Beneath the Scars Read online

  There was a woman after his own heart.

  No. Don’t go there. Dammit, he’d broken up with Nadia only a month ago. But the pain had faded fast, maybe because he’d discovered he didn’t even recognize the real Nadia. Didn’t like the real Nadia.

  Despite the short time, he knew Josie far better than he had Nadia—at least in the ways that mattered. Josie’d apologized for her rudeness when believing he was a biker. When her kid was in danger, she’d risked herself to save him. In the Shadowlands, she listened and tended to the members with as much care as she mixed their drinks. She’d uprooted her life to move close to her aging great-aunt. Even the neighborhood teens said she was cool. She listened to them—and gave them cookies.

  Aaaaand now, he had a craving for cookies.

  Holt grinned. As a guy, he’d noticed how well her round ass filled her jeans, her eyes turned greener in sunlight, and her mouth curved into a smile. Damned if he didn’t want to nibble on that soft lower lip of hers. To see what color her nipples were and savor the weight of her breasts. To strip her down, physically and emotionally.

  To take her under command.

  Because, Josie was submissive, and the sweet yielding look in her eyes ignited a fire in his belly.

  Hell, now he was an idiot. Starting anything with Josie was a foolish idea ripe for ugly complications. She was his neighbor. Worked in the Shadowlands. Had a child.

  And according to Stella, Josie didn’t date. At all.

  Why?

  A noise made him look to the left, and he turned.

  Carson stood on the other side of the fence, the sun glinting off sandy brown hair a few inches longer than his Mom’s. Ill at ease, the boy shifted from foot to foot. “Um. Hi.”

  “Hey, kid. Jump on over.”

  The boy’s brown eyes lit. His hop over the fence was effective, if not graceful. He jogged to the patio.

  “Want a Coke or Dew?” Holt held up his Mountain Dew.

  “Uh, sure. Coke. Please.”

  “Be right back.” When the boy followed, Holt halted. “Nah, it’s best if you stay outside.”

  Carson looked confused, then hurt.

  Shit. Jesus, this kind of warning should come from the parents, shouldn’t it? But teaching was what a nurse—and Dom—did, even if the subject matter was difficult.

  Holt leaned a shoulder against a patio pillar. “You’re not a girl, Carson, but there are perverts who’d hurt boys your age. Outside, where people can see you”—Holt waved at Stella who was puttering in her garden—“you’re pretty safe. However, if a man asks you into his house, say no.”

  Carson turned red.

  “Your mama ever talk to you about this?”

  More red. The kid looked at his feet. “Yeah. She did.”

  Not a surprise. Josie seemed like a mother who’d tackle hard subjects. “See, this, right now—that’s what she meant. I’m a good guy, but you don’t know that for sure. Assholes are easy to label when they act like the two last night. But some bad guys are sneaky. They’ll seem nice—might even be friends or relatives.”

  With luck, the kid would never learn how a friendly personality could conceal ugliness beneath. “Learn to be cautious until you’re sure. Which means you take a seat out here and keep safe, yeah?”

  After a second, Carson nodded with a half-smile. “Yeah.”

  When Holt returned, the kid was slouched in a chair. He took the Coke with a muttered, “Thanks.”

  “You bet.” Holt settled into his own seat and put his feet back up on the empty chair. His belly and back were sore today—not surprising after the way he’d tossed the mugger into the car last night. Didn’t feel like he’d ripped any internal stitches open though. He should be good to return to work at the hospital on Wednesday. “How’s your mom? Is she doing all right?”

  Carson’s surprised blink showed he’d expected questions about himself, not his mother. Ah, boyhood. “Um, sure. She’s fine.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. She was pretty distressed last night when she couldn’t find you.”

  “I know.” Guilt chased over Carson’s face. “I shouldn’t have taken off like that. If I got hurt… She doesn’t have anybody but me an’ Oma.”

  Good, the boy did have a heart and conscience. “So…did she ground you for life?”

  Carson’s lips curved up. “Not that bad. She said she considered it but figured I’d already suffered the consequences…been punished.” The boy’s smile faded. “Because my father turned out to be a dick, and I got kinda beat up.”

  “Yeah, those are definitely consequences.” And Josie was a great mom to leave it at that.

  “But she said I owe you two hours of free labor.”

  Holt lowered his drink. “What?”

  “Because you lost time because of my in­con…con­diserate­ness”—Carson frowned—“I forgot the word, but I’m supposed to pay you back. Mom says you’re not supposed to do heavy work, and I’m strong. I can mow your lawn. Clean up around the bushes. Wash windows. Whatever.”

  Well, damn. Holt started to refuse and stopped. Josie wouldn’t give her boy the assignment unless she’d thought it out. “Well, Stella would probably appreciate it if you mowed and cleaned up my half of the backyard. Every time she looks over at my side, she gets this…look on her face.” Imitating the elderly gardener’s expression, Holt pursed his lips, frowned, and shook his head.

  “She does.” Carson laughed, then sobered. “Thanks, though. For getting rid of those guys.”

  The kid’s eyes showed he hadn’t forgotten the terror of being helpless. Holt wished he’d had the freedom last night to beat the assholes senseless. It was a sick world where children weren’t safe. “I enjoyed having something to do. It’s boring sitting around on my ass.”

  Last night, he’d felt useful for the first time in over a month. Huh. Maybe he had some bizarre hero complex buried in his subconscious. Actually, considering his choice of jobs…yep.

  As if following his thoughts, Carson said, “Mom says you’re a firefighter.”

  “Sometimes.” Holt gave him a wry smile. “I started out chasing fire. These days, there are more medical emergencies than fires, and I ride the ambulance some days, fire engine on others.”

  “So you’re like an EM…something?”

  “EMT—a paramedic.” Holt took a sip of his soda. “I also have an RN license, so I work the fire station on Mondays and an intensive care unit in the hospital later in the week.”

  Carson wrinkled his nose. “A hospital isn’t very exciting, is it?”

  “That was the point.” How to explain to a starry-eyed boy? “I’ve been a firefighter since I was eighteen. A human body can get pretty mangled up, and seeing that can make it tough to sleep. I found it’s good to get a break.”

  The kid thought it over before voicing a comprehending, “Huh.”

  Yeah, Josie had a smart lad. And a brave one. He’d done well during the fight. And now, much like his mother, he took responsibility for his mistake without trying to blame anyone else. Too many so-called adults weren’t as mature.

  When the boy set his soda on the table, Holt noticed the dark bruises on his face, arms, and neck. “You catch grief at school about the bruises?”

  “Yeah,” Carson muttered. “The teachers asked. And some of the guys.”

  “Guys? Not friends?”

  The kid’s brows drew together. “My best friend’s only in one class with me now. I didn’t even see him today. An’ a lot of my other friends—I don’t see them.”

  “You lost me. Why?”

  Carson shrugged. “When we got into middle school, half my friends went to other schools. The rest who’re at my school take different classes and eat lunch at other times.”

  Holt tried to remember middle school, but that was about when he’d been running drugs at his aunt’s and then he and Aunt Rita had been homeless…with no school at all. “Sounds like you’re going to have to find new friends.”

  “Yeah.” Afte
r a heavy sigh, Carson brightened. “Brandon an’ Yukio are okay. Not total losers, you know. Gamers an’ stuff.”

  “That’s a start.” Smiling, Holt rose. “C’mon. Let’s see if we can get Zuri’s old lawn mower started.”

  * * * * *

  That evening, as Holt and Carson discussed Xbox games, Josie leaned back in her chair with a pleased sigh. Her impromptu supper had gone nicely, hadn’t it?

  Maybe life would settle down now.

  After Carson had left for school this morning, she’d written an excellent fight scene by channeling her fear from last night into her heroine. The chapter had been bloody and scary…and the evil reptilian attackers had lost.

  And hey, she’d been able to describe the sights, sounds, and feeling of hitting someone with a rock quite authentically.

  When Carson had returned from school, they’d talked, gotten everything out, and she’d sent him off to work for Holt.

  In the quiet house, she’d tried to dispel her lingering anger and fear with a cooking marathon. The enormous amount of food had reminded her of her own debt to pay, and she’d sent Carson over to offer Holt a neighborly invitation.

  That, perhaps, hadn’t been the…wisest idea. Sure, she had a debt to pay, but after last night’s off the scale, erotic dreams, she was having trouble remembering Holt was a neighbor and that she didn’t date or…anything. It sure didn’t help that he was a more muscular, much smarter version of Thor, and that his darkly masculine laugh could make her heart skip beats.

  You’re being a weak female, Josephine. With a silent sigh, she turned to watch him.

  On her right, he’d leaned a thick forearm on the table as he and her boy argued about a gaming technique. His blue-gray, button-up shirt matched his eyes so perfectly she’d bet Uzuri—a Brendall’s fashion buyer—had bought it for him. He sat close enough his muscular shoulder occasionally brushed against hers.

  She got a hot tingle every time.

  He caught her staring and captured her gaze with a long look. When he finally smiled, she had to remind herself to breathe. Honestly, Josie.

  Forcing her gaze away, she tried to study her dining room. She’d dressed the table with a white tablecloth, and her dark red stoneware looked festive—and reminded her she and Carson needed to buy a Christmas tree and figure out which boxes held holiday decorations. Tomorrow, for sure.

  The room needed a lot of work though. Boxes needing to be unpacked were stacked in the corners. The sickly pale green walls and trim needed new paint. But the beautiful antique chandelier softened the ugly hue…and brought out the sun streaks in Holt’s caramel-colored hair.

  Good God, she was back to staring at him. Stop.

  “Mom, I’m finished. May I be excused?”

  Ah, wasn’t it awesome when her son actually used the manners she’d tried to teach him? Josie smiled. “Sure. Do you have homework?”

  “Of course,” he grumbled. “I know—do it first.”

  “Good plan. Don’t forget your dishes.”

  With a heavy sigh, Carson picked up his plate and silverware and trudged to the kitchen as if the chore required all his strength.

  Holt chuckled. “Makes me want to talk about how I suffered when I was his age and how easy kids today have it.”

  “I know, right? Only I didn’t, really. Now Gramps, he boasted about having to walk across town to school because the school bus was only for the ranch children, not anyone inside the town limits.”

  “Ah, one of those. He had to struggle through snow drifts up to his waist, right?”

  “In Texas?” She gave him an outraged look. “The cattle would have heart failure.”

  “There is that.” He grinned. “I knew that was a Texas accent I was hearing.”

  “Accent?” She scowled. Dammit, she’d been sure she’d lost it years ago.

  “Yes, pet, you have a pretty Texas drawl.”

  She could feel herself flush at the compliment.

  With a slow smile, he ran a finger down her hot cheek.

  “Done, Mom. See you, Holt.” Cookie in hand, Carson headed for his bedroom and homework.

  In the now silent dining room, Josie settled back in her chair and eyed the man beside her. The one she barely knew. “I just realized I don’t know your name. Is Holt a nickname?”

  “Last name. My first name is Alexander.”

  “But…that’s a wonderful first name.” He even looked like an Alexander. “Why not use it?”

  “Ah, well, when I was young, I spent some time in a place”—his eyes darkened—“where there was another Alex. After a while, people simply used my last name, and I got used to it.”

  Where had he been that gave him such a haunted look in his eyes? “I see.”

  “One syllable. Nice and short.” The shadows disappeared as his lips curved. “I did some modeling way back when, and my agent used simply ‘Holt’. Said it was memorable.”

  Modeling. And with only a one word name. She smiled slightly. Yes, he had the self-assurance of someone who would say: This is who I am. Take it or leave it. “You went from modeling to being a firefighter and RN?”

  “Yep. Actually, the money I banked from doing commercials paid my college tuition.” Holt finished the last bite of roast beef on his plate and leaned back in his chair. “That was an amazing dinner, Josie. Thank you.”

  “It seemed the least I could do for your help last night. Would you like some dessert?”

  “No room right now. How about we try out that dessert wine I brought?”

  “Sounds perfect.” She picked up her plate, pleased when he followed and loaded the dishwasher with his own dishes.

  After pulling the corkscrew from the drawer, Josie saw Holt studying the fridge. Between snapshots of Carson and Oma and Josie were the grocery list and a list of emergency numbers. Taking the pen dangling from a string, Holt added his name and cell phone number to the emergency list. Seeing her watching, he said casually, “Feel free to call me when things go thump in the night or you find ogres under your bed.”

  The offer left her speechless. She hadn’t had anyone to scare away monsters since…since she was Carson’s age. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Feeling flustered, she opened the bottle of Tokaji and poured two glasses. When she felt his eyes on her, she hesitated. Was she supposed to have let him do this task? Had she upset his sense of masculinity?

  He only grinned. “It’s a pleasure to watch a master at work.”

  Of course he didn’t mind. She’d never met anyone so downright confident.

  “I was wondering,” he said. “The Shadowlands is only open two nights a week. Do you need help getting a job at another bar, as well? I know a fair number of people.”

  His concern warmed her heart. “Thank you, but there’s no need. I don’t want to work more than part-time.”

  His head tilted slightly in an unspoken direction to continue explaining.

  “I’m an author of teen fantasy novels.” She took a sip of the wine, enjoying the gentle bouquet of sweet flavors. “Although the four books I have out now sell well, I still need a day job.”

  “An author—that’s fantastic.” The respect in his voice was heartening. “You bartend part-time and spend your days writing?”

  “Writing, promoting, researching. Yes.” She grinned. “This afternoon, I researched medieval punishments. I always thought putting a person in the “stocks” meant she stood bent over with her head and wrists restrained—but that’s a pillory. A stock is the board with semicircles cut out and hinged to another stock to make circles. Traditional stocks restrained a person by the ankles.”

  “Good to know. The Shadowlands has a few wooden stocks—both head and wrists post restraints or seated ankle restraints, but we lump them all under stocks.”

  “Exactly. The things you learn…”

  He leaned against the counter and studied her. “And are you interested in that kind of restraint?” His smooth voice flowed over her like poured honey.
/>   Then she realized what he was asking. “Me?” She actually squeaked. But, oh, my, God. There were pillories in the Shadowlands…and he wanted to know if she liked them? The zing went right through and straight to her pussy. “I…um…hadn’t thought… I just wanted to avoid having my hero sent to a jail where a rescue would be too tricky.”

  “Of course.” He pushed a lock of hair out of her eyes with the merest brush of his fingers. “Now tell me, which would be more exciting—being restrained by your ankles?” He paused. “Or bent over with your neck and wrists imprisoned?”

  The minute he said bent over, heat engulfed her.

  “Ah.” A corner of his mouth lifted. “I’ll let Z know the pillory is your choice of discipline.”

  She gave him a reproving look. Bad Dom.

  With an easy grin, he picked up the glasses of wine. “Let’s take this to the living room, shall we?”

  How did he make a suggestion sound like an order? “Sure.”

  He led the way and set both glasses on the coffee table. It wouldn’t be polite to pick up her glass and choose the chair across the room.

  In response to her narrowed eyes, he merely smiled and opened his hand toward one end of the couch.

  Were Doms sneaky as well as bossy? Giving in and taking a seat, she picked up her wine and kicked off her shoes with a sigh of relief.

  He sat down near the other end of the couch. Not close enough to make her uneasy, but still…close enough.

  She studied her wine for a second before looking up. Although he was disconcertingly easy to talk with, she never seemed to find her balance around him. Maybe because the mere sound of his resonant voice sent champagne bubbles through her veins.

  Sipping her wine, she shifted uneasily and finally settled on a cross-legged position. The quiet, softly lit living room was far more intimate than the brightly lit dining room with Carson talking about school. “This is a great wine,” she said. “Very, um, pleasant.”

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  The top two buttons of Holt’s shirt weren’t fastened, and as he leaned back, the edges gaped, revealing hard pectoral muscles. He’d held her against his solid chest last night. Wrapped iron-hard arms around her. And oh, she wanted to be in those arms again.