What You See: Sons of the Survivalist: 3 Read online

  Caz grinned. “I’m surprised you don’t know everything already.”

  “I’m not the old man.” As their leader, Gabe had been labeled the “old man” before they even reached their teens—and the cop went after secrets like a hound on a blood trail. “I don’t need to know everything.”

  “Maybe you do. You want her for your roadhouse, which might mean helping with whatever’s bothering her from her past. You’re a fixer, ’mano.” Caz poured himself a glass of iced tea.

  Bull frowned. He did want Frankie for the roadhouse…and for himself. “You might have a point.”

  Hearing Frankie’s open laughter, Bull smiled. She had a hell of a laugh. “By the way, bro. Do you happen to know what orso-key-AH-toe means?”

  Caz chuckled. “Bear is oso in Spanish, and I think it’s orso in Italian. I’m guessing she called you a teddy bear.”

  “Did she now?” His heart lightened. Teddy bears were cuddled and cried on if someone needed comforting. “I can work with that.”

  With Caz beside him, Bull leaned on the island to watch the group.

  Everyone was on the comfortable, massive sectional. Mako’d set up the downstairs figuring on bringing them all together. An oversized flat-screen TV for movies and sports. A spacious kitchen with an equally big pantry. A gym with a fancy weight room. The sarge had known them well.

  There were times Bull wondered what the paranoid survivalist would have thought of Audrey and JJ…and Frankie. Of the sweet sound of women’s voices in his house.

  You missed a lot, Sarge.

  On one end of the sectional, as far away from the women as possible, Hawk had his violin and was teaching Regan. With her violin tucked beneath her chin, the girl was growing frustrated.

  The song—“The Impossible Dream”—was older. It’d been one of Mako’s favorite songs, one he’d played when he was feeling melancholy—a soldier’s song, he’d called it.

  Had Regan even heard it before? Hawk sure wouldn’t sing the tune for her, not with his ruined voice. Bull shrugged. It wasn’t as if they lacked people to demonstrate the tune. He raised his voice. “Take it from the top, Hawk.”

  Hawk shot him a glare for interrupting, then one of his rare smiles as he caught on. He raised his violin. “You heard him, girl. Lead off with me.”

  The two violins started the intro. Bull felt like a proud father. Regan was getting damned good. “Go, Caz. I’ll jump in.”

  Caz grinned, and when the violins reached the part for vocals, he sang, “To dream the impossible dream…”

  Bull came in, hitting the low notes.

  After a minute, Gabe handed a guitar to Audrey, picked his up, and they strummed an accompaniment. Over the winter, Audrey had discovered she loved playing the guitar.

  Her clear soprano, then JJ’s alto blended with the melody.

  When Bull gave Frankie a jump in gesture, she hesitated a bare second and joined with a rich, beautiful alto. Unlike Audrey, she wasn’t shy—and he loved that.

  After a few measures, Gabe grinned at Bull in approval. The little Italian had a lovely voice.

  They sang that song and a couple more before Hawk declared Regan’s lesson to be over and strolled into the kitchen for a glass of water. None of Mako’s sons drank much; alcohol greased the way for flashbacks.

  “The yorkie’s a pretty woman.” Hawk leaned on the island beside Bull, watching Frankie in a way that Bull recognized. A man-woman way.

  Oh, hell. While here, Bull had restrained himself from a lot of touching—partly because of the crap with Harvey earlier. But his restraint might have led Hawk to think Frankie was merely an employee to Bull.

  “She’s beautiful, yeah.” And he should have made his interest obvious. “I plan to lure her back into my bed after this is over.”

  A muscle tensed in Hawk’s cheek. “Back into bed?”

  Frankie laughed at something JJ said, the rippling sound running over Bull’s skin like sunlight.

  Bull shook his head at Hawk. “Sorry, bro. I’m calling dibs.”

  “I might have known.” Hawk lifted his hands, palms out, acknowledging Bull’s claim, the gesture bringing back their younger days when they’d worked out their bro-code protocols. In their family, up until sex occurred, competition was fine. Once a guy got physically involved, the woman was off-limits to his brothers.

  When it came to Frankie, it needed to be clear he was damn well invested.

  How in the world did I end up in Bull’s bed? Not only in his bed, but on top, with him throbbing and hot and huge, inside her.

  As another rush of excitement lashed her body, Frankie pushed her damp hair from her face and glared down at his hard, carved face. “Either I move, or you move.”

  He was half-sitting, propped against the headboard, and his muscular hands were curved around her hips, holding her immobile. “No.”

  She didn’t…quite…scream.

  A dimple appeared in his cheek, and his hands rotated inward. Something touched her pussy—on each side of her exposed clit—vibrating fast. Buzzing. She looked down.

  Ring vibes over his thumbs were just barely brushing her sensitive nub.

  “Oh, ohhhhh.” The sensations intensified, and the need to come grew and grew. She tried to wiggle, to move.

  Even with his thumbs against her there, his hands could extend over the tops of her thighs and hold her in place.

  “Buuuuullll.” Her heartrate quickened, her muscles went taut. She hovered on the precipice, every nerve screaming.

  He pressed the vibes against her harder, even as his merciless grip tightened on her thighs. “I want to watch you come. Feel you quivering around my dick.”

  His black eyes held hers as the orgasm crashed over her, consumed her, and she shuddered with mind-shattering pleasure around the thick unmoving shaft deep inside her.

  Discarding the ring vibes, he set his hands on her breasts, roughly pinching and rolling her nipples, overloading her nerves with the devastating sensations.

  Before the climaxing waves slowed, he grasped her ass and lifted her up, then yanked her down onto his cock.

  A moan burst from her at the stunning pleasure. Madonna, he was so big.

  Her orgasm went on and on as she drove down on him over and over, feeling each impact through her whole body. His gaze was on her bouncing breasts, and his smile was purely carnal.

  “My turn, woman.” Gripping her hips, he lifted his ass up to grind into her, sending searing pleasure across her engorged clit. Then he took control, lifting her like a doll, pulling her down, hammering into her, deep and hard, taking his own pleasure with a fierce need that satisfied something inside her.

  The cords in his neck stood out, and she reveled in hearing his low growl of satisfaction as he came inside her.

  After a bit, he drew her down on top of him. With a sigh, she laid her head on his wide chest. Her heart was still racing, and her muscles felt limper than over-cooked pasta.

  “Mmm.” His purr of satisfaction was something she’d never tire of hearing.

  Before she drifted off completely, he gently pulled out, eased from under her to dispose of the condom, then cleaned them both up.

  She should get up, too. She needed to get back to her own place. Somehow, she’d stayed longer at the dinner than she’d planned. Caz kept refilling her wine glass, and Audrey brought out a board game she thought Regan would like. It felt so much like being at Nonna’s that Frankie hadn’t been able to leave.

  “You’re thinking too hard, sweetheart.” Pulling back the covers, Bull slid her under and tucked her against his side, his body dwarfing hers.

  “I should be going,” she whispered.

  “I want you to stay.” Bull pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “We want you to stay.”

  She lifted her head to stare at him. “We? Your family tells you what women to take to bed? That’s simply wrong.”

  He was laughing too hard to speak for a moment. Then he snapped his fingers, and Gryff planted two pa
ws on the mattress. “Gryff, tell Frankie you want her to stay. Howl, buddy.”

  Nose in the air, Gryff let out a long wolf-like howl, then waited for praise.

  “Good job, Gryff. Perfect.” Bull scratched behind one fluffy ear and grinned at Frankie. “He’s been practicing.”

  Laughing, Frankie patted the fluffy fur. “That was amazing, Gryff. You’re a great dog.”

  “We want you to stay,” Bull said in a smug voice. “You wouldn’t want to hurt Gryff’s feelings, would you?”

  Hearing his name, Gryff wagged his tail and licked her hand. He had the pleading-brown-eyes down to an art.

  She scowled. “Using a dog is an underhanded technique, Skull.”

  With a whine, Gryff decided the bed shouldn’t be only for humans and jumped up, curling in a circle at the foot.

  Frankie eyed him. What a smug expression on the furry face.

  “Ah…does having Gryff on the bed bother you?” Bull asked—and she had to suppress a smile. The man was so damned self-confident that a bit of worry looked good on him.

  Now how would Mama say this? Frankie assumed the ice queen’s expression and voice. “You do know that animals don’t belong on the furniture.”

  “Right.” Bull sighed. “Gryff, buddy, you—”

  She burst out laughing.

  “Fuck, woman, you played me?” Bull’s eyes crinkled.

  Still laughing, Frankie sat up long enough to tousle Gryff’s fur and kiss his fuzzy head before nestling back against Bull’s side. “I love that he sleeps on your bed.”

  “I’ll be damned.”

  She sighed. “I used to beg for a dog or cat; there were so many that needed homes. As far as Mama was concerned, the only fur in a house should be the kind worn as a cape.”

  “I can just see you dragging home some stray and asking to keep it.” Bull cupped her cheek in his palm, grazing his thumb over her skin, and the sympathy in his voice was almost her undoing.

  She swallowed. “Anyway, I’m glad you have Gryff and that he gets to be on the bed.”

  “There’s a relief.” Bull relaxed, pulling her up and closer.

  “However, I really shouldn’t spend the night.” She rubbed her face against his shoulder. “You know how I feel. Morning sex is like friends with benefits. Spending nights, sleeping together leads to relationships and—”

  “Sweetheart.” The amusement in his voice stopped her cold.

  She eyed him.

  “You’re too late. We already have a relationship, no matter how you label it. Making love is just that—whether the sun is up or not.” He stroked her back.

  Her breathing stopped as she heard the certainty in his words. He was right. They didn’t fuck; they made love.

  “I know you plan to leave at the end of summer,” he said gently. “Let’s be together while we can.”

  “Yes.” The word slipped out of her, because there was nowhere else she’d rather be than with him. In his bed with his arms around her, with Gryff’s head resting on her foot.

  It felt like a perfect moment of pure contentment and happiness. Like there should be starry skies and haunting violins and…

  She blinked. “I thought I was half-dreaming, but that’s a violin. For real.”

  Bull chuckled. “For real. Hawk sits on his deck and plays when he’s having trouble sleeping or a bad day. We all…”

  With a frown, Frankie braced an arm across his chest so she could lift up and watch Bull in the shadowy light. It must be extremely late if the sun had finally set. “You all…what?”

  He sighed. “We all served. Saw action overseas. Ugly shit, Frankie. And we all have the odd nightmare or bad day because of what we saw. And did.”

  As her heart went all melty with tenderness, she caressed his face in a futile attempt to soothe. “It’s not fair that being brave and risking your life can mean suffering for it afterward. It should be a one-time mess, then over and done.”

  He snorted. “I agree.”

  If only she could wave a magic wand and make it all better. This must be how mothers felt when their babies got hurt. Yet it turned her all warm ‘n’ fuzzy that her tough guy had admitted to not being a superman. She lightened her tone to half-teasing and half-serious. “Do you all play the violin?”

  “Jesus, that would be a nightmare. No. But we’ve all spent hours under the stars, on the deck or in the gazebo. Waiting for the memories to fade, soaking in the peace.” He ran a finger along the curve of her ear. “If I get up at night, that’s why.”

  “Okay. But, be warned, my orsacchiotto. Since this is now a relationship, if you stay out too long, I’ll come and find you.”

  “Will you now?” His voice had the rumbling purr he used when he was pleased. And he pulled her down for a tender kiss.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Keeping up the appearance of having all your marbles is hard work, but important. ~ Sara Gruen

  * * *

  On a sunny afternoon two days later, Hawk sat with his feet up on his deck railing. Gryff lay beside his chair. If Bull wasn’t home, the dog would latch onto whoever was outside—even Hawk.

  Hawk studied the mutt. “Haven’t I mentioned I don’t like dogs?”

  Big brown eyes met his, calling him on the lie, and Hawk dropped a hand over the side of his chair to ruffle the soft fur.

  Gryff thumped his tail on the planking then laid his head down with a contented sigh.

  Hawk shook his head. He had company while playing. Huh. He tucked his violin back under his chin. He’d been playing for the past hour. Serenading the lady of the lake.

  Years ago, a pagan co-pilot had said everything on earth had its own spirit—trees and lakes and mountains—and Hawk had scoffed.

  Then came years of wading through blood, surrounded by death…and the man’s quiet belief in…life…had grown on Hawk. Who knew? It was a comfort to think the lake’s spirit enjoyed his music. He’d even composed a few tunes for her.

  The quiet was disturbed by the sound of a vehicle on their private road and the opening and closing of a garage door.

  Gryff gave a low woof and raced across the grass onto Bull’s deck. Nose against the glass, the dog quivered with anticipation.

  Guess Bull was back. Probably to get ready for work.

  Was he alone or with the yorkie? She’d spent the night after the Italian meal and last night, as well.

  Hawk’s mouth twisted. His brothers had found themselves girlfriends. Not surprising. They were damned good-looking. Got on with people. Women pursued all three of them with the tenacity of a coyote pack after rabbits.

  Must be nice to be the focus of that kind of attention.

  Not that Bull appreciated it. Not in the fucking least. Hawk eyed Gryff, still waiting at the door. Bull was completely comfortable with a dog pawing him, demanding attention, leaning against him. He didn’t appreciate it from a female.

  No, that was wrong. Bull had been openly affectionate with that ex-wife of his. Hawk shook his head. He’d only met Paisley once, but she’d seemed to be all surface beauty with nothing underneath. From Bull’s silence about his marriage, the woman had probably screwed him over.

  Sympathy made Hawk feel, maybe, less annoyed Bull had secured the woman Hawk had ever-so-briefly considered making a move on.

  Stupid idea, really. He couldn’t compete with his brothers. Like what’d happened when—

  Bull came out on the deck, and Gryff started turning in spirals of happiness. Bending, Bull gave the mutt a rough scratching along his ribs and butt, then picked up his egg basket. They rotated egg-collection days, giving each of them a chance to restock their own larders.

  As Bull crossed the lawn, he spotted Hawk. “Yo, bro. Having a quiet day?”

  “Yeah.” Hawk frowned, seeing his brother’s strained expression—the same one he often saw in his own mirror. But…Bull? “You okay?”

  “Sure, sure.” Bull started to walk on, stopped, and shook his head. “No, that’s a bullshit cover-up. That mach
o crap is partly why Mako was such a mess. Gabe, too. Hell, all of us are fucked-up in different ways.”

  Hawk stared at him in shock. “What?”

  Putting a foot on Hawk’s steps, Bull set his elbows on the railing and gazed out at the lake where a float plane was coming in for a landing. “Mako had PTSD. We all knew it, but he avoided like hell discussing it with us. He taught us that bullshit—not to talk about our problems. When Gabe came back with his head on wrong, he spent the winter alone in Sarge’s old cabin instead of coming to one of us for help.”

  Hawk’s mouth tightened. Hiding out was pretty much what he’d done a time or two.

  But…Bull hadn’t really answered his question. “What about you?”

  “I’m mostly all right, but…not always. Had a few missions where everything went south—and yeah, they come back and haunt me.” Bull turned to face him. “A couple of months ago, Dante took me to a counselor buddy in Anchorage. The guy’s a vet—and uses some weird machine that helps to integrate the memories.”

  “It works?” That’d be the day.

  Bull nodded. “For me, at least. It’s not easy. Couple of times, I almost puked. But the flashbacks and nightmares and feeling of falling into a black hole? It’s getting better.”

  “Huh.” Hawk stared at the sunlight rippling on the water.

  Bull cleared his throat. “As it happens, Doc Grayson was asking about you. Said you made him a promise last year that you’d see a therapist. Said if you didn’t, he’d come up and you two would…chat.”

  “Fuck.” The psychologist never made threats he didn’t keep.

  Even worse, Hawk had promised. Guess he’d better man up.

  Pulling himself together, Hawk realized his brother had moved silently away, heading for the chicken coop.

  A few minutes later, on the way back, Bull slowed. “Let me know when you have an appointment. I’ll take you there the first time or two.” He didn’t wait for an answer.

  The bull knew him well.

  Her laptop in front of her, Frankie listened with half an ear to the activity in the coffee shop. And sniffed appreciatively at the chocolatey aroma of a mocha coffee.