SAWYER

It’s too early to be awake.

Lying on Celia’s couch staring out the window the ocean is barely visible through a thick layer of fog that rolled in sometime in the middle of the night. At least the sun is coming up, which means no more wrestling with sleep while organizing my to-do lists in my head.

After getting in the Uber at the marina last night I had the driver take me to a nearby grocery store to pick up a few things. It was dark when I got back to Celia’s, and when I opened the door I was hit with the overly sweet and pungent stench of rotting food. The light switch wouldn’t work so I fumbled around the kitchen using the flashlight from my phone and found some matches and candles. Perfect timing too, because shortly after I lit the final candle my phone died. Without electricity I managed to clear out the rotting disaster in the fridge and toss it in the dumpster out back.

The bedroom was even darker and was stuffy and hot from being locked up for months so I dragged my tired body to the living room. Opening all the windows helped to air out the stagnant space, and even with the rhythmic crashing of waves filtering in through the screens, I wasn’t able to do more than doze off a few times.

I kick the afghan from my legs and push to sit up, my back stiff from the thin cushion on the bamboo-framed couch. Stretching, I rub my eyes and blink until my vision clears. I peruse my surroundings as I’m finally able to see the room in the light.

It’s a little over double the size of Aden’s living space in his boat, but unlike Aden’s place every square inch of Celia’s home is covered in personal touches. The walls are painted in a pale coral and any artwork she has is clearly of the handmade variety—all of them abstract and colorful. There are a couple tall bookshelves, a small table with mismatched chairs that seats only two, and a handful of items that it looks like she picked up from her travels. A Native American rain stick, bongos, and a funky-looking vase that has to be four feet tall. It’s a lot for the modest space, making me feel cramped and anxious. I need to get organized.

First things first, I need to scribble out my to-do list. My legs ache a bit when I stand and I feel like a ninety-year-old woman when I walk to the kitchen to find something to write on. A small pad of paper in the shape of a sunflower sits on the countertop and I pull a pen from my purse.

Making lists always manages to bring me back to center. To focus on the task at hand, the things I can control.

Electricity takes the number one spot. Maybe I can drive into town and find an electrician—

Movement from outside catches my eye. I squint through the thinning fog to see a well-built man, shirt off, hat on backward, jogging away from the cottages. I guess I can see why this place appealed to Celia; the view isn’t just good, it’s spectacular.

ADEN

The sky is finally light by the time I hit my stride on Sunset Cliffs. It’s not my usual route, but it’s longer than the jogging trail I take along the marina.

After waking up with the sound of small-round fire still popping in my head I needed to move and couldn’t get far enough away from the guilt. That pain in the back of my throat and tightness in my chest wouldn’t let up.

The soles of my running shoes grit along the sandstone while NOFX blasts in my ears. I focus on the words and the steady beat of my footsteps, my muscles warm and soft and on the verge of exhaustion. The occasional surfer or jogger snags my attention reminding me that the warmer summer weather will fill the beaches today. Best I get my shit moving and get back on the boat and out on the open sea.

Crowds make me anxious as fuck.

A chain-link fence looms up ahead, and I instinctively slow my pace not realizing how far I’d run. I haven’t been to that spot since the day the city put up the protective barrier, never wanting to be reminded of what happened there or how low I’d sunk.

I turn my back on it and face north toward town, the sun beginning to shine on La Jolla’s hilltops and burning off what’s left of the marine layer. The ocean breeze cools my sweaty skin and I prop my hands on my hips to catch my breath.

Was it only months ago that I stood in this very same position in a very different location? I can still feel the weight of my IBA on my shoulders and my M4 in my hands. As if on cue a jet engine roars above my head, the first flight out of San Diego airport. I turn my music up to drown out the sound, but fuck, it’s like I can feel the vibration beneath my feet.

My palms sweat and my pulse jerks inside my veins. No, it’s too early for this shit. I shake off the urge to study my surroundings, to analyze the surfers standing watching the waves, or the single guy walking his purse dog.

Let it go, Aden.

I jog back to the cottages, keeping my focus trained to the ocean as a reminder to my brain and my body that I’m no longer surrounded by mountains and villages that camouflage the enemy. That I’m as far from war as I could possibly be, and more importantly, that no one is out to kill me.

Pushing my muscles to the extreme I hope to hit my heart hard so exertion will out-pump my fluttering fears. It works, and when the row of eight beach huts comes into view I’m gasping for air, but breathing a lot easier.

I take the concrete path that leads to Cal’s old place and focus on my breathing so I don’t pass out. Sensing a presence to my left, my eyes snap up. Celia’s standing on her porch, one hand white-knuckling the rail, with those same expressive eyes aimed at me.

I pop my earbuds out and study her. There are dark circles beneath her eyes and all that thick hair is piled high in a mess on top of her head. Those freckles I saw last night are intensified in the light of day and while she nervously fumbles with the front of her oversized T-shirt, she pulls the wide neckline down low enough to see more of those freckles disappear between her cleavage.

“What are you doing here?”

I motion to Cal’s place with a nod. “I work here.”

“You’re not wearing a shirt.”

The corner of my mouth pulls up. “No, I went for a run.” As if my sweat-soaked skin doesn’t make that obvious. “You okay?”

She blinks and the shock bleeds from her expression. “Yes.”

I take a few steps closer, not convinced. “Why do you look freaked out?”

She blinks again then visibly relaxes, but something about the way she does it seems forced, as if someone behind her presses her shoulders down from her ears. “I don’t have electricity. I probably didn’t pay the bill.”

“Nah, electric is included.” I’d expect her to know that. “Could be the breakers. I’ll check it out.”

I round the corner of her place to the back where the breaker box is. The soft thwacking of flip-flops echoes behind me, and she scurries to my side.

I pop open the rusty lid. “These boxes are old and the fuckin’ salt air does them no favors.”

“Should you have them replaced with new ones?” I can feel her heat at my side and with the endorphins filling my bloodstream her closeness is doing wicked things to my body. It’s not that I’m a perv, I’m just always aware of my surroundings, occupational hazard, and something tells me the adorable Celia is without a bra and possibly panties.

Come on, Aden! Everything isn’t a damn porno.

“Yeah. But it’s expensive and Cal refuses to raise the rent.” I palm the broken circuits and nod to her bright orange Volkswagen Thing that’s parked by the dumpsters and in desperate need of a wash. “Did you check to see if it starts?”

“What?” She follows my line of sight and her lips curls in what seems like disgust. “That’s . . . my car.”

“Cal used to start it a few times a month, I guess.” I rub the back of my neck, feeling like a bit of a fuckface. He asked me to do the same, but I never did. “The battery might be dead on it.”

“Great.” Her fingers tap almost impatiently against her bare thigh and I’m drawn to how stark white her skin is. I don’t see a lot of pale skin here at the coast, never would’ve thought I’d even be attracted to the sickly-looking color, but I have an overwhelming urge to touch it and see if it feels as soft as it looks.

Her fingers ball into a fist and I realize it’s probably because I’m staring right at them. I slide my gaze back to her eyes and sure enough they’re resting uncomfortably on me. “I’ll go get those new circuits, get you all set up.”

Maybe grab a cold shower and a reality check while I’m at it.

SAWYER

I’ve never been the type of woman to swoon. I’ve always found it petty and reserved for women who don’t think with their heads but rather their hormones. But being around a sweaty, shirtless Aden, I wouldn’t be surprised if I had those cartoon hearts throbbing in my eyes. And I hate sweat. It always grosses me out, but leave it to Aden to make even perspiration sexy. Every time I manage the strength to act unaffected, he throws me off with that lopsided grin as if he can read my thoughts and finds them highly x-rated and totally doable.

Those shoulders that look as if they’ve spent a decent number of hours pumping iron, round balls of muscle that pulse under the smoothest-looking skin. And judging by his tan I’d say Aden spends a good deal of his day outside without a shirt, and why not? Hell, the city of San Diego probably pays the guy to walk around topless as an act of goodwill.

Luckily he can’t see me gawking as he walks away, his back straight, chin held high like a man with confidence, accustomed to commanding whatever space he’s in and doing so unapologetically. Which makes sense now that I’ve seen his tattoo. Scrolled from one shoulder blade to the other are the words Death before Dishonor and in the middle there’s a dagger going through a skull wearing a military-style beret. So Aden is in the military. That explains a lot.

Does he still serve? Maybe he’s home on leave?

I jerk when I realize I’m still standing in the same spot by the circuit box with my mouth gaping at where Aden disappeared around the corner. I wander back inside and grab my list and pretend that the round paper against my linear list isn’t irritating the hell out of me. Paper should be rectangular, square maybe, but never a circle.

Forcing my mind on the things that need to get done, because thoughts of Aden Colt will get me nowhere, I run everything through my mind.

Starting at the top. I outline the word electricity and my stomach jumps at the idea of crossing it off once Aden gets the breakers replaced.

I add car battery to the list and frown just thinking about how I’m going to get that rusted piece of metal back to Phoenix. Maybe I can leave it here, it’ll get towed eventually, Celia never has to know.

Last night I found the Yellow Pages under Celia’s sink. It’s a little water damaged but I managed to find a place in town that sells boxes. They don’t open until nine so until then . . . I look around the room and as much as I love how the chaos of it all fits my sister’s personality, the lack of uniformity makes me agitated.

A click sounds followed by the hum of power. Yes! I draw a line through my number one to-do and am instantly reenergized. Aden’s head passes by the window as he rounds the porch. Oh crap, he’s coming in.

I hop up from the table and straighten my shirt just in time before he pops his head in. “Hey.”

I wave pathetically.

His dark eyes study me and narrow. “Can I come in?”

“Oh, um . . .” I look around as if the messy room will give me a reason to say no, but I find nothing helpful and resign to the inevitable. “Sure.”

He steps inside, his eyebrows dropped low as if he’s on a mission. He finds a lamp and clicks it on, then stands and props his hands on his hips in a way that draws my eyes to that spot where the muscles form a V and a light dusting of dark hair peeks up from his shorts. “You should check the bedroom.”

“Good idea.” I hop and whirl around as if his words sent an electric shock through my central nervous system. I give him my back so he doesn’t see the furious blush coloring my face. With such pale skin I’ve never been able to hide my embarrassment. I scurry to the bedroom, clicking on the lights, and return hoping Aden will be outside because being in this tiny space with him is smothering.

No such luck. “They work.”

“Did you check to see if anything had been taken?”

I wouldn’t know so I just nod. “Yep, everything’s here.”

“Hmm, that’s what I thought.” He moves over to the bookshelf, his eye caught on something. “I was pretty sure I got to them before they managed to grab anything.”

I’m stuck staring at his back as he studies the bookshelf so it takes a second to register what he’d said. “Wait . . . you caught the guys who broke in?”

He makes an affirmative grunt. “No big deal, heard something that didn’t sound right for three-thirty in the morning, came to check it out and saw two guys rootin’ around in there.”

“I thought you lived on the boat?”

His eyes slide to mine but only for a second before he’s back to studying a photo. “I do, but I used to stay here in Cal’s old place.”

I open my mouth to ask why he moved.

“You ran with the bulls in Pamplona?”

“Ha! Yeah right—”

He plucks a framed photo off the shelf and flips it to face me.

I bite my lip remembering I’m not me, I’m Celia. “You betcha’.”

His mouth twists at my response and he turns back to the bookshelf. “Huh, you don’t strike me as a risk taker.”

My chin tucks back into my throat. “How would you know what I am? You know nothing about me.” Or maybe I need to try harder to not be me.

“African safari.” He plucks another photo from the shelf. “Is that a lion you’re petting?” He stares down at the frame.

“Uh-huh . . .” I think.

“How did you get close enough to pet a lion?”

Great question. “They have, like, a lion whisperer. He got the lion to let us pet him.” Please, don’t ask more.

“It’s some kind of big cat sanctuary?” He’s still studying the photo.

Sanctuary, of course! “Mm-hm.”

He pulls at another framed photo. “From Africa to . . . Vegas?”

“I like to travel.”

“Who’s the dude?”

“A friend.” I think.

He narrows his eyes. “You’re kissing him.”

I cross to him and snatch the photo away. “He was a good friend.” I put it back on the shelf, then groan when I see a handful more. This was a mistake, I can’t explain all these.

He reaches over my shoulder and pulls another one down. “You’re with a different guy in almost all these pictures.”

“I have a lot of guy friends.”

He frowns. “Huh . . .” He studies another photo. “Friends with benefits.”

A flash of heat ignites behind my ribs and I rip the picture from his hand. “Why don’t you mind your own business.”

He steps back and holds his hands up in surrender. “Easy there, freckles. I was just making an observation.”

“Well . . .” I flip a few photos facedown. “Your observation is wrong.”

“I’m not judging. Nothing wrong with a woman who uses sex to get what she wants.” He shrugs and hits me with that lazy grin that only works to further upset me.

“You think you can come into this house, see a few pictures, and think you know me? That you can throw your observations around like you’re some pillar of virtue?”

He doesn’t seem at all fazed, and tilts his head watching with interest as I completely lose my shit.

“So what, ya know? So what if I dated guys who could take me on these fabulous trips, huh? That doesn’t make me a slut, it makes me a go-getter. It’s not like both parties weren’t enjoying themselves. Stop looking at me like that!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re looking at me like I’m pathetic all while implying that Celia is a slut.”

His eyebrows pop high on his forehead and I freeze at the realization of what I’ve done.

I grab the first photo I see and shove it in his face. “This girl, Celia, me, is living life to the fullest.”

He eyes the photo then chuckles. “Yeah, she is.” He squints. “Those real?”

I flip the photo around and then smash it to my chest. “Pretend you didn’t see that.” God, Cece, Stephen Tyler signing your boobs?

My breath saws in and out of my lungs as I try desperately to regain my composure. “Listen . . .” I place the photo on the shelf, facedown. “I’m moving out. It’ll take me a week or so to pack up and arrange for movers. Since I’m paid through to December I’m going to need to get a prorated refund for the months I won’t be here.”

He crosses his arms at his chest and I almost get distracted by how the position accentuates his biceps. “’Fraid I can’t do that.”

“Of course you can.”

“No, you signed a one-year lease. If you leave before your lease is up, that’s on you.”

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

“That’s not right.”

He shrugs.

“It’s unconstitutional!” My high-pitched shriek bounces off the walls.

“It’s contractual.”

“So that’s it, you’re not going to help me.”

“I’m trying to help you, but you’re asking for something I can’t do. It’s out of my hands, freckles.”

My hands fist uncontrollably at my sides and damn him and his growing smirk.

“I expected more from a military man.”

All the humor in his face dissolves. Gotcha!

“Isn’t your motto to protect and serve?”

“I ain’t a cop.”

“No, you’re not. A cop would have enough integrity to prorate my money back.”

“Feel better?” It’s casual but I don’t miss the tick in his jaw.

“Guess the whole military respect thing is a foreign concept to you.”

The light spark in his eyes dies and he stares at me blank-faced, completely emotionless.

I should stop, but Celia is dying and what kind of sister would I be if I just sit here and let him talk like she’s some money-hungry whore. “I guess I shouldn’t expect much from someone who kills people for money!”

“Fuck this.” He turns and stomps to the door, slamming it behind him so hard the walls shake.

I expect him to take a hard left in the direction of his cottage, but instead he jogs toward the beach.

“Dammit.” I huff out a breath, the anger in my blood calming with the growing distance he put between us.

Guilt washes in, but I push it back. I may have attacked his integrity, but he deserved it.

Okay, so he didn’t exactly call Celia a slut, I suppose all he did was point out the obvious. But no one talks shit about my sister. No one. Not even good-looking military men who go out of their way to get my electricity back up.

I plug in my phone and once it’s charged enough to turn on I dial my sister’s number all while ignoring the weird heaviness in my chest.

“So?” She answers right away but sounds tired. “Tell me how much you love my life.”

“Celia . . . this was such a stupid idea.”

“I got your message last night. Stop sounding so miserable and talk to me.”

I sigh and drop back to the couch as far as the phone charging cord will let me. “I think we should’ve talked a little more before I agreed to do this. Why didn’t you tell me about Brice?”

“Is he still there?” She laughs. “Man . . . we had some fun times together.”

“He kissed me!”

“Toe curling, right?” How can she sound so excited when I feel like I’ve been put through an emotional wood chipper?

“That’s not the point.”

“Of course it’s the point. Tell me right now you didn’t enjoy that kiss.”

I did. I totally did. “It was awkward, Cece. I don’t even know the guy!”

“So what? Haven’t you ever kissed someone you don’t know before?”

I roll my lips between my teeth.

“Your lack of response tells me all I need to know.” She huffs out a breath. “Jeez, Sawyer, you needed this more than I thought.”

“You should’ve told me.”

“If I had you’d go in with too many expectations.”

“Did you know your place had been broken into?”

“No.”

“Mr. Hurtado’s nephew runs the place now, he said he left a message.”

“I don’t listen to those.” There’s sadness in her voice. “I don’t want to know about everything going on outside of my bedroom. It only reminds me of what I’m missing.”

“Yeah.” I guess I can understand that.

“So you have to have sex with Brice.”

“Celia!”

“Shhh . . .” She laughs quietly. “You’ll give us away.”

“I have a lot to do, I just wanted to call and tell you I hate you for making me do this.”

“You love me. And if you have sex with Brice you’ll really love me.”

“Oh my GAWD!”

She’s still laughing! “I promise when you get back to Phoenix and your nine-to-five life you’ll thank me for making you do this.”

“Maybe.” So far I’ve met a gorgeous man who kissed me until my head spun, and an even better-looking, albeit rougher man who managed to excite me as much as he drove me crazy. “How are you feeling?”

“Fantastic. I have a ton of energy, might even go run some errands with Mom today.”

I grin to myself. “That’s good news.”

“All right, go pack up my stuff, and Sawyer?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t be afraid to have a little fun. You’ve earned it.”

“Love you.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“Bye.”

What do I do now? A small voice in the back of my head says I need to find Aden and apologize, even though that’s the last thing I want to do.

Digging into my pocket I pull out the single quarter Celia gave me and I close my eyes. “Tails I apologize, heads I get packing.”

I toss the coin and when I hear it land on the hardwood floor with a thump, I squat down to learn my fate.

“Shit.” This should be interesting.