Damaged
by Jeanne St. James
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Two scarred souls: one physically, one mentally. Both
on the mend, hiding from their pasts...
Mace Walker can't wait to get home.
Being buried deep undercover for the past two years, on the most complex case of his career, has torn him down physically and mentally. Now the FBI agent has come home to recover after having his leg badly injured from a gunshot wound. Arriving home late one night, his relief is short-lived as he's faced with a stranger pointing a gun to his head, acting like he is the one who doesn't belong there!
Colby Parks, a biochemist at the local university, had come to town a year earlier to escape an abusive relationship. She vows never to put herself in that situation again.
Then the perfect opportunity comes along: house-sitting for Mace's sister while making the house she purchased habitable. But she couldn't anticipate this big snag: the one wearing the tight Levi's and worn leather jacket, looking like he had just escaped prison.
Being forced to share a house creates sparks between them in more ways than one. However, things take a turn when their pasts catch up to them, threatening to pull them apart forever.
Note: This book was previously published under the title Banged Up but has been reedited for this release.
Chapter One
As Mace Walker slid the key into the lock, an
immediate sense of relief washed over him. He hadn’t been home in…Hell, forever. Even though he owned the
house and considered it his home, he felt like a stranger when he opened the
front door. He chucked his keys on the table by the door with a sigh. He’d been
home for a whole thirty seconds and restlessness already ate at him.
The house was quiet, and he wondered where his
sister was. Probably sleeping, dummy,
since it was—he glanced at his watch—freaking one in the morning. Most normal
folk slept at this hour. But then, he wasn’t normal. He couldn’t be to do his
job.
But, he couldn’t do his job right now, anyway. He’d
been forced home to heal. Against his wishes.
Fucking
bullshit.
The foyer was dark, but he didn’t need to hit the
light. He still knew the house well enough. He made his way to the stairs where
he dumped his duffle bags on the floor and ran a hand through his too-long
hair.
Those two small duffels held little evidence of his
life for the past couple years—just some toiletries and a
few basic items of clothing.
He turned toward the kitchen, and the foyer lit up,
blinding him for a second. He blinked against the harsh light, and a young
voice rang out from the top of the steps. “Hold it right there! Put your arms
up and back away from the stairs.”
What the
fuck?
Mace had expected to see his sister bounding down
the stairway of his two-story colonial, excited after not seeing him for the
past two years. Actually, more like one year, eleven months, and fifteen days.
Not that he’d counted.
But instead, he stared up into the deadly eye of a
Glock. And from his viewpoint, it looked like a model 27, a .40 caliber—a compact, but still a
decent sized gun in a very small, very uneasy hand. Instantly, the hairs on the
back of his neck rose.
Damn.
He’d dealt with crime bosses and their flunkies—from
drug to porno rings—and had managed to survive. Now he was going to be killed
by some measly punk he surprised while burglarizing his house when he happened
to come home? The cruel irony made him want to laugh. Instead, he did as instructed.
With caution, he raised his hands above his head before stepping back toward
the middle of the foyer. He avoided standing directly under the light, trying
to get a better view of the top of the steps. But he didn’t have much success;
the upstairs hallway and the upper section of the stairway were hidden in
shadows.
If he played his cards right, this little situation
would be under his control in no time at all. He just had to keep the kid calm
and make the skinny punk believe he was the one in command. The Glock didn’t
have a conventional safety. All the kid had to do was pull the trigger and pull
it again and again until all the rounds in the clip emptied into Mace’s body.
And from what he could see in the limited light, the kid’s fingers twitched
from nervousness.
Not a good sign.
Where had a young punk gotten an expensive handgun
like that? It certainly hadn’t been in the house. And if it had been, it would
have been locked up in the gun safe.
If only he could see the boy’s face. He needed to
see the eyes. Without seeing those, Mace couldn’t even begin to predict what
the kid would do.
“Don’t you dare move, or I’ll blow your face off!”
The kid’s voice raised an octave, making him sound more and more like…a female.
Mace tensed when the person started down the steps.
At first, he could see bare toes, a slim calf, then another. His gaze flicked
to the gun before returning to the shapely naked thighs which couldn’t belong
to a kid. No fucking way. Especially not a boy. Those smooth legs definitely
belonged to a woman, and he couldn’t wait to see the rest of her.
So far, the view almost made it worth being held at
gunpoint. Almost.
He felt strangely disappointed when an oversized
T-shirt—shit, was that Sponge Bob on it?—blocked
his view of creamy flesh. His arms were tired, his leg throbbed painfully, and
his patience was wearing thin. But he still wouldn’t move since he had no idea
who this woman descending the stairs was. His curiosity piqued when she stepped
down into the light, which highlighted her long, curly red hair and made her
wide, glaring green eyes sparkle and
snap.
Lightning shot through him and landed in his groin.
Neither fear nor pain made him suck in his breath. No, her unencumbered breasts
bobbing under the cotton shirt with each step she took did. Her nipples stood
out like two beacons under the worn cotton.
Jesus.
He had to clear his throat twice before he could
ask her, “You’re robbing this house dressed like that?”
Really, if it wasn’t for the gun being pointed at
him center mass, he wouldn’t be taking this seriously at all.
When she hesitated halfway down the staircase, a
look of uncertainty crossed her features, before disappearing as quickly as it came.
Her eyes narrowed, and she scowled at him. “Am I robbing this house? The
question is: What are you doing here?”
His leg began to throb again, the way it had
earlier on his long drive into town. Although, he preferred the ache to no
feeling at all. He was glad to even still have his leg. Hell, he was lucky just
to be alive.
Well, alive at the moment. It wouldn’t take much to
change that.
“I live here.”
She frowned, her eyebrows knitting together. No
surprise that she didn’t believe him.
“Can I put my arms down now?” His fists clenched
high above his head, and he fought not only the pain, but also the urge to drop
them to rub his thigh.
“No! Don’t move! I’m going to call the cops. Back
up.” She jabbed the gun in his direction.
He didn’t move. Instead, he released a long, very
loud, impatient sigh.
“Back up, I said! Or I’ll shoot you.”
“It’s happened before,” he said dryly.
The redhead looked at him in surprise, her feet
faltering on the last step. “What?”
“I’ve been shot before. So go ahead. Apparently, I
have nine lives.” He tried not to smirk. Irritating a woman with a gun wasn’t
smart. Experience, and he had plenty of it, had taught him that much.
Adjusting her grip on the gun, her knuckles turned
even whiter. “Well, your luck has run out, asshole.”
Asshole? Damn. Harsh. He hadn’t done anything yet
to be insulted like that. “What’s in your clip?” She glanced at the gun with
just a quick flick of her eyes, but he caught it. “Ever shoot someone? Ever seen someone shot? Besides on TV or in a
movie, of course. It’s pretty fucking messy.”
The arm holding the black, lightweight gun
trembled.
“Did you ever hear of the saying, ‘Don’t pull it,
unless you’re going to use it?’ If you decide to use it, make sure you use both
hands. Be sure you kill me, not maim me.” He patted his palm on his chest. “Two
shots. Right here. Center mass. If you’re going to do it, do it right.”
“Shut up!”
He did.
The woman placed her free hand underneath the butt
of the gun to support it. At least she seemed open to suggestions. However, his
talking had unnerved her, and he didn’t need her to squeeze the trigger by
accident. No matter what type of ammo she had in that clip, all bullets tend to
hurt. He frowned.
“Lie on the floor! Your hands behind your head!
Now!”
Christ, the bitch was getting annoying now. But at
this point, she was close enough to kill him, even with a bad shot. He had
enough with the games for tonight. Exhausted, he just wanted to go to sleep in
his own bed in his own house.
Mace judged the distance. “Can’t.” He only needed
her a few steps closer. She waved the gun at him recklessly, her left foot
moving forward. “Do it!”
One more step…
“I can’t kneel easily. I’ve got a bum leg.” The bum
leg was true enough, but he exaggerated a bit on the kneeling part. He’d been
known to lie when he had a gun directed at him. Sometimes lies came easier than
truths. And he’d had a lot of practice at that, too.
“From all those times being shot, huh?”
“Actually, yeah.”
“Down on the ground, or I’ll blow your brains all
over the foyer.” Her slow words, muttered through gritted teeth, made him think
she might be serious. Her right foot moved to keep her balance.
Now was his chance.
Mace lunged. He cracked her extended arm with his
fist, causing a sharp cry of pain from her. The gun dropped, skittered across
the tile floor, and she grabbed her injured wrist. He grasped both her flailing
arms by the wrists and pushed her backward. When she fell back onto the stairs,
air whooshed from her lungs, and her head missed the edge of a step by a
fraction of an inch. He planted his knees on the outside of her bare thighs,
pinning them together.
Mace stared down at the woman trapped beneath him.
His weight crushed her into the carpeted steps. And he didn’t care. He was in
pain, so why shouldn’t she be?
“Oh, God, please. Don’t—” she whispered, her voice
catching. Eyes wide, she sank her teeth into her bottom lip.
He scowled. “Don’t what? Hurt you? After you just
had a gun pointed at my head, you don’t want me to hurt you?”
The pulse in her delicate neck pounded like it
wanted to escape.
“If…if you leave now, I won’t call the police. I’ll
forget this ever happened.”
Liar. If she got the chance,
she’d grab the nearest phone and dial 911.
Mace had no sympathy for her discomfort since he
felt a little of his own. Damn, not just a little but a lot. His leg muscle
burned like hell. “If you call the police, the only person they'll take away is
you.”
She twisted underneath him, making him wince in
pain. He gritted his teeth to avoid groaning out loud. That groan would not
have been a pleasurable one. Not at all. And what a pity. It had been a while
since he’d been with a beautiful female like the one beneath him. He’d have to do
something about that and soon.
But right now, he had a problem to deal with, and
that problem continued to squirm. He didn’t feel at all charitable, but he would
to have to let her up. For his own sake.
Mace stood, lifting her with him, careful not to
release her wrists. He angled away from her slightly, making sure a knee or
foot didn’t connect with any of his vital areas. He was in enough pain already.
“Who are you, and what are you doing here?”
“I could ask
you the same.” She exhaled loudly, visibly regaining control of herself.
With a shake of his head, he tightened his grip on
her wrists—a little reminder of the change of power. “No. I’m in charge now.
Unless you want me to have you dragged out of here cuffed, you’d better answer
my fucking questions.”
“I’m not going to tell you, a…a criminal who I am.”
If the situation wasn’t so serious, he’d laugh.
“I’m not a criminal.”
She eyed him skeptically through the long mane of
red hair falling over her face. “Okay, so who are you, then?”
Mace let another impatient sigh escape. Maybe he
should close his eyes and count to ten…Nah,
fuck it. “I told you, I live here. And stop trying to screw with me. Just
answer my questions.”
“I’m not screwing with you. Go ahead and call the
police.” She flattened her lips together and tilted her chin toward the
ceiling.
Christ, she was stubborn. Was he going to have to
try another tactic to get her to talk? He was trying to be reasonable, but his
options were limited. He really didn’t want the local police involved. Not if
he could avoid it, anyway. And it wasn’t necessary; if he couldn’t handle one
skinny-assed woman by himself, he needed to give up his day job.
Hell, that wasn’t fair, she probably wasn’t
skinny-assed. She probably had a nice rear on her, one which matched the very nice front. He wouldn’t mind
checking it out, just to make sure. He loved a woman who was nicely balanced—tits and ass.
“If you don’t tell me who you are and what you’re
doing here, I’ll strip off this skimpy shirt of yours and anything else you’re
wearing—which probably isn’t much.” He raked another look down her long,
supple, hot little body. Fuck. It had
been too long. His cock was already at half-mast just imaging her naked.
The threat was empty, but what little color she had
drain away from her face.
Her lower lip trembled, and her eyes widened. “So,
you’re going to rape me?”
Oh fuck. No.
Nononononono!
Hell no, he wasn’t. But he might let the threat
idle there between them if it would get her to talk. It made him feel like a
complete shit for not clearing up her misconception, though.
And when he remained silent, so did she.
He couldn’t believe it; she actually wasn’t going
to talk. He grasped both her wrists in one hand, and with the other, began to
slowly pull up the hem of her nightshirt, revealing pink panties. Hot damn. His dick stood at complete
attention now, and unfortunately caught in an uncomfortable position. But there
was no way he would adjust himself and prove what a horny shit he was.
Before he could raise the soft cotton shirt above
her belly—Goddamn, she was an innie—she
jerked her hips away from him, the color returning to her face in full force.
“Okay, okay! My name is Colby Parks.” In what
looked like defeat, she closed her eyes.
With a sigh, Mace reluctantly released the shirt, pushed
away the slight regret, and watched the fabric catch on her hip. For half a
second, he wished she would have been more stubborn, since she obviously wasn’t
wearing a bra. He would have liked to see what was under the goofy cartoon
character. He gave himself a mental shake.
“Colby Parks? Is that your real name?”
“Yes,” she whispered and tossed her head, flipping
the hair away from her face.
A dusting of freckles crossed her nose. He knew better
than to be distracted by something so simple like freckles. But he couldn’t
help wondering where else she had them. Okay, he needed to concentrate. This
woman had pulled a gun on him. In his profession, he couldn’t afford to lose
his focus. “It must be. Who could make up a name like that? What are you doing
here?”
“Housesitting.”
“Yeah, right.” Mace chuckled. “And doing a bang-up
job at it.” His humor quickly vanished to deadly seriousness. He pushed his
face close to hers. His attempt to intimidate her once again failed when her
soft breath, coming quickly through those full, parted lips, sidetracked him.
For a second. Or two. “Who hired you?”
Colby Parks’ green eyes shot daggers at him. Now he
knew where the saying “if looks could kill” came from.
“If you truly live here, you should know that!”
He squeezed her wrists tighter. His eyes narrowed
as he muttered, “Lady, I’m not here to play games. Answer the damn question.”
She hesitated a second before Mace watched the
resignation cross her face. Damn, he was a little disappointed she gave up so
easily. He liked her fire…more than liked it.
“Maxi…Maxine Walker.”
Ah, so that’s why his sister didn’t greet him. She
was out of town and hired this little gun-toting vixen to watch the house.
Mace released her without warning, and Colby stumbled
away, rubbing her wrists, then turned and sprinted into the kitchen. He
followed right behind her, making sure he stayed between her and the gun. Of
course, she did exactly what he expected. He depressed the hook switch on the
phone while she frantically dialed. While he held it down, he did a quick
assessment for any nearby cell phones. He doubted she was packing one in her
panties.
“Don’t bother calling the police. It might not turn
out well for you.”
Colby held the handset to her chest like a
lifeline. She stared at him, wide-eyed. The pressure of the handset against the
thin, worn cotton only emphasized what he struggled not to notice and didn’t
want to admit to noticing in the first place. He turned away, picked up the
gun, stuffed it into his jacket pocket, and limped to the kitchen table.
With a groan, he slowly sank into a hard, wooden
chair and dragged a hand through his hair. “I’m Mace Walker. Maxi’s brother.” He
didn’t bother to look at her. He hoped she would make the right choice at this
point.
The receiver clattered onto its base behind him.
Huh, he was right. Imagine that. He massaged his right thigh, gritting his
teeth against the pain.
“Maxi’s brother.” The whisper also came from behind
him, but within another second, she stood in front of him, hands jammed on her
hips, eyes narrowed. “She doesn’t have a brother.”
Mace looked at the gathered cotton at her waist,
trying to ignore—though failing miserably—the way the hem of the shirt now sat
cockeyed, almost flashing those pink panties. Those panties probably smelled so
sweet. He massaged his thigh harder.
“Well, if she doesn’t, then I’m just a figment of
your imagination.”
She shot him an incredulous look. “I’ve known Maxi
for over a year, and she has never—not once—mentioned a brother. And she
certainly didn’t tell me he’d be visiting.”
She remained frozen for a minute and appeared
undecided about how to proceed. With an exasperated huff, she pulled out the
chair across from him. And with a tug on the hem of her nightshirt, she settled
into it. The tug, a sad attempt at covering her long length of thigh, covered
that sweet little package wrapped in pink satin.
Okay,
concentrate, damn it.
“She doesn’t tell anyone she has a brother, so no
one asks questions.” He stood and left the kitchen, returning a few moments
later with a prescription bottle. Making sure she was paying attention, he
pulled the gun out of his pocket, released the full clip and unloaded the round
in the chamber. A chill ran up his spine when the lone hollow-point bullet
rolled across the kitchen table. She
really could have shot him. He tossed the empty gun in her lap, making her
jump. Leave it to a woman to be more dangerous than the
Mafia. Fuck.
“I hope you have a license for that.” Mace stuck the
clip in his jacket pocket and went to the cabinet for a glass.
Relief flooded him when he found the glasses in the
same cabinet after almost two years. He had horrible visions of his sister
taking over his house and redecorating it all girly-like. Luckily, she had
enough sense to leave things be.
When he crossed to the sink, he realized he was
wrong. Maxi changed something. He frowned at the little yellow ceramic duck
with a blue ribbon tied around its neck which held a sponge. That would have to
go.
After filling the glass with cold tap water, he
swallowed a pill and took a drink. On second thought, he popped another. He
settled across from Colby again, studying her while he waited for the
painkillers to kick in. Her mouth pressed into a tight line—a shame for those luscious
lips—and
he could see the wheels turning in her head.
“Why wouldn’t she want anyone to know she has a
brother? Were you in jail?” Her eyebrows rose. “Are you an escaped convict?”
Mace shook his head and couldn’t help but smile.
She had to be kidding. “Yeah, I’m an escaped convict, and you’re my hostage.
You must do what I say. Get naked and lie on the table.”
Mace watched for a reaction. Nothing. He was losing
his touch.
Colby looked stone-cold, not even a twitch of a
smile. “I want to see some proof of who you say you are.”
Lady, someone
must have burned you good to make you so mistrustful you have to interrogate a
friend’s brother. Oh, and carry a gun. He couldn’t forget that. But, honestly, he didn’t
blame her. He would be just as cautious and suspicious if he were in her
shoes—he glanced down at her naked feet—or in those cute, pink painted toes.
“What, knowing where the drinking glasses are kept
isn’t proof enough?”
“Don’t toy with me. I want to see some ID.”
Her determination fascinated him. So did everything
else about her. It’s not every day he
came across a woman like her—strong-minded, not afraid
of guns, and one hell of a hottie…a redheaded, green-eyed, freckled one to
boot. Colby reminded him of an uptight school teacher—the kind who would let her
hair down and get wild at night.
She might be a sex kitten under her stubborn
exterior. His type of woman. Mace grinned. His mind drifted back to their conversation,
and he realized she was waiting for his answer. “ID? Like my inmate’s ID card
with my mug shot and number on it?”
“Any ID would do.”
“Sorry, I left it behind when I scaled the walls.
Had to pack light. It was a long swim from Alcatraz to land.” Unfortunately,
she didn’t seem to appreciate his dry sense of humor. The pain in his leg
slowly eased, and he released a contented sigh. But his relief was short-lived
since, for some reason, he now had a headache. He glanced over at the reason.
“Where is my dear sister, anyhow?”
“Away.”
“Yeah, thanks for that. I realize she wouldn’t have
needed a housesitter if she was only on a date.”
“She’s on her honeymoon.”
Mace straightened up, his eyes narrowing.
“Honeymoon?” He tried to read her expression, but it was nonexistent. At the
moment, she was a rock.
“Yes, you know, the trip you go on after you get
married?”
He ignored the dig, thinking her humor no better
than his. “She got married? To who? When? Where did she go?”
Colby leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms
over her chest. Mace wanted to protest because he could no longer see the hard
pebbles of her nipples through her shirt.
“If you’re her brother, why don’t you know that
information? Why weren’t you at the wedding? Did you have a falling out, or
were you really in prison?”
“Neither. We were separated by necessity.” The
half-assed explanation sounded lame, even to his own ears.
“Separated by necessity,” she said slowly, the
words rolling around in her mouth like she could taste them. “And how long was
this so-called separation?”
“I don’t know.” Of course, he knew. But saying it
out loud made it sound worse. “Two years,” he mumbled.
“Two years,” she repeated with a frown. “Then,
you’ll just have to wait until she gets back. I don’t feel I should tell you
her personal business if she didn’t tell you herself.”
With a weary sigh, Mace rubbed a hand over his
eyes. Too tired to argue, he said, “And when will that be?”
“In two months.”
Mace cursed softly. Two months? Who goes on a
honeymoon for two months? “I might not be here that long.”
“You won’t be here at all. I wasn’t given any
instructions about letting visitors stay while she was away. So, you’ll just have
to hide out somewhere else.”
He cocked an eyebrow in surprise. Fuck. That. “Hate to tell you, but I own
this house.”
He grinned when Colby stiffened in her chair, and
her hands landed back in her lap.
Colby pushed to her feet and laid the gun on the
table, studying the man across from her. Mace Walker’s presence alone had been
enough to rattle her at first, but now, conflicting emotions tore her in two
different directions. He said he was Maxi’s brother. This house was his, not
hers. Why hadn’t Maxi told her? Could she trust him? He certainly didn’t look
trustworthy.
His intensely dark, almost black eyes and his
unshaven face unnerved her. His dark clothes seemed suspicious, and his
oversized, bulky leather jacket was large enough to conceal something. Creeping
into the house after dark made him even more suspect. Maybe she should call the
police anyway. Though, he did sort of look like Maxi, but in a more beefy,
masculine way.
“I still want to see some ID,” she repeated, more
firmly this time.
With a grumble, he pulled out his wallet and
flipped it open. A photo ID was tucked in the clear plastic front pocket, but he
didn’t remove it, and she couldn’t see it clearly from where she stood.
Instead, he dug until he found something specific.
He handed her an old, expired driver’s license, one
in which he looked much younger…and his expression looked worry-free. No frown
lines marred the man looking at her from the photo, but it proved he was Macen
Jeffrey Walker, and the address listed this house.
“What, you haven’t had a driver’s license since you
were…” Colby glanced at the date. “Eighteen? Been in the slammer that long?”
She did some quick figuring on his age. Thirty-six. Even though she now had
serious doubts he’d ever been imprisoned, she wanted to pay him back for
scaring her earlier. It was only fair.
“No. Not any with my real name on them.”
“Ah. So what do you do, Mr. Walker, that you
haven’t seen or even talked to your sister in two years, don’t have a current
driver’s license with your own name on it, and have to creep into your own
house after dark?” She flipped the license back to him. She couldn’t wait to
hear his explanation. And she really wanted to see the more current ID he
refused to pull out of his wallet. What did he hide?
He caught the license in midair and took his time
tucking it back into his wallet before answering her. “Oh, this and that. You
know, a lot of traveling.”
“No, I don’t know.”
“That’s too bad, Colby.”
She wasn’t sure what he meant. But one thing she
was sure about was her name on his lips bothered her, for more reasons than she
wanted to admit. “Not really. Your job wouldn’t have anything to do with
manufacturing license plates, would it?”
“Sort of. I do the hiring, in a way.” He stiffly
pushed himself up from the chair and swept long fingers through his
coffee-colored hair, the kind of coffee he probably drank. Black and strong.
“Well, I’m beat. I’m going up to bed.”
“Wait…” She followed him into the foyer and saw two
bags sitting by the staircase. She hadn’t noticed them earlier in the tussle.
“I still don’t think this is a good idea.”
As he leaned down to pick up his duffel bags, his
hand gripped the banister tightly, so tightly she wouldn’t be surprised if
there were indentations from his fingers in the wood.
“Honestly, I don’t care what you think. I’m tired.
This is my house. And I’m going to my bed. Those are the facts. Live with them
or leave.”
He clearly struggled to keep a blank face. Simply climbing
up the steps caused white brackets around his pressed lips.
But he couldn’t just walk away leaving it like this.
Should she stay? Should she go? And if he wanted her to go, should she leave
now or in the morning? Colby followed him up the steps. She decided to test
him. “If it’s okay, I’ll gather my things in the morning.”
Mace stopped abruptly at the top of the stairway
before turning to tower over her. She halted in her tracks, instinctively grabbing
the banister for balance.
“You don’t have to leave. Since Maxi hired you, you
can stay and finish your job. I don’t know how long I’ll be in town, anyway.
I’d hate to have to find another housesitter on a moment’s notice when we have
a perfectly good one already.”
Colby wanted to collapse in relief. She had nowhere
else to go; the house she was renovating wouldn’t be habitable for at least
another two months. That’s why she was so grateful to Maxi for letting her
house sit. The timing had been perfect…well, except for this little snag.
Little wasn’t the word for him. He had to be six foot
three with his boots on. She was sure his jacket made him look heavier than he
really was. But his legs were long and lean, especially encased in those
sinfully snug, worn blue jeans. Damn, but she could appreciate a man with a
good ass in well-fitted jeans.
Mace suddenly turned away to continue down the
hall. Maybe he didn’t like women staring at him. Still, it was only fair after
his eyes burned her bare skin earlier.
She trailed him to the end of the hall, keeping her
distance when he pulled out a ring of keys and inserted one into the first door
on the left. She had wondered why the room across from hers was locked and even
attempted to open it one day while she vacuumed. Maxi’s room was down the hall,
and Colby slept in one of the guest rooms.
Now it made sense…the secret room of the secret
brother.
She tried to peer around him when he swung open the
door but only saw the dust rising behind him when he flipped on the light. She wanted
to follow him in to see the locked sanctuary, but he blocked her view and her
way when he turned to face her.
“Well, good night.”
Colby extended a hand to stop the door from
slamming in her face. She showed him her empty gun. “What about my clip?”
Mace frowned. “You’ll get it back when you show me
you know how to properly handle and shoot the thing. Go to bed.” And with that,
he slammed the door shut.
Colby stood, one fist planted on her hip, staring
at the closed door for a few minutes. She listened to the muffled rustling and
wondered what he was doing. Getting ready
for bed, most likely, genius.
Tomorrow would be soon enough for her to dig for
more information on him. Right now, she would take his advice and go to bed.
Back in her room, she placed the gun on the
nightstand so it would be within arm’s reach. He might have handed her back an
empty gun but…
She smiled as she opened the nightstand drawer.
Inside it lay another clip. Along with two more boxes of ammo.
* * *
Mace threw his bags on the bed and sank down beside
them. He ran a hand through his already tousled hair while letting out a long,
soothing sigh. He surveyed the master bedroom. A layer of dust coated the
furniture, a few framed pictures of his late parents and his sister sat around
the room, and his alarm clock had never been reset after the last power outage.
It flashed 12:00 incessantly. He glanced at this watch. Almost two-thirty now.
Damn.
But he was home. Really home. Not in some strange motel in some unknown town
surrounded by people who shouldn’t be classified as human.
He was sick of the city life: the noise, the rush,
and the constant wariness. A lot of the tension in his body dissipated the
moment he drove into Malvern. It was different, more laid back, and even as a
large college town, its population was only a fraction of New York City’s.
He was disappointed, though. He had looked forward
to spending time with his sister, the only person who really understood him.
Someone who he could be completely honest with.
He wanted to
run things by her, bend her ear a bit. Hell, more like a lot. He needed to
figure out his future. But now, he’d have to wait—wait to be around someone
who loved him for who he really was.
Not loved or even hated him for who he pretended to
be.
He didn’t know how long he would last, doing what
he did. The job had taken a toll. Spending time with people he reviled and
couldn’t trust exhausted him. He was tired of having to agonizingly memorize
details of a made-up life, an existence where one slip-up could cost his life
or a colleague’s.
He rubbed his thigh. His last assignment had been a
killer, both emotionally and physically. He just needed time now.
Time to forget.
Time to heal.
He thought about the redhead just across the hall
from him. He felt a twinge of guilt about his brusqueness toward her. On the
other hand, it was hard to be nice when you’re being threatened with a loaded
weapon. Though, admittedly, she impressed him with her guts and determination, whether
it was real or just an act to cover her fear.
Mace anticipated his time home would be boring.
Dull. Uneventful. Colby Parks just might have changed that.
Author Bio:
JEANNE
ST. JAMES is a bestselling erotic romance author who loves an Alpha male (or
two). She was only thirteen when she started writing since it gave her an
escape from teenage angst! Her first paid published piece was an erotic story
in Playgirl magazine. Her first erotic romance novel, Banged Up, was published
in 2009. She is happily owned by farting French bulldogs. She writes M/F, M/M,
and M/M/F ménages. Want to read a sample of her work? Download a sampler book
here: BookHip.com/MTQQKK
To
keep up with her busy release schedule check her website at www.jeannestjames.com or sign up for her newsletter: http://www.jeannestjames.com/newslettersignup
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