Headliners, p.33
Headliners, page 33
A charge of relief rocked through him and he knew right then, he’d figure out a way to have her. With new intent, he stepped closer. “Glad to hear it.”
His nearness caused a catch in her breath. “You?”
“Free and clear.” In more ways than one. Shifting closer, Mitch deliberately inhaled her scent. God, he’d missed that, a woman’s musk, the fresh stirring fragrance of her skin and hair.
Maybe sensing his intent, Charlotte touched her throat, flustered, surprised, and if her smile was anything to go by, pleased with his interest.
“I look forward to getting to know you better.” Right now would suit him fine. “Hopefully sooner rather than later?”
“Oh.” Surprise had her blinking fast, and turned her smile shy.
Was she unused to men coming on to her? Hard to believe. She was one of those perfect little packages, sexy, sweet, reserved—at least with him.
With Bernie, she’d been bossy and bold.
She tantalized him.
“I’d like that. But unfortunately...” She flagged a hand at her side. “I was expected home a little while ago.”
Deciding to move cautiously, rather than chance scaring her off, Mitch nodded at her ride, an older blue Ford Focus in great shape. “You mentioned car trouble?”
The car drew her scowl. “Yes, and I’m never going to hear the end of it.”
“Why’s that?”
More at ease now that he’d retreated a bit, she relaxed her shoulders. “Those men I work with? They’ve tried to talk me into a different car for a while now.” She shrugged. “But I like this one. She and I...fit.”
Her blue eyes and a pretty blue car—yeah, they did fit.
Adorably, she screwed that killer mouth to the side and blew away a curl. “I left messages with a few people before my phone died. It’s only a matter of time before one of them shows up, but I don’t know how long it’ll take. Most places around here are closed now, and I don’t relish the idea of going into Freddie’s to wait.”
Mitch sent a derisive glance at the bar. Yeah, after already seeing two obnoxious drunks spill out, he didn’t want her in there either. “You probably shouldn’t be out here alone.”
She tipped her head in challenge. “I’m not alone, am I?”
Probably shouldn’t be here with me either. Needing a different direction, he glanced at her car. “I could take a look.” Not like he had anything else to do, now that he’d veered off his plan.
His nearness brought her face up so she could look into his eyes. Hers were big and unblinking, and as he watched in fascination, her lips parted.
Damn, she needed kissing. Bad.
As if coming out of a daze, she blinked again, released a shaky breath, and let her busy fingers toy with one long curl draping her shoulder. “You, um, know cars?”
Getting his attention off her mouth proved a challenge. “I know enough.” As in, everything. But at this point, he wasn’t willing to share any part of himself or his background. It’d be too dangerous in this town, at this time, with so much on the line.
The slip of her tongue over her lips made his nostrils flare. God, he had it bad.
Before coming to Red Oak, he’d gotten his fill of sex, or so he’d thought. A five-year dry spell did that to a man, made him insatiable.
Then again, she wasn’t like other women. Sweet, yes, but he sensed a fearlessness about her that equaled her pride. No one skated through life unscathed, but some people got beat down more than others.
He was glad that whatever mundane hardships she’d faced, they’d apparently made her stronger.
He was stronger too—but not in the same way.
“Actually,” she said, oblivious to his darkening thoughts, “it’s just a flat tire, and that’s on me, not the car. I think I ran over a nail or something. I should have learned how to change it myself, but I never seemed to have the time.”
A woman like her, with delicate hands and a smile that warmed his frozen heart, should never have to struggle with a flat.
“You got a spare?” As he asked it, he circled the car and saw the back passenger side tire completely flat.
Charlotte followed, but didn’t crowd too close. “In the trunk.”
“Keys?”
“I already opened it.” She gestured. “I had some vague notion of attempting it, before I realized I had no idea what to do and I’d just look foolish. Soon as I’m back to work, learning is on my agenda.”
Mitch wouldn’t mind teaching her that, and a whole lot more. Of course, she didn’t yet know he was an ex-con, and finding out would obliterate her tentative kindness.
Getting down to business, he dug out her jack and the spare. Caution kept her in the light of the streetlamp, but curiosity brought close enough to chat. Smart. She probably figured if he got out of line, she could be in the bar in seconds.
Not that he would. His gentleness toward women went bone deep, as much a part of him as his face and physique. To him, all women deserved care.
Then again, most people would probably consider an ex-con talking to a nice woman as totally crossing a line.
He blew out a breath, the reality of his situation never far from his mind.
“I’m Charlotte, by the way,” she said. “Charlotte Parrish.”
“Mitch.” He didn’t give his last name. He couldn’t. Not yet. “Nice to meet you.”
Instead of pressing it, she did the usual chitchat, asking him if he was staying in the hotel—he wasn’t.
If he liked the town—he said he did, but honestly, it didn’t matter to him.
How long he’d be around—and he said he didn’t yet know, because it wasn’t really up to him.
Just as he finished tightening the last lug nut, she asked, “So what brought you here?”
He was scrambling for a believable lie when he heard a car approach and park, then the closing of a door. He assumed it was a late arrival for the bar, until a deep voice called, “Charlotte?”
Fast footsteps approached along with that male voice. “I just got your message, hon. Sorry it took me so long. I tried to call you back, but didn’t get an answer and...”
One of the guys she worked with?
Not wanting his time with her to end, Mitch kept his head down and gave all his attention to lowering the car and removing the jack.
The footsteps stopped. Mitch knew someone was close, especially when he heard, “What’s going on here?”
Charlotte groaned. “My phone died. I’m sorry, Brodie, but it’s already handled.”
Shock sent a tidal wave of heat rushing through his system.
Brodie. Disbelief prodded his temples; he closed his eyes and gave a muttered, “Fuck,” that luckily no one heard.
There couldn’t be two men with that same unique name in such a small town.
He wasn’t ready yet, but then, when would he be ready?
He’d wanted to do more research, to learn more, to better prepare—and now he wouldn’t have a chance.
A heavy, suspicious pause filled the air. “Handled how?”
“Mitch helped me.”
Seeing no way around it, Mitch uncoiled from the ground until he stood. Automatically bracing, he slowly turned to face Brodie Crews.
And damn near whistled in surprise.
Why had no one mentioned that Brodie was a hulk?
At six-three, other men rarely looked Mitch in the eye, but Brodie not only stood on a par with him, he was just as bulky with muscle.
Worse than the height similarity, though, it unnerved Mitch seeing a nose exactly like his own, a similar jaw, forehead, cheekbones—
Brows up, arms crossed, Brodie asked, “Any reason you’re eyeballing me?”
Jesus, he had been. Feeling his ears go hot, Mitch scowled and shook his head. “No, I just—”
“You wanna drop the tire wrench too?” As Brodie spoke, he lightly nudged Charlotte behind him to block her with his body. “Or is there a reason you have a stranglehold on it?”
Stupidly, Mitch looked down at his hand. Yeah, his white-knuckled fist wrapped tightly around the iron.
Disgust made him laugh before he could stop it. Shaking his head again, he gingerly placed the wrench back in her car and bent for the jack.
The deafening silence made him uneasy. “So Charlotte works for you, huh?” His bad luck grew by the second.
“Works for, works with, bosses me around—take your pick.” Brodie moved closer and lifted the flat tire. “You just happened along, is that right?”
Something like that. “Yeah.” Nodding at the bar, Mitch gave a believable lie. “I was checking out the nightlife.”
Brodie snorted. “Not much of that around here. So why are you sticking around?”
A female gasp had both men turning their heads.
“Why the third degree, Brodie?” Fists propped on slim hips, Charlotte scowled. “He helped me. You should be thanking him.”
Shrugging, Brodie offered, “Thanks?” in dry irony.
Before Mitch could reply, another voice intruded, asking, “What’s going on?”
Instinctively knowing what he’d find, Mitch looked toward another man fast approaching. He had the same height, the same damn nose and jaw, but a leaner physique.
This, then, had to be Jack.
“Brodie’s being an ass,” Charlotte accused.
“Tell me something new.” Though the words were light, the same caution that Brodie expressed showed in Jack’s dark, direct eyes.
Unfamiliar emotions had a stranglehold on him. He hadn’t expected that, had only planned on what to say and do—but not what he’d feel.
If it weren’t so damned dangerous, it’d almost be funny.
The brothers now flanked him, Brodie behind, Jack in front, and it made his skin itch. He didn’t like having anyone at his back, ever, but most especially not them, not now.
Not when he wasn’t himself, and wasn’t even sure who he should be while with them.
Shifting, Mitch considered his options, then decided: screw it. He walked out from behind the car so that he could face both men. Let them make of that whatever they wanted.
In the middle of all that excess of sentiment, Charlotte’s gaze scorched over him. Confusion, yes, but also something more shone in her eyes as she visually dissected him.
“She called you too?” Brodie asked.
Jack nodded. “I was just getting back to town and was in an area with no reception. Soon as the call came through, I headed this way.”
Brodie explained before Charlotte could. “She had a flat, he changed it, her phone died or she’d have called us back. That’s all I know.”
“Huh.” Now that Mitch had moved, Jack came to stand beside Charlotte. “So if her phone hadn’t died, we’d never have known she met someone?”
“That’s the gist of it, yeah.”
“Oh, for crying out loud.” Her elbow caught Brodie in the gut. He oofed, then gave her a little space. Jack wisely retreated, but only a step. “It was just a flat and he’s already finished, so—”
“New to town?” Jack sized him up.
Charlotte threw up her hands. “He’s already been grilled.”
Appreciating how both men protected Charlotte—even if it set her off—he shrugged. “I’ve been here a few days.”
Suspicion lifted Jack’s chin and narrowed his eyes. “Passing through?”
Waiting for an answer, Brodie studied him.
Resigned, Mitch accepted that they’d force him to do this here and now.
In front of Charlotte.
Not what he’d wanted, not what he’d planned for.
Damp, oppressive air closed around him. Muscles jumped and twitched in that familiar way that happened whenever he felt uneasy.
In prison, he’d felt uneasy a lot.
This was different, sure—so why were his molars grinding together?
Brodie aligned himself with Jack, as brothers should. Shit, shit, shit. Together the men presented a united front. Not exactly hostile, but definitely not welcoming. And why would they welcome him? A total stranger talking to a woman they cared about?
Once he explained, they’d both want to run him off.
They’d find out soon enough that he wouldn’t go easily, not after he’d finally gotten here. He’d worked too damn hard for this. Deserved or not, he had a plan and he’d damn well stick to it.
“Why,” Charlotte demanded, an edge of desperation to her tone, “are you two doing this?”
“They’re astute, that’s why.” Let them hate him if they wanted—but they would not consider him stupid. There was nothing friendly in the way he showed his teeth. “They sense things are off.”
Jaw tensing, Brodie straightened even more.
Misgivings bunched Jack’s shoulders.
These men were impressive, and a small part of him felt pride.
“Mitch?” Compassion, confusion, softened Charlotte’s expression.
He’d felt many losses in his day. This one smarted more than most. “Sorry.” Working the tension from his neck, determined to get through it, he said, “The thing is—”
And yet another voice intruded, this one strident, a voice of authority, used to being heard—and obeyed.
The voice of a woman. “Brodie, Jack, behave yourselves.”
As if aggrieved, Brodie rolled his eyes. “Our mother,” he said in an aside to Mitch. “And if you think we’re distrustful, prepare yourself.”
Their mother.
Rosalyn Crews.
Something uncomfortable shifted inside him, making his heart kick. Breath held, Mitch turned—but of course he wasn’t ready, hadn’t even come close to preparing himself.
His gaze clashed with hers.
Copyright © 2019 by Lori Foster
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ISBN-13: 9781488036293
Headliners
Copyright © 2020 by Laura Elliott
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