The Next Day (Foothills Book 2) Page 4

  Voice musically light, she said, “Sometimes you need to start over to find out where you want to be.” Her bottom lip pulled into her teeth, breath coming fast as her infinite blues locked on and searched his muddy green.

  Like a fucking idiot, he leaned in.

  A distant crack struck the air.

  Ricocheting around in his skull, bringing him right back to too many firefights, Zane looped his arm around Freya and rolled her off the bed with him.

  Knocking the wind out of him, his back hit the ground and he absorbed their combined weight. Without pause, he flipped their positions, so he covered her body with his. Ears tuned in to every noise, unblinking as he watched out the window for the slightest shadow, he stilled. Pulse beating slow and steady under his skin, he listened.

  Nothing. Would have to be a pretty unlucky random shot to get them inside the house, with how far away that shot was. But better safe than sorry with all the unknowns. Like why the hell someone was shooting a gun in the middle of the night in nowhereville.

  Beneath him, Freya’s chest rose and fell as she caught her breath. Alert, panic under control, she watched him rather than peering out the window.

  No more gunshots. The night was dead quiet.

  He rose to his elbows, looking down to see her expression easing from stunned to amused, her wicked blue eyes flashing with merriment. From somewhere in his brain, his chest, he blushed and grinned and shook his head at the absurdity. “I, uh. Yeah. Sorry. I’ve been shot at a few times.”

  “Impressive reaction time.” As the moment quieted, her fishhook grin widened. “I was hoping we’d end up in this position eventually.”

  Chuckling, he parked his tongue between his teeth as he considered what to make of her.

  Sighing like she was settling in for the evening, arms resting over her abdomen, she asked, “All okay?”

  He nodded, relenting to an ironic laugh under his breath. “I don’t think you imagined the gunfire.”

  She trailed her fingers along his forearm, then tracing up along his triceps, stirring a tingling in her wake. “As you seem awfully calm, it must not have been very close?”

  “Nope.”

  “Should we call the police?”

  “Probably.” He couldn’t make himself move. Her body calm and warm and half naked under his, her fingers teasing his skin under his sleeves, she drove him mad with a desire he hadn’t felt in way too long.

  While he wracked his brain for a single reason to move off her, she wrapped one hand around his shoulder, and the other gripped the back of his neck and pulled him to her. Leaning up to meet him, she pressed a silken kiss on his upper lip, then another on the corner of his mouth.

  Helpless, enchanted, he stilled. Her tongue grazed along the crease of his lips, then she gently nipped at his lower lip.

  Groaning at her simple touch that drove him absolutely beyond the tipping point, he took her mouth with his. Exploring, savoring her spiced, feminine scent, heat surged through his limbs, the outside world fading into nothing as she kissed him back, no holds barred, like she was as drunk on the chemistry as he was. Again and again, he tasted, learning the contours of her supple lips, a zing of electricity zapping him back to life with each touch.

  Plunging her tongue inside his waiting mouth, she moved deeper, then looped her bare leg around his and clung like a horny Koala.

  Lost, found, starving, he massaged velvet against velvet, heat building between them.

  Crack.

  And again.

  More fucking gunshots.

  Pulling away, his breath lost, her lips kissably warm and soft from the fucking best kiss he’d had… ever… he sat up and muttered, “Better call the cops.”

  4

  Tasty Lips

  Waking from a delicious dream of those tasty lips on hers, Freya grumbled and picked up the damn phone that rattled her eardrum. “Hello?”

  “Miss Marks?” A very official sounding voice asked, somewhere in between polite and brisk.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s Darren Miles from the Foothills Police Department. I wanted to follow-up with you regarding your call last night.”

  She sat up in bed and smoothed her hair out of her face. “Did you find anything?”

  “There’s only so much I can tell you, of course. That was gunfire, but it appears to have been aimed at a practice target and no violent intent was apparent.”

  Scowling, she rubbed the sleepiness from her brow. “In the middle of the night? Shots fired nearly an hour apart?”

  A heavy sigh. Never a good thing. “That’s the official story anyway, and action has been taken to ensure this shouldn’t happen again. Honestly, I would appreciate your help. The entire thing screams of domestic violence to me, but we can’t prove it. Young couple, they just moved into town a few weeks ago.”

  “Oh. That’s terrible. Are you sure no one was hurt?”

  “Not last night, fortunately. But if you wouldn’t mind reporting anything you hear coming from the neighbor’s property, I would sure appreciate it.”

  “Absolutely.”

  An icky feeling stirred in Freya’s gut as she thought about the rough night in the property neighboring theirs. When she was a kid, she only knew of it as the place where the weird couple lived that had twenty-three cats and their kids had all grown and moved on. She hadn’t realized the owners had passed away, but she supposed they would have been in their nineties or older by now.

  Scooching out of bed, she took a quick shower and tossed on a breezy skirt and spaghetti strap top. She poured the pathetically weak coffee in the empty kitchen, popped in a quick piece of toast for breakfast and slipped on her shoes. No yoga this morning; she had more important things to do.

  Sweeping her dark hair into a messy bun, she grabbed her coffee and headed across the driveway to the garage. Bouncing up the stairs, she raised her fist to the door, then hesitated. Crap. What if he was still sleeping?

  Pressing her ear to the door, she held her breath and strained to hear any sign that he was up and about.

  Grunting? Rhythmic thumping?

  Had he met some woman after he’d left her at two in the morning? He didn’t even know anyone in town.

  A rumble festered in the depths of her throat like a bad case of acid reflux. And where did the jealousy come from? She didn’t care for the odd emotion one bit. One belly-stirring, toe-tingling kiss, and this man was already messing her up.

  She began to step back on the landing, when a heavy metal riff blasted from the speakers inside.

  Mentally whacking herself on the forehead, she realized her faux pax, breathing out a sigh of relief and self-beratement at the same time. Raising her hand to the door, she waited until the song quieted again, then knocked loud enough so he’d hear.

  Seconds later, the door swung open, Zane stood in front of her with an amused twist in his smile. “Morning.”

  Holding her mug in front of her mouth, she covered her jaw-dropped gawk as she marveled. Bare chested, slick from the vigorous exercise she’d overheard… and those ripped abs she’d anticipated were even better without the shirt. Swallowing a miniscule sip of coffee, lest she choke, she found her smile and hoped her voice came out more than a breathy whimper. “Morning.”

  He stepped back and welcomed her in, then dashed over and quieted the blasting metal. “You’re up early after a late night.”

  “You too. The police department called me back.”

  Snagging a shirt off the back of the couch, he slipped it over his head. As quickly as her brow scrunched in disappointment, she masked the expression. She was such a sucker for good abs, and his were… really nice. She sighed and brought her coffee to her lips again to hide her pining.

  “Did they figure out what was going on?” He rolled up the exercise mat and tucked it into the corner. His expression was neutral; damn he was hard to read.

  “Domestic violence was as much as they could say, and even that’s no more than a suspicion.”
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br />   Resting his hands on his hips, he stilled. “Shit.”

  “Right? I was thinking of heading over, you know, introduce myself to the neighbors.”

  “Don’t get involved with that. I’ll grab Asher and we’ll go later.”

  She set her coffee on the kitchen peninsula before she chucked it at his head. Any more acid in her system, and she might boil over anyway. While distracted by great abs and dreamy lips, she was almost fooled into thinking he wouldn’t be like so many of the other misogynistic assholes she tended to fall for. “I’m sorry. I stopped by to see if you wanted to come with me.”

  “What?” His brow scrunched, looking at her like she was a moron. Yep. Sexist jackass.

  “I may have been spooked and grateful you came over last night, but I guess I should have realized you’d go all badass soldier on me and not let the woman-folk anywhere near the potentially dangerous situation. Did you ever stop to think about the victim involved? Do you think two menacing, pissed-off soldier guys strolling up to her front door was going to make her feel safer?” Huffing, she bit her cheek before she got too fired up and blasted insults.

  “Whoa, wait a minute.” His hands hadn’t moved from his hips, his feet still planted on the ground. “Don’t put words in my mouth. If people are shooting guns next door, and the police only ‘suspect’ domestic violence, I’m sorry, but I think I’m a little better trained to walk into something like that.”

  “Right. Sure. Whatever. I’m going to go pick up a pie or something to take over.” Her arms flailed as she paced across the room, loosely in the direction of the door, waiting to hear what pathetic defense he’d come up with.

  Gritting his teeth, he closed his eyes and held his position to the silent count of five.

  “What?” She fired at him, hand on the doorknob.

  “Nothing. Can I go with you?”

  “Fine.”

  “Can I shower first?” he asked, picking up her forgotten coffee cup and walking it across the apartment to her.

  “Yes.” She snatched her coffee, sloshing a few drops onto the floor. Too pissed to clean it up, she growled under her breath and stormed out.

  Zane tossed on jeans and running shoes, still pulling his shirt over his head as he dashed out the door in five minutes flat. If she’d left without him, hopefully he’d catch her before she got there. What the hell was she thinking, walking into a hot situation without backup?

  Calming the fury pumping through his skull, he breathed it out and slowed his pace down the stairs. She’d come to get him, hadn’t she? Like she’d called for backup last night. She wasn’t stupid.

  When he reached the bottom step, he found her waiting with a travel mug for him. “Sorry,” she smiled softly, something in her eyes telling him she had no problem apologizing when appropriate. Hell, he doubted she had any hesitations in speaking her mind one way or the other.

  “No, I’m sorry. Not to make excuses, but this PTSD shit, well, it sucks. I go from zero to pissed off in half a second.” He accepted the coffee, keeping his body calm and neutral rather than punching the wall like he wanted.

  A sympathetic smile softened her apology further, a hint of a dimple making an appearance on her cheek. “Wow, I wish I could do angry like you do. As you saw, I tend to yell and stomp my feet and throw things. You turn into a poker-faced statue. I wouldn’t know you were mad except for that ticking in your jaw.”

  He took a testing sip of his coffee. “Pick up a pie?”

  Those lush lips turned up in a fricking gorgeous smile, pure ornery mixed with something else he hadn’t figured out yet. She went from pissed off to zero faster than he went the other way. “I don’t bake.”

  “Not even cookies? I mean, if you enjoy taking baked goods to new neighbors, I’m fond of chocolate chip.”

  Throwing her head back, she laughed and somehow moved closer as she smoothed her reaction. Looking up at him, not quite as far as most women as she was pretty tall, she bit her lip in a sexy-as-fuck grin. Like a damn magnet, he started to lean in, compelled to finish what they’d started last night.

  Catching himself before he got too close, he stepped back.

  A spark of confusion flashed in her electric blue eyes. Or was it disappointment? Something… something that knocked him back like a sucker punch in the gut.

  He needed to make it very, very clear that he wasn’t looking for anything. Ever. Not even more kissing.

  Fuck, had he ever been kissed like that?

  When he and Blaire had gotten together in college, he’d been inexperienced and a terrible kisser and, well, they’d figured out the sex thing quick enough, so the make-out stage hadn’t lasted more than a few dates. And he hadn’t bothered spending more than a night or two with the same woman since, and often skipped the kissing part entirely. Not that he was an asshole or anything, but… no, shit, he totally was. But at no point since his divorce had he even hinted to a woman that he was game for more than a casual thing.

  Okay, maybe he would consider indulging in some basic fooling around like last night. Nope, not happening. With his only friend’s cousin? Yeah, let’s not cross that line. Not even for rosy lips that would haunt his dreams for the next few decades. Or for those perfectly round… Nope. Stop it.

  “And how were you planning on getting to the bakery?” He backed toward his truck, dangling his keys.

  “I was going to ask you for a ride.” She grinned, a wiggle to her hips as she taunted him. Was she doing it on purpose? “I’m hoping to buy a car with my next paycheck. Depending on how well my paintings sell at this auction coming up soon, and as long as my regular sales stay steady.” Without waiting for the invitation, she hopped in the passenger seat of his truck.

  “Have you eaten?” He asked as he climbed in the driver’s seat and clicked his seatbelt into place.

  “I was hoping to buy you breakfast as a thank you for last night.”

  Teasing a smile at the corners of his lips, he held his thought to himself. That kiss had been more than enough. If anything, the best thank you would be to ditch his ass and stop tormenting him with… making him want more. “Great.”

  She stayed quiet the drive into town. With few words, she directed him toward the bakery. Dammit, he’d pissed her off again, and he didn’t have a fucking clue what he’d done now. He preferred her angry tirade to the silent treatment. But at least he knew where he stood with her, not a trace of phony politeness.

  Inside, he snuck ahead and paid for the breakfast and pie while she chatted with the woman behind them in line, as a pathetic attempt at an apology.

  “Hey, I’m treating,” she scowled when she realized what he’d done.

  “I know.”

  “Then why did you pay?” She snatched the bag from the counter and pushed out the door first.

  Once they’d hopped back in the truck, he let out a heavy exhale. “Why don’t you treat after that auction?”

  “I can’t afford a car, but I can swing breakfast now and again.” She tore into her savory pastry, sausage and cheesy steam wafting from the top that would have made his stomach growl, but his appetite was squashed flat. This is exactly why he didn’t have friends. Probably why his family never called, either. Fucking incompetent at basic human communication.

  He left his breakfast in the bag, the idea of eating making him nauseous. “That’s not what I was getting at.”

  As he was quickly learning to expect, her eyes flashed with ferocity. “Well, it kinda came across that way.” Her tone was moving from defensive to flippant. And he thought he downshifted fast.

  Knowing he’d stepped in it and there was no recovering, well, knowing him, he’d make it worse if he tried, he shut the hell up and drove them back out of town. She downed the rest of her breakfast in silence; somehow, even her chewing seemed irate.

  When the neighbor’s house came into view, he lowered his voice, “Will you please let me get out first?”

  “Only if you let me do the talking.”

 
“Fine.”

  The house was even worse than he’d expected. The front gutter was bent down where a branch had fallen on it and never been removed, now decaying and a gust away from disintegrating. What had likely started as sunny yellow siding was now a dirt-caked mustard. Older than he was and twice as beat-up, a Subaru was parked in the dilapidated carport, filthy with out-of-state tabs that had expired a few years back. In front of the house, a shiny new full-sized truck sat in the middle of a sudsy puddle where it had just been washed.

  As they stopped, a woman stepped out onto the creaky porch. Shit, she was too young to be going through this. Too slim, dressed in skinny jeans and a flannel top tied at the waist, her hair was damp from the shower and braided neatly down her back.

  Her bright smile almost made the whole scene less depressing, but was so out of place, it really made it worse. Completely ignoring his request, Freya hopped out first.

  She had a point. If he and Asher had come out alone, they would probably have intimidated the hell out of the woman.

  “Hi, I’m Freya. This is Zane. We’re your new neighbors.”

  The woman’s voice was just above a whisper, “I’m Sienna. It’s great to meet you.”

  Standing back, Zane kept his distance. No bruising, and she seemed to be walking okay, but she held her left arm against her chest, her right arm bracing it at the elbow.

  Freya softened her voice to match the neighbor’s volume. “I am a terrible baker, but I feel like you’re supposed to bring pie or casserole or something to the neighbors to introduce yourself, so, here you go.” She offered the pie. Damn, she was disarming. Her body language almost meek, Freya silently offered support. “We just moved in.”

  “Thank you, that’s so sweet.” The woman accepted the pie with her right hand, using her left only for balance.

  Zane’s fists balled at his sides as he imagined all the awful reasons why she wouldn’t use her arm. Her range of motion was limited, but she seemed to move it adequately when necessary. He doubted anything was broken, but with the way she was babying that arm, it looked to hurt like hell.