A Favor

A little over three hours later, I’m finally pulling into a long, dusty drive almost twenty miles outside of Sweeney. It feels like the middle of nowhere, and the place looks deserted. There isn’t a car or truck in front of the house, and although there are several large, low structures that look like a barn on steroids, there is a thick layer of dirt and dust on everything. Even the house looks tired and dirty. Once, long ago, it was white. Now it’s a mottled gray and the roof appears to sag in places. Checking the navigation system to make sure, it tells me I’m in the right place. Opening the door, the heat and humidity of a March day smacks me in the face, and with a grimace I slide out of the large and comfortable truck and cross my fingers for central air.

Thankfully, my clothes are light enough the heat isn’t unbearable, even though it wasn’t this bad in Austin. A black skirt grazes my knees, and goes with my button-down blouse in a pale pink. Taylor likes me to look professional, but isn’t rigid about wearing a suit or heels. Which is good for both of us, because I need flats in order to keep up with Taylor’s long legs that eat up the ground. Even though I’m petite, it never bothered me enough to master heels. I prefer the comfort of flats, or if I absolutely have to, a stacked heel of no more than two inches.

Not long after I started the drive, I had pulled my hair out of the bun I’d worn to work. Now it flows freely, and I wonder if I should put it up to look more professional. My hair is my one piece of vanity: it’s long, a few inches past my shoulders. I freely spend the extra money for the nice shampoos, conditioners, and haircuts. When women compliment me, it’s my hair they mention. The only problem is it gets heavy, so even though it’s hot, I leave the covered elastic around my wrist and leave it free. Maybe if it gets really hard to convince Sam, I’ll have to do the flirty hair flip, one of the few girly moves I have down pat.

Taking the small set of stairs up the wide porch, I’m surprised by the lack of movement from inside the home to find out who’s here. Taylor’s truck is new, but it has a powerful engine that idles loudly even though it purrs when it accelerates. I knock twice and wait, no answer. Maybe no truck or car means he isn’t home? Then Taylor’s words about Sam not leaving except to get a six-pack come back to me. I highly doubt I’ve missed him. More than likely he’s ignoring the door. Taylor was here yesterday, and if you knew Taylor, you would know he didn’t take no lightly.

Biting the inside of my lip, I sigh and knock again. It’s ignored, and I eye the bright white truck with longing, then remember what’s at stake. A home all my own—no one could take it away from me. For that I’m willing to try. There’s no surprise when the doorknob turns and the door moves easily when I push inside. This is Texas in the middle of nowhere, the town probably takes pride in not locking its doors.

Pushing open the door, I take in a small, surprisingly clean foyer. The front room that looks out onto the porch is an old-fashioned sitting room, used for guests. It’s also clean, with just the slightest layer of dust. The door across from the sitting room is an office, though maybe a better word is was. It’s been trashed, violently. Closing my eyes against the violence, I breathe deeply. The room tells me that Sam needs this job as badly as we need him. I find him in the den, sprawled out on a large and long leather couch. He’s asleep on his back, and I have my answer to the ignored knocks. This room is his cave. The windows are closed, there’s delivery from a local pizza place, and cans and bottles of beer of varying brands are littered everywhere.

Taking in the room, I’m sad, then I step further in and look down at him. Fuck, he’s beautiful. Yes, the scars aren’t pretty, yet they do nothing to obscure a face so beautiful I couldn’t draw it so appealingly if I tried. His body, even foully treated, is still muscular and well defined. Although he looks a little thinner than what seems healthy. His hair is a thick, inky black, and long, to the nape of his neck. Most former soldiers continues with the close-clipped cuts of their time in service. He has a strong face surprisingly Roman in its classical features. A long, straight nose is prominent below a wide brow, and his jaw is heavy, his chin is clipped. He has sharp cheekbones to add to his strong features. Then he opens his eyes and I stop breathing. Eyes a deep and dark sapphire blue meet mine, so blue, so intense, I feel like I’m drowning in them. Then he blows my world apart when he smiles. His mouth simply tips up and a kick of instant longing shakes me. His lips are perfectly molded not too thin not too thick. I would love to draw him, only I wouldn’t do him justice.

“Hey there, beautiful.” His voice is husky from sleep, and the dark, smoky timbre slides right down my spine.

Forcing air into my starving lungs takes a moment. Words fail me, all I can do is smile back, dazed. “Hi.”

A dark eyebrow goes up and he moves fluidly. I’ve seen the movements before, the muscles controlled and flexing with movement isn’t new to me, being around so many former soldiers. What’s new is I can’t take my eyes off him. Standing, he’s bigger than he looked lying down. While at likely an even six foot, he’s wide and broad, and everything about him conjures up the word thick. His thighs ripple below the tight jeans. He’s in a skintight white undershirt tank, and all I can think is the better to see him in. He stops only a few feet away, and it takes a moment to realize his eyes have been roaming over me. I’m breathless when they finally come back to my face.

“You’re Zoe, Taylor’s secretary or assistant, right?”

Damn it, Taylor’s name pulls me back to reality. I nod. “I’m Zoe Lawrence, and I’m here to take you back to Austin with me.”

At my words, his face shutters and his eyes darken. Without a word, he turns and flings himself back on the couch. He’s sitting up, his head back, staring sightlessly at the ceiling, and his voice is dull. “No, you aren’t.”

His reaction and words sting. No, no, this isn’t happening. Lust, that’s all I’m feeling, and it’s only because it has been a long time since I’ve been so close to a living, breathing man as beautiful as him. I’m cold and empty, and I don’t deserve love when I can’t give it back. Those are words all three of my past lovers shouted at me. Once might have been bad luck, twice could possibly be I was picking the wrong person, three times and I’m out of the game. Because they were right: I don’t want to be empty and cold, but if I was then I have no business going into a relationship knowing I can’t give back what I’m given. It isn’t fair and it isn’t right. So for three long years I’ve buried my needs and simply bought a very good vibrator. It doesn’t matter if he’s gorgeous, he’s off limits. Sam has been through enough pain in his life. I have no business adding to his pain. Just because I can have him, doesn’t mean I should.

Swallowing down the soft words I want to say is hard yet necessary. Sam doesn’t need or want platitudes and murmured words of consolation. If I’m going to get a reaction, I have to poke the bear and hope to hell he doesn’t poke back. Forcing ice into my voice, I poke. “Why the fuck not?”

Shock has his eyes back on me. “Excuse me?”

“I said, why the fuck not? Give me one good reason why you want to stay here in this festering wound you have going on. Why the hell won’t you come to Austin? This is a great job, work you could do in your sleep. This is important work, it means something, and you’ll be well paid for it. Austin is a great place to live over this humid, desolate place. Why do you want to stay here?”

Shaking his head, he runs a hand over his face, over his scarred left cheek and over the ear that is now barely a shell. No, is all I can think. He couldn’t possibly be hiding because of those scars, yet it’s clear in all the things he doesn’t say.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you. I don’t need the money, and Austin is full of hippies and pretty damn humid most days too.” He’s talking to the ceiling again.

I poke harder. “That’s a bunch of bullshit. You hiding because of your scars is also bullshit. Without them, yes, you would be so gorgeous it would be unfair to the competition, but even with them you aren’t unattractive. You’re still very appealing.”

Fuck, I sound breathless. It’s his fault. He’d gone still at my words, then his eyes found mine. Trapped in his heavy gaze, my whole body is tight with need. Fear of him seeing it has me breaking contact, and my eyes are down, focused on a beer bottle. I shoot for boredom and I hit it, maybe too well. “Besides, you’ll be working with a bunch of men who won’t give a damn about your scars.”

Looking up, I find his eyes are back on the ceiling. I want to yell at him. He doesn’t believe me.

“I’m not going. Take your sweet little ass back to Austin and tell Taylor you tried.”