Special Forces: Operation Alpha: Marking Mariah (Kindle Worlds Novella) (7 page)

“That guy is starin’ straight at you,” Lindee reminded her with a poke to her upper arm. “He’s hot.”

Mariah’s face burned as she sipped her beer—something local, she’d been informed, from The Love Brothers Brewing Company. “That Love family,” Lindee had said with an eye roll as they were served. But she hadn’t clarified herself any further so Mariah hadn’t asked.

In truth, she wasn’t sure she’d made the right decision to come here with these two women, to be on their “karaoke team” or whatever. But she was stuck now. So she sipped and snuck glances at the indeed very hot guy with the military short hair, broad shoulders and nice smile.

“That’s Kieran Love he’s drinkin’ with,” Patty enlightened her.

Mariah sucked in a breath at the wrong time, sending beer down her windpipe. As the two women smacked her back while she spluttered and choked, she couldn’t help but notice the guy, sitting, she now realized, with her new boss—whose back was to their table thank the Lord—studying her, his eyes in a half closed position. His “come hither” look, she figured, not liking him at all in that split second.

Once she had control of herself again, she turned all the way around so her back was to the two men. “The principal, eh?” she asked, wondering how she might escape.

“Yep, sure enough,” Lindee said, giving the two men a frank appraisal. “No idea who that is with him. I’m not from here, though, so I wouldn’t know. Patty is.” She elbowed the other woman at the table. “Who is that tall, dark, ‘n handsome over there eyeballing our karaoke ringer like she was a hot breakfast?”

Patti dug glasses out of her purse, then leaned forward, staring so obviously it made Mariah want to jump up and run out the front door. “Oh, that’s just Terry O’Leary, one of the twins. His daddy’s the bank owner—or whatever he is now that the big Lexington bank bought him out.”

“Rich as God,” Lindee surmised.

“Oh, he was already that. His family had some money, but he married up, big time. His wife, she’s dead now, been that way for a while, she was from serious money—horse farm money that sold out, kinda like Lindsay Love’s did. I told you ‘bout her. She’s mama to that passel of rowdy kids, all of ‘em back around now, raising families and whatnot right here in this old town.”

She squinted over at the men once more, then took off her glasses and picked up her glass of orange juice and vodka. “Yep. That’s Terry all right. He ‘n Kieran Love have been friends since God was a boy. We haven’t seen him around for ages. I heard he’d joined the army, after…” She hesitated and sipped her drink.

“After what? Lord, woman don’t leave us hangin’,” Lindee insisted.

“He was a twin, one a them not identical kinds. He and his brother Quentin were the cutest…my friend dated Quentin in high school. They were soccer players and got scholarships to play somewhere, Ohio maybe? Anyway, the O’Leary’s tried to keep it under wraps but this town is full of gossips so we heard about it.” She nodded and sipped. Lindee snorted and rolled her eyes. Mariah tried not to smile as she snuck another look at the man in question, who was, to her alarm, staring right at her.

“We’re gettin’ old over here Patty,” Lindee said.

Patty leaned forward. The other two women did the same. “He killed himself, up at that college. They found him hanging from something in his dorm room, or maybe the locker room? I don’t know but it sure was awful. Terry dropped out and took off for the Army, like I said. I haven’t seen or heard tell of him since. That was…” She counted on her fingers. “Had to be over eight years ago now.”

“How old is he?” Mariah asked, honestly curious.

“He’d be thirty-three or four I guess.”

The women fell silent. Thankfully, the Karaoke Smackdown started, forcing her to think about what she might be singing, and almost forgetting the man sitting behind her. But it was as if she could feel his gaze boring into the back of her neck. It made her shivery, and horny in a way she thought she’d forgotten.

Then, it was time for her to sing. “Hello,” she told the DJ. He raised an eyebrow, then did a double take when he realized who she was.

“You got it,” he said, queuing up the Adele song.

***

Terry and Kieran had done all the catching up they possibly could by the time he caught sight of her. As Kieran kept going on about his kids, about his brothers and sister and their lives, Terry tuned him out, unable to focus on a damn thing but the amazing, gorgeous creature sitting two tables away from him. He sipped his beer, nodding at what he hoped were the right places, and willing her to look at him again.

She did, a few times. The last time her dark brown eyes had the sort of sparkle in them that sent a bolt of raw lust down his spine, making him shift in his seat to dispel it.

Kieran probably knew her, he figured. He could ask and he’d hear all about her—her people, her story, her life. That was one thing he’d hated about small town life. But it was something that had come back to him like riding a bike, as he slipped into gossip mode almost immediately upon meeting up with his oldest friend.

Yet, he didn’t ask. There was something about her—with her dusky, brownish bronze skin, long neck and slim arms exposed by her sleeveless top, that wild spill of corkscrewed dark hair—that made him want to study her, to take her in, to decide what he should do about her, if anything. When she stood and headed for the small stage at one end of the pub, took a microphone, and said something to the pimply faced kid operating the karaoke thing, Terry nearly fell off his chair.

Her hips were full, her waist slim, and her legs long, ending in feet exposed by high wedge heel sandals. She held the mic with the ease of a pro as the pub filled with the opening sounds of some ballad or another, something he’d no doubt heard a million times but ignored. His entire body zinged to attention when she closed her eyes and opened her mouth to sing.

The entire place, filled to the brim on a Thursday night, fell silent as her first notes floated out over them. Her rich, full voice filled his brain, swirling around inside it and making him feel like he was floating on a soft cloud. She gripped the microphone, caressing it with her lips in a way that brought on a startling and overwhelming urge to go to her, to hold her close, to let her continue singing but only to him. He glared around the room, taking in all the people—all the men—staring at her, mouths half open, probably thinking the same damn thing he’d been.

When she finished, the pub stayed silent as if from shock before breaking out in a roar. People stood, whistled, hooted and hollered for her. She stood, her head leaning to one side, her gaze darting around, until it met his. Then she smiled.

He stood up fast, knocking over his chair. Kieran shot him a strange look. “I need some air,” he said, heading for the door. He stood by his bike, wishing he had a cigarette or a beer or something to do with his hands for a few minutes until Kieran joined him and clapped him on the back.

“I gotta get home. The boys are making Cara nuts and she’ll take it out of my hide if I hang around here drinking beer with your sorry ass much longer. I’ll tell her you said hey. I’m sure she’ll have you over to the house soon for a meal.”

Terry nodded, still stunned, still hearing and seeing her as if she’d been imprinted onto him like a hot branding iron. “Good to see you again,” he managed after a while, wiping the sweat beaded up on his face.

“You too. Good timing. Since Lucasville High is in desperate need of a soccer coach.”

“Yeah,” Terry said, giving himself a mental shake. “Yes. Very. Thanks for that. And for the use of the old apartment.” He pointed up, indicating the small, one-bedroom place over the pub.

“Yeah, it’s been sitting empty since Dom left. Mama and Daddy never bothered to rent it out. They’ll be glad to see you too. I told Dom you’d be by tomorrow, to talk about the brewery job.”

“I don’t deserve this,” he said. “Y’all are being too…”

Kieran frowned at him and crossed his arms. “No, you really don’t, disappearing like that after…well, anyway. I missed you. So, welcome back. Here’s the key,” he said, tossing a ring that Terry caught. “Move on in whenever. I’ll have a lease for you to sign tomorrow when you come by the school. You’ve got your work cut out for you, my friend. Our soccer program went to shit after I had to fire that creepy asshole, Matt.”

“Yeah,” Terry said, staring down at the key in his hand. His head felt as clear as it had in months. But he still had that weird, buzzy sensation running up and down his spine. He glanced at the pub door, knowing he should get his ass upstairs to the tiny apartment and try to sleep.

“See ya tomorrow,” Kieran said as he put his phone to his ear. “I’m comin’ honey. I swear.” He waved. Terry waved back, happy for his friend, if a tad jealous at how well everything had worked out for him at the same time.

He waited a few beats, watched Kieran pull out onto Main Street, took a deep breath, and went back inside. The place was loud, singing along with someone else. He couldn’t see where the beautiful woman had gone, which was probably for the best. Taking a seat at the bar with his back to the stage seemed like a good idea. He ordered a beer, sipped, and ignored everyone around him.

Terry woke slowly, struggling up from somewhere deep and warm and welcoming. A place filled with her—Mariah—her voice, her lips and skin and hair, the way she laughed, the way she trembled and cried out as he’d licked and stroked and pleasured her.

He groaned, and rolled onto his back, the victim of a raging morning hard-on. Instead of tending to it the usual way, he got up and found the shower in his new place, the place he’d christened with her. After about twenty minutes under the hot water, hands propped on the cheap fiberglass sides, he found a sliver of soap and cleaned up.

Kieran had already sent him a message, telling him that their ten o’clock meeting had to get moved to noon at the school.
Good thing
, Terry thought,
since it’s already nine-fifty
. He sat in the tiny kitchen, staring out the window, his mind awash with images and sensations from the night before. Memories more overwhelming than any others—which was saying something since he dreamed every night of sand, heat, pain, and his Operator brethren.

Until last night.

He sighed and got up, ran the thin towel over his head and realized he’d left his duffel bag in the bike’s compartment. All he had on him were the clothes from the night before.

Figuring he’d toss them on sans underwear, snag the duffel and run back upstairs to change, he stuck his legs into the jeans. Still distracted, he saw something pink and silky drop to the floor. Smiling, he picked it up, remembering how it had torn so nicely, ripping right in two and accommodating his haste to get at Mariah’s sweet body.

Sap
, he thought as he tucked the scrap of fabric into his jeans pocket.

Maybe
, he agreed with himself as he whistled his way down the metal steps to the parking lot. Once he was dressed, he shot a text to Kieran asking if he could get into the school ahead of their noon meeting. His motivation to get to the locker room, to check out the condition of the equipment, uniforms and field, had never been higher.

Yesterday, he’d been all about finding work—anything that paid him a bit of money so he could move on with his life. Now, he felt inspired, pushed to do something more, to make a difference. To coach his beloved game and maybe as a bonus make a little cash to buy some stuff with.

As a child of wealth and plenty, he’d never given half a thought to the contents of his fridge, closet, or vacation calendar. It had all been managed for him and his brother by his efficient parents. But the second he’d left it behind, he’d become something like an aesthete. “Stuff” didn’t matter to him anymore. “Experiences,” and “friends” and “adventures” were all he had to his name for the last ten years.

But he did need to get some basics: coffee, bread, milk, bananas, some lunch meat…and condoms. He grinned again, unable to stop himself as he touched his lips, recalling her, eager to find her again.

Stopping halfway back down the steps, he frowned. He’d not gotten her phone number, or address or anything.

Shit.

His world darkened in an instant as fury roiled through him, making his mouth water and the prickling need for a drink slam into his brain. He took the second half of the steps slowly as he yanked his better self to the forefront, jumped on his bike and drove out seeking food—and a way to find Mariah again.

***

After a few restless hours of half-sleeping, half-remembering, Mariah gave up. She put some coffee on then jumped into a shower, wincing when the hot water hit her still sensitive nipples. She felt slow, sluggish even, but yet sated and full. A sensation she’d not felt in so long it was new to her once more. Smiling, she let the water trickle through her hair and leaned her hands against the smooth tile sides of the shower, reliving it, remembering him all over again.

Terry
, she thought as she soaped all over, wincing at the pleasant soreness between her legs. Something hit her then, making her yelp and drop the soap.

She’d let the man come inside her without a condom.

Shaking now, she crouched down, eyes squeezed shut, counting backwards from her last period in the ancient way of morning-after women. It had been a week, she determined, just a week, not two. Or maybe that was her damn head, justifying her own stupid, reckless behavior.

Had she really—
really
—gone to some stranger’s apartment with him after eyeballing him across a crowded restaurant, then sharing a couple of beers and wordless flirting?

She had indeed. And that man had been worth the risk, and then some.

She sighed and wrenched the water off, cursing when she realized she’d not unpacked enough towels. Dripping and muttering to herself, she traipsed through the bedroom, down the short hall and into the living area. After wrapping in a towel from the dryer, she stopped and took a deep breath.

Calm, girl. Calm yourself. The only reason you’re here is to work, to make a life for your son out of his grandmother’s reach. Not to pick up random, ex-military rednecks and let them fuck you six ways to Sunday.

Unable to stop herself, she smiled and leaned against the kitchen counter, running her fingertips across her collarbones and to the tops of her breasts, pretending it was Terry doing it and that her fingertips were his lips.

Dear God, did I really just now think that?

“Mama!” Cole yelped, emerging from his room rubbing his eyes and clutching his Batman figure.

She grabbed him and held on tight, burying her face into his neck. This was her life. That thing she’d been, the things she’d done and said, and allowed to be done and said without a damn condom—that was a dream, a fantasy, and something she’d be relegating to its appropriate place in her mind, starting right now.

“Mama has to go up to the school. Want to come with me?”

“Piano?” he asked, hopefully, leaning back and patting her cheek. “Mama, why you cry?”

She sniffled and set him down, unaware that she’d been crying until that moment. “Cereal?” she asked, ignoring his question.

He patted her leg. “Don’t cry, Mama.”

“I’m okay, baby,” she said, patting his head and swiping at her face. “Let’s eat then go over to the school. You can play the piano.”

“Piano! Yay!” he yelped before running into the living room and plunking Batman down in front of an amazing Lego construction. He must have made that with Henry, she thought, her face burning hot with the memory of unlocking the condo door and sneaking in, the smell of sex surrounding her like a fog.

As she was about to grab her keys and herd Cole out the door, her phone buzzed with a text. Scrabbling around desperately, praying it was him before recalling they’d only exchanged bodily fluids, not phone numbers, she dropped her coffee mug and purse both.

“Mama,” Cole scolded her in his irritating, half-grown-up way.

“Well now someone must have had themselves a fun night after we left,”
Lindee said in a text message with a bunch of thumbs-up and winking face emojis.
“Henry said you didn’t get in until after two a.m.”

“Yes,”
she replied, mortified all over again.
“I’m so sorry about that. I hope it’s alright he stayed that late.”

“Honey you could have stayed out all night for all we care. I’m just jealous. Was it Terry?”

With a groan, she stared at the words, unable to formulate a response that sounded in any way like a grown up woman’s. Figuring that she’d ignore it now, answer later, she took her purse from Cole’s hand, sopped up the coffee spill and guided him out into the hall.

Once she’d parked and set Cole down, she smoothed her rowdy hair back with the mostly useless headband and made a mental note to find an appropriate hairdresser. Hearing her mother in her head, reminding her that there likely was no such thing in this two-bit, redneck town, she guided Cole past the large lawn where the marching band was practicing, and into the door that, she recalled from her interview, opened into the music and theater hall of the massive high school.

People were roaming around, getting ready for Monday’s start. She smiled at a few, still gripping Cole’s hand so he wouldn’t bolt away from her. Her heart pounded at the sight of the door next to the choir room: “Mariah Bailey,” it said. “Music Instruction.”

She’d been a very late hire, Kieran had said, but she’d been the only one he wanted. Or so he claimed. The pay wasn’t great, but she was on the “beggars” side of that old adage. Besides, she’d lived on less before. And since she was paying such a ridiculous pittance for rent on a really nice condo, her numbers might even allow for a bit of excess every now and then.

The door was unlocked so she pushed it open, gasping at the sight of a huge bouquet of flowers, about a million balloons and a giant sign: “Welcome to Lucasville High Music! Singing Star Mariah Bailey!” Tears stung her eyes again.

“Mama, let go’a me. I want a balloon!” She let him go and he started snagging the strings and running around her tiny space—her space. Her office. Her first real job in a field she adored.

“Oh, hi,” a deep voice said, making her turn around after hopefully clearing the evidence of her silly emotional outburst off her face. “Welcome,” Kieran Love said. Mariah grinned at him. Her new boss, a former Division one NCAA and NBA basketball star was the tallest man she’d ever seen, with wavy red hair, huge green eyes and a sweet smile, which he was currently using on her son—who was flailing around with the balloons at the moment.

“Sorry,” she said, attempting to grab him as he dashed by her. “I hope it’s okay I brought him today. It’s…”

“Say no more,” Kieran said, crouching down and getting on Cole’s eye level. The boy stopped, his fist closed around the balloon strings. “Hi there, you must be Cole. I’m Mr. Love.” He held out a hand. Cole looked up at her. She nodded. He took the man’s hand and shook it in his solemn way, in opposition to the way he’d just been running around as if he were high on sugar. “I have a surprise for you,” he said, addressing the boy directly.

Cole blinked, glanced up at her then back at the tall stranger. “I like surprises,” he said softly.

“Do you like to kick soccer balls?”

Cole nodded. Kieran stood and took the boy’s hand. “Cool. My boys are here today too, Frankie and Sean. They’re on the soccer field with the new coach, helping him with some stuff.” He leaned into Mariah. “Or just getting in his way, but I had to bring them so he took them off my hands for a while.”

She smiled, her heart expanding at the concept that she had, indeed, found the perfect place to land, to build her new life, just her and her boy. At that moment, a more recent memory wafted across her brain, making her bite her lip and turn away. Terry’s face filled her mind, the remembered sensation of his lips and hands made every inch of her skin pebble with illicit pleasure.

She stared at the empty bookshelves, forcing herself to think about her next tasks. She had to put together a curriculum in something like two days. Plenty to think about. Lots to do. No room for thoughts of sexy, one-night-stand, hot guy.

“Hey, uh Kieran,” a sickeningly familiar voice hit her ears. She whirled around and saw him, Terry O’Leary, the man featured in her most recent erotic fantasy loop, the man she’d met and dropped her panties for, whose bed she’d vacated not nine hours prior.

He was staring down at Cole, a puzzled look in his face. She stepped to one side, out of his line of sight, irrationally thinking she’d imagined him. What in the hell would he be doing here anyway?

“Hey, Terry,” Kieran said. “I’d like to introduce you to some people. This is Cole.”

“Hi, Cole,” Terry said. The sound of his voice saying her son’s name sent another irrational thrill of pleasure through her. “I’m Terry, the soccer coach.”

Oh fuck. Oh hell. Oh
hell
no.

He worked here too?

“And this…where’d you go, oh there you are,” Kieran said, motioning for her to move into the space next to him, facing the man she’d let come inside her a few hours after meeting him. Her brain seemed to squeeze shut, not accepting the fact of his presence now. “This is Mariah. Mariah Bailey. You might know her from that singing competition. We got lucky that she wanted to teach instead of be a recording star.”

Mariah blinked fast and stood next to Kieran, holding out her hand. Terry stared at it, then up at her, then at their mutual boss. A few painfully awkward seconds passed in silence. Even Cole stayed quiet as if sensing that would be the best move.

“Hi,” she said, finally lifting her hand higher. “Nice to—”

“We’ve met,” Terry blurted out. “Last night, at the pub.” He took her hand gently, which sent a shock wave through her and made her take a step backwards.

“Oh, right,” Kieran said. “You went back in after I left, then.” His voice rose at the end. Already sensing herself losing her grip on her future—since fraternization between two unmarried teachers or coaches or whatever was likely forbidden, especially since, in a deeply Southern-fried town like this one, if one of the fraternizers was white and the other one was most definitely not—Mariah cleared her throat and lifted her chin.

“Yes,” she said, looking brightly up at Kieran with what she prayed was an innocent expression. He was looking at Terry, one side of his lips raised in a bit of a smirk. “We had a beer together. So, I can keep Cole in here with me…” Her voice trailed off as she became desperate for the two men to get the hell out of her space so she could think—or draw a full breath.