Chapter Six

 

“Not a chance.” Steve crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his obstinate little neighbor. He had to admit, she looked damn cute curled up on his recliner like that, but it was a no-go.

“I’m not taking your bed,” she said stubbornly.

He growled softly in the back of his throat.

Instead of being swayed, she smiled at him. “Does that actually work? The growling thing?”

“Yes,” he answered honestly, but things didn’t typically reach this stage. The menacing glare and stance were usually all it took to get people to see his side of things.

“Well, it won’t work with me. If I can’t sleep in your recliner, then I’m going to a motel.”

“Stubborn female,” he muttered.

“Welcome to Sam 101.” She smirked, a triumphant gleam in her eye, knowing she had him. “I appreciate the offer, I really do, but I just can’t. I already feel like I’m taking advantage of you.”

He snorted. Clearly, they had different ideas as to what constituted “taking advantage” of this situation. His idea involved his bed, too, but in his version, she was naked and screaming his name in ecstasy.

He shook his head to dispel the images that had been assaulting his brain since she had gone back to her place to change into appropriate sleepwear and returned wearing loose-fitting sweats and a modest tank. There was nothing remotely sexy about them, yet he had been sporting a persistent hard-on. She hadn’t even taken her bra off, for fuck’s sake. That didn’t stop him from noticing the way her nipples had hardened to tight peaks when he had walked out of his bedroom without a shirt on.

Maybe that had been slightly intentional on his part. As a SEAL, he was trained to use whatever was at his disposal. Having her focused on his chest was a hell of a lot better than having her think about what put her in his apartment in the first place. And the idea that she might be feeling a touch of physical reaction wasn’t unpleasant.

“Well, Steve 101 stresses the importance of making sure pretty neighbors in distress are as comfortable as possible.”

Her lips parted slightly, then her eyes softened. “Then you’ve succeeded. I am comfortable here, really. If I took your bed, I wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink.”

Neither would he, but for totally different reasons.

He exhaled heavily. “All right. You win … this time.”

Her smile was brilliant. “Thank you, Steve. Good night.”

“Good night, Sam. Sleep well.”

With gnawing reluctance, he left her there, curled up in his recliner like a little kitten, and went into his bedroom, leaving the door slightly ajar so he would hear her if she got up.

And hear her, he did.

Just after midnight, her soft moans brought him back out to investigate. A swath of silvery moonlight revealed Sam in the grips of an erotic dream. He watched, transfixed, until she breathed his name on a soft cry. Her features relaxed, and then she snuggled back into the blankets with a smile on her face.

He groaned inwardly. His dick was now painfully hard, and she was officially under his skin.

Hours later, he still couldn’t get the image of Sam’s sleep-climax out of his mind. He had even resorted to some soapy shower DIY to take the edge off. Didn’t last long, though. All she had to do was smile at him that morning and, bam, he was right back where he had started.

Clearly, he had gone far too long without the pleasure of a woman’s company, but apparently, his long-absent ability to be interested in a woman had returned with a vengeance. Even the cool, crisp mountain air couldn’t completely dispel her lingering, subtle vanilla and honey scent.

“Did you get the information I asked for?” Steve asked, handing Cage his coffee.

Cage nodded. “You going to tell me what your sudden interest is in Samantha Chase?”

“She’s in the apartment next to mine.”

“So?”

“So, she’s nice.”

“She’s nice,” Cage parroted.

“Yeah, she’s nice,” he said, maybe a bit too defensively if Cage’s smirk was any indication.

“I’m sure you’ve met a lot of ‘nice’ girls, Smoke. Are you in the habit of cyberstalking all of them?”

“It’s not cyberstalking,” Steve muttered irritably. “I think she’s in some kind of trouble.”

Cage’s expression sobered. “What kind of trouble?”

“She’s scared. I think someone’s been stalking her for real. There was a bouquet of flowers awaiting her in her apartment when she got home from work yesterday. Her locked apartment. They were probably from the same guy who left a copperhead in my bathtub.”

“What the fuck?”

Steve nodded grimly. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. What did you come up with?”

“Well, I think you might be right about the stalking. She’s filed several police reports over the last couple years or so, claiming someone keeps sending her flowers and leaving her notes, and that someone entered her previous residence and went through her things.”

“Anything come of it?”

“No.” Cage shook his head. “Plying someone with gifts isn’t illegal. There was no sign of forced entry with the break-in. Whoever it was, wasn’t kind enough to leave any useful evidence behind.”

“Same M.O. then,” Steve commented.

“I could tap into the building’s security camera files, maybe check out some local CCTV video; see what’s up.”

“Do it,” Steve told him. “The parking lot, too.” Steve hadn’t forgotten the weird vibes and odd behavior of the guy in the sedan. Maybe the video would provide a clearer picture; if not of his face, then of his license plate.

“Hey, Smoke, how personal is this?”

“Why do you ask?”

Cage shrugged, grabbing a muffin. “Because it’s nice to see you give a shit about something.”

Cage walked away, leaving Steve feeling stunned. Had it been that obvious?

Maybe he had.

Since officially leaving the SEALs, he had been at a loss. He didn’t regret his decision; he had known deep inside it was time. However, he hadn’t expected the sense of emptiness that came with it. He had always had a purpose, a goal to work for, and then suddenly … nothing. That was why he had finally given in and accepted Church’s offer. And why a place like this was so important.

He finished his coffee, then grabbed a sledgehammer and a wheelbarrow, and went to work.

* * *

Sam wiped down a few more tables then refilled the dispensers while she waited for Steve. He had walked her to work that morning and kept her company until she took the first batches of muffins out of the ovens. He had also asked she wait for him to walk her home. Since he had asked nicely and not ordered, as seemed to be his way, she had agreed.

She worried about taking advantage of his kindness, but refusing to take any money for the coffee and muffins eased her conscience somewhat.

Steve had told her that he and some of his friends were working on building a place specifically for vets returning from service. Even if she hadn’t felt indebted to Steve for his kindness, she would have insisted on giving him the stuff on the house, gladly paying for it out of her own pocket for such a worthwhile cause.

Mr. Santori came through the front door, surprised to see her still there.

“How did the meeting with the lawyer go?” she asked eagerly.

The older man had left around noon to meet with his lawyer to start the legal paperwork on the transfer of ownership. Only a year earlier, Mr. Santori was on the verge of declaring bankruptcy and losing the place to a bank auction. She had convinced him to sell to her instead, if she could turn the place around. Well, she had done that and more, and now Mr. Santori could retire with a nice nest egg, and she could finally realize her dream of having her own place.

“It went well,” he said. He played with the brim of his hat—he always wore a hat outside—and shifted his weight, avoiding her eyes. “What are you still doing here?”

“I always work till at least five,” she told him.

Since he spent most of his afternoons down the street at the local VFW, he probably didn’t know that. Judging by the flush of his cheeks, he had headed there after the lawyer’s office.

“Ah, of course. Well, looks like it’s time for you to go, then.”

Something about his behavior was off. Normally smiling and pleasant, he seemed uncharacteristically uncomfortable.

“Mr. Santori, what’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on. I don’t want to keep you. Don’t you have to get home?”

Now she knew something was fishy. If his anxious behavior hadn’t tipped her off, the way he refused to look her in the eye while practically pushing her out the door would have.

“Not immediately, no. What happened at the lawyer’s office that you’re not telling me?”

He exhaled heavily and pointed to a table. “Sit down, Sam.”

She did, dread pooling in her stomach. Nothing good ever came out of a conversation that began with averted gazes and the words, “Sit down, Sam.”

Sit down, Sam. Someone from Health and Family Services needs to talk with you.

Sit down, Sam. You didn’t get the scholarship.

Sit down, Sam. There was a fire, and your grandparents were asleep …

“The thing is, Sam, you’ve done a tremendous job turning this place around. Business is better than it’s ever been.”

She nodded in acknowledgment. He wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t already know. She had been busting her hump for months trying to fix the place up and untangle the financial mess he had made.

“And, well, I took those financial reports you did to my lawyer, and he says I can get a lot more for the place now. He’s advising me to put it on the market at a higher price.”

She gaped at him, certain she had heard wrong. “What! We had an agreement, Mr. Santori! I prove I can handle the business, and you promised to sell it to me. You know I can’t afford any more than we agreed upon.”

“I know, Sam, and I’m sorry about that. My lawyer said, since there’s nothing in writing, what we talked about isn’t legally binding, and I need to think about my retirement.”

“Your retirement?” she said, struggling for control. “You wouldn’t have had anything if you’d been forced to declare bankruptcy.”

He stiffened. “Now, Sam, let’s not get nasty. It’s nothing personal, just business.”

“That’s the problem, Mr. Santori,” she said, shooting to her feet. Hot, angry tears were building up in her eyes, and there was no way she was going to ugly cry in public. “This place is more than ‘just business’ to me. Owning my own coffee and bake shop is my dream, Mr. Santori. And I’ve worked my ass off for it. You gave me your word!”

“I … I’m sorry, Sam. It’s … It’s business.”

“I’m sorry, too, Mr. Santori.” Before she could say anything else she might regret, she grabbed her purse from behind the counter and went outside to wait for Steve.

* * *

Anthony didn’t turn around. He was dressed as a businessman today, using the reflection in his laptop screen to watch the scene unfold behind him.

Samantha was angry and with good reason. The old man had swindled her!

Anthony remembered what this place was like before Samantha came along. It had shit coffee and poor service. She worked hard to make it nice and welcoming again, and people around here loved her.

He loved her. Had from the very first moment she had smiled at him. She was one of the few who had been kind to him.

Samantha got up and walked out. It was hard not to follow, but it wasn’t time to reveal himself, not yet. And, thanks to the selfish, scamming old lush, Anthony now had yet another chance to prove his love.

He knew what it was like to have a dream, then have it cruelly ripped away from you.

He had made the ones who had stolen his dreams pay. Now he would make the old man pay for stealing hers.