Page 92 of Killian (West Bend Saints 4)

  property to the mining company.

  As it turns out, my mousy, asked-for-nothing-our-entire-life, never-voiced-her-opinion mother wanted more than that. She wanted a kickback from Jed and the Mayor, money to buy her silence. She was going to blow the whole thing wide open – her affair with the Mayor, the fact that he and Jed were dirty as fuck, the mining company’s scam to scoop up properties from town residents at a price that was less than fair.

  She was stupid and greedy.

  And that’s why she died.

  Before, I felt sorry for her. I’d felt sorry for her my whole life. I imagined her as a victim, the much-too-young wife of my asshole father, too spineless to leave him, too beat-down by life to be more than just a punching bag.

  Except she wasn’t.

  She simply didn’t think protecting us was important enough to consider leaving him. As it turned out, money was the catalyst for that.

  When I went into the general store yesterday, I was fucking reeling from the realization. And when I saw Autumn and Olivia, I had to get away from them as quickly as I could. They're everything that's good, everything that's light, everything that's perfect. And my bullshit – all of this darkness – would just taint them.

  Yesterday at the general store, I was going to tell her to get lost. I was going to hurt her, say something terrible to push her away from me. That's what I should have done. It would be the honorable thing. My family's shit – my history – isn’t the kind of thing she and Olivia should be exposed to.

  Instead, I was weak yesterday. I stood there, wrestling with the part of me that should let her go, never see her again. But I couldn't bring myself to do it.

  And even worse? Now I'm here. I'm sitting here in my truck, outside of her house, at seven in the morning, as if it's a normal day and I'm about to go to work.

  As if nothing happened between us.

  As if everything is exactly the same.

  I'm sitting here, debating whether to back out of her driveway, go down the road, and turn around. I could do it. I could drive away and never look back. I could put this entire town in my rearview mirror, leave everything in this world behind. I could leave behind this shit with my family, with my mother and Jed and West Bend, just the way Killian did, going back to the oil rig.

  It would be entirely justifiable.

  Autumn would understand. After all, she did the same thing once before. She left Kentucky without a backward glance.

  She expects me to leave. She knows my reputation, and if she doesn't, well, she can assume the worst.

  The worst has always been the truth.

  I've never wanted more than just a roll in the hay with a girl. That night with Autumn was different. I didn't want to get the fuck out of her house as soon as I could. I wanted to stay there all night, buried as deeply inside her as I could be, touching her and looking at her and breathing her in.

  I lay there awake after she'd finally fallen asleep, after we'd talked and talked, the way I'd never wanted to do with anyone, her warmth radiating against me. I lay there and listened to her breathe and felt calm for the first time that I can remember. That restless feeling, the itch that always sends me chasing something – the next girl, the next adventure, the next high – was noticeably absent.

  I was still.

  Stillness isn't something I'm used to. My life has been the exact opposite of still since the day I was born into the total chaos of the Saint family. Hell, smoke jumping is as far away from still as you can get. It's pure adrenaline, your heart pounding, every muscle in your body tensed and on edge as you parachute from a plane into the path of a raging fire. It's loud, louder than the loudest thing you can imagine, like being in the middle of a heavy metal concert, but instead of music it's the deafening sound of fire: crackling, snapping, the croaking of trees as they fall to the ground.

  Lying there holding Autumn, being still… I should have hated everything about that moment. I should have wanted to be out of her bed and on to the next conquest. Instead, it felt like that moment when you catch your breath and drink in big gulps of oxygen after you finish sprinting, and you're glad to be no longer moving.

  Right now, I sit here in front of Autumn's house, unmoving. And it's exactly the opposite feeling. I'm not glad to be still.

  I'm sitting here because I'm torn between the right thing to do and the thing I want to do. The right thing to do is to keep my family bullshit way the hell away from Autumn, tell her I quit, walk away and let her believe I'm just an immature asshole who wanted a quick lay before moving on to another girl.

  That's how this story should go.

  That's the version of this story where Autumn isn't tainted by the Saint bullshit, by my family's legacy, by the darkness that follows me wherever I go.

  But I don't do the right thing. I don't turn around and walk away. Instead, I open the door and walk toward the house.

  23

  Autumn

  “Daisy,” I say, squatting down to show Olivia the flower. She takes it between her chubby little fingers before putting it up to her nose and sniffing deeply. Overtaken by the need to sneeze, she wrinkles her nose and sneezes loudly.

  “Daisy,” she repeats, throwing it on the ground with disgust and wiping her nose as she looks at me accusingly.

  “Hey, that wasn’t my fault,” I say, laughing. “I didn’t make you sneeze. What an attitude. You're a toddler going on sixteen years old.”

  Olivia recovers immediately, ignoring me as she darts forward, taking uneven, uneasy steps through the grass, off to discover something else. She’s been awake since five this morning, burning with incredible energy that I’m jealous of, so we’re on an early nature walk, which basically means we’re exploring the yard while I mainline caffeine and try to keep my bleary eyes open.

  We make our way at a snail’s pace across the lawn when I see Luke’s truck in the front. Lucy reaches us, bounding across the grass, her tail wagging excitedly. She paws at my leg in greeting, then makes her way over to Olivia where she drops down in the grass in front of her, head over her paws, tail still swishing back and forth. Olivia squeals, then flops down on her belly in the grass, a mirror image of the dog.

  “Lucy’s found her soul mate," Luke says.

  I’m focused so intently on Olivia – more specifically, on making sure that Olivia doesn’t yank the ears off the poor dog – that I don’t even notice Luke. But as soon as I hear his voice, my heart races, and the familiar heat I felt before in his presence immediately returns.

  I’m not sure if the butterflies in my stomach are attraction or nerves.

  He walks toward me, faded denim and a grey weathered t-shirt that looks so soft I immediately want to run my hands across the fabric. Across his chest.

  But he looks tired, the same way he appeared when I saw him in the store. There’s a sadness in his eyes that makes me want to hug him, but instead, I stand there with my hands in the pockets of my jeans. “I didn’t think you’d be back,” I remark.

  Damn it. That’s what you lead with, Autumn? It sounds like you don’t want him here.

  Shit. I keep telling myself I haven’t dated anyone in two years because I’ve been focused on being a mother. But hell, I’m just awful at dating. Of course, we’re not exactly dating, are we? All we had was a little fling that meant nothing. That’s what I tell myself as I stand here in front of him, my heart fluttering in my chest like I’m a teenage girl with a crush.

  “Apparently I’m a glutton for punishment,” Luke says, one eyebrow raised. “But I can leave if you’d like.”

  “No!” I say, my voice firm. “I mean, you can stay. If you want. I’m not telling you to stay. Only if you want to stay. I mean… damn it. I’m sorry,” I finally get out. “About… About the other day.”

  Fuck. This apology is coming out well.

  “You were right,” he says. “I shouldn’t have presumed.”

  I dig the toe of my shoe into the dirt, not looking at him. “You were trying to do

something nice,” I say. “But that’s my kid.”

  “I get it, man. I mean, I had you pegged as the paranoid type, for sure.”

  I look up, mouth half open, about to really give him a piece of my mind, but he’s grinning, his hands raised in the air in mock surrender. “Man?”

  Luke laughs and winks. “It's an expression,” he defends, mock-punching me lightly on the arm. “We’re totally friends, right?”

  I raise my eyebrows. “What is it you youngsters say? We’re bros?”

  He laughs long and low, the sound warm. Then, he steps forward, crossing the space between us, and looks down at me. “We’re not bros, Red.”

  “Friends, then,” I amend, my throat suddenly thick.

  “Nope.”

  “No?”

  “Do you want to be friends?” he asks me.

  Do I want to be friends? I can barely remember my own name when he stands this close, looking down at me the way he is right now. “Maybe.”

  “Well, I sure as hell don’t.”

  From a few feet away, Olivia emits a high-pitched squeal, startling Luke and I both. She flaps her arms wildly and beside her, Lucy jumps erratically through the grass, chasing something. "Lucy-girl," Luke calls. "She's probably tearing after a frog. She loves those."

  Olivia trails after Lucy, a toddler trying to keep up with whatever exciting drama the dog brings, and we follow the two across the lawn silently.

  "I didn't mean to jump your ass before," I go on. "I know you were trying to be nice. I just… haven't…"

  Luke stops, looking at me. "Been around someone so damn hot before?"

  I'm in the middle of a sip of coffee, and I almost spit it. "Yeah, that's it."

  My voice practically drips with sarcasm, except he’s pegged it exactly. I'm losing my shit over a hot guy. It's ridiculous, and the narcissistic ass totally knows it.

  "It's a common problem," Luke lets me know. "I don't mean to brag, but I deal with it a lot."

  “I imagine women are always losing their shit around you."

  “You mean it as an insult, but I take it as a compliment,” Luke says, grinning.

  “I think you take everything as a compliment.”

  “Daisy!” Olivia runs toward us, her distaste for the flower now forgotten. I reach out for it, but she hands it to Luke instead.

  “Well, now, thank you, little Olivia,” he says, squatting down and taking the proffered flower for a second before she rips it back from his hand and laughs as she turns around. He stands up, watching her run away. “Well, hell, for a second there I thought I was special.”

  “At least you got offered a flower,” I say. “Her affection is fleeting.”

  Luke turns toward me, his gaze penetrating. “What about her mother’s?”

  My breath hitches in my throat. “What about her mother’s what?”

  “Is yours?”

  I clear my throat. My heart pounds in my chest so loudly. “Is my affection fleeting?”

  “That’s what I asked,” he says, running a finger down my arm, the movement so subtle it would be barely perceptible to anyone else. But when he touches me, it's like electricity floods my body, sending shockwaves of arousal through me. When he touches me, I picture his hands caressing me, his mouth on mine.

  With one touch, one brush of his finger against my skin, I can feel him inside me.

  I want him inside me.

  The feeling is stronger than anything I’ve ever known.

  “Well?”

  “No,” I say, my voice wavering, drenched with arousal.

  “Good,” he whispers, leaning closer. “I’d hate to think you’d forgotten me so quickly.”

  As if I could forget. The memory of his touch is imprinted on my skin.

  “Wait, you think I’m the paranoid type?” I ask, deliberately changing the subject. The last thing I need is to be a puddle of goo, a bundle of need and want, right out here in the yard when my employees show up for work. The nanny should be here soon, and I know she already suspects something by the way I look at Luke. I can only imagine how the old ladies in town would gossip about a scandal involving Luke Saint and I.

  Luke shrugs. “If the shoe fits. I didn’t mean it as an insult, though. You should be paranoid when it comes to your kid. I respect you for it.”

  “Oh, you respect me?” I ask, laughing. “Somehow I get the impression that Luke Saint doesn’t respect anyone.”

  A strange look crosses his face, and I think for a second that I’ve hurt him again. “I might be flippant about a lot of things, but there are some things – some people – I do respect.” He looks at me meaningfully, and I swallow hard.

  Suddenly, I think that maybe I’ve been wrong about him, that I’ve written him off as a stereotypical younger guy – immature, thrill-seeking, whoring around – but that there’s more to Luke Saint than I’d thought.

  Then I catch where his gaze lingers. “Eyes up,” I say, rolling mine.

  Luke grins. “I can’t help it,” he says.

  Yep, totally underestimated his maturity.

  “And you were saying something about respecting me?” I ask as we follow Olivia and Lucy toward the house.

  “I respect you. I also happen to want to throw you over my shoulder, carry you into your house, and rip those damn clothes off.” I’m walking in front of him, but he grabs my hand and pulls me back against him, his mouth near my ear. “In fact, feeling you come on me is one of the only things I can think about.”

  I shake his hand off, trying to step away from him, but he holds me tighter. “People are going to be here any minute,” I protest. “Greta will get here in a second. Mary will be here to open the cidery.”

  “Tell me you haven’t been thinking about my mouth between your legs,” he whispers.

  A thrill rushes through me as the image of Luke in the hallway, kneeling at my feet with his tongue buried inside me, flashes in my mind.

  Of course I’ve been thinking about it, I want to say. I’ve touched myself thinking about it. I can’t stop thinking about it, to an unhealthy degree.

  But the sound of tires along the road makes me jump, and Luke lets go of me. “And that’s the nanny,” I announce, walking toward the driveway and following Olivia as she meanders up to the wraparound front porch, crawling up the stairs instead of walking, the way she always does.

  “I want to see you again,” Luke says.

  I laugh. “You’re seeing me right now.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Sure, I know.”

  I know exactly what he means. It means sweaty limbs entwined together, the taste of Luke on my tongue… his cock inside me, bringing me to the brink, hands interlaced with mine, until I can’t hold out any longer.

  But he doesn’t say that. He doesn’t say what I expect, innuendo and promises of ecstasy.

  “A date,” he clarifies anyway.

  “Excuse me? Olivia, don’t pull on Lucy’s ears.” Olivia looks up at me, her hand paused mid-stretch near Lucy’s head. Lucy licks her hand and runs away.

  “You heard me,” he says.

  “Isn’t dating… not really your thing?”

  “It hasn’t been,” he agrees. “But I’ve changed my mind.”

  “I – don’t know what to say to that.” My eyes are on Greta as she gets out of the car. I wave, stepping away from Luke, consciously trying to put some distance between us.