel like a loss.”

“You could claim second place if you stop staring long enough to take off the rest of your clothes. It's not like I have anything you haven't seen before.”

Was it her imagination or did he sound a little embarrassed?

“Well . . .”

Five years ago, I didn't stop to stare. I was too caught up in the fantasy.

“How about I help you?” He closed the space between them and reached for her shorts. He guided them over her hips and abandoned them at her feet. Then he returned for her panties. He lowered down on one knee.

“Place your right foot in the stirrup and hold on to that bull,” he ordered. “I'm going to take you for the ride I've been dreaming about all day.”

You first.
But then his fingers wrapped around her ankle and guided her foot into the stirrup and she forgot to protest.

The bottom of her foot brushed the worn leather His hand continued up her leg. He pressed against her inner thigh as his other hand wrapped around her hip, holding her in place. His mouth followed his touch and he trailed kisses higher and higher . . .

“Noah,” she gasped as her head fell back. The tip of her ponytail touched the top of the bull's saddle and she closed her eyes.

Again he'd hit the X-­marks-­the-­spot place on her body. He'd offered a naked kiss that promised her first orgasm with a man in more months than she wanted to count. His tongue glided over her as his hand abandoned his hold on her hip and moved between her legs.

“Oh, Noah,” she moaned.

His lips and tongue deserted the oh-­so-­close-­to-­coming bundle of nerves. “You don't need to use my name over and over, sweetheart. Call on a higher power or just scream.”

What the huh?
She opened her eyes and looked down at the broad-­shoulder blond warrior between her spread legs. Was he trying to avoid recognition for the rioting rush of pleasure rushing through her body, or sidestep the failure on his record if he couldn't deliver?

“I'm giving you full credit for this one, Noah. And I know you won't let me down.”

He grinned up at her. “You're that sure of me?”

“Yes.”

Please, God, let him finish now.

He teased her entrance, tracing small circles, and then slid two fingers inside. And then he lowered his mouth and flicked his tongue over the place guaranteed to send her free-­falling into a world of pleasure.

“Noah!” She screamed his name and the sound of her voice filled the barn. Her hips rocked forward, begging for more from his lips, his tongue, his fingers . . .

Her world narrowed. There was only Noah, the bull at her back holding her steady, and bliss. But the heavens had nothing to do with this fleeting taste of paradise—­just the imperfect man at her feet.

“I was right.” She managed the words through jagged breaths.

“About?” he asked, drawing his mouth away from her.

“I knew you wouldn't let me down.”