Bearing Armen - Book Three, Page 3

  “Well I would give you the ‘and,’ if she’d given me the ‘and.’ Since she refused to talk to me—You really need to educate your protected better than—”

  “I’ll give her my direct number,” James promised.

  “That isn’t the point, big brother. A protected needs to know—”

  “I know what a protected needs to know, and so will she.”

  “But?” Connor was just too damned perceptive for his own good some days.

  “I’ll be giving her my direct number,” he repeated.

  Connor snorted in laughter.

  “It’s not what you think,” James warned, praying his youngest brother wasn’t about to let the others in on this.

  “You haven’t taken a special interest in this protected?”

  “Obviously, I have.”

  Connor howled in laughter.

  “She needs help, and—”

  “And you’re a Warrior of Armen. You’ll be mated within a week. She’ll be your own little haven.”

  The urge to punch Connor for the pun warred with the completely mad need to have her as his haven, and he as hers. But, that wasn’t going to happen in a week, if it happened at all. “Don’t count on it.”

  Connor sobered. “You’re serious. Aren’t you?”

  “Yes. I am.” And it damned well hurt to admit it already. James cursed his Armen roots, then winced as he realized he’d spoken the explicative aloud.

  “Then I’m sorry.” He sounded it, which didn’t help James’s mood.

  “When it happens, it happens. Right?”

  “Right. Well, give her a call. She’s rattled about something.”

  His heart stuttered at the thought of Beth upset. “Thanks, Connor.” He hung up, resting his hand on the phone. It took only a moment for him to decide to shower and dress. If Beth was upset, a phone call wasn’t going to cut it.

  Chapter Three

  Beth winced at the knock at her door. She’d heard the lower door, of course, but she’d left it for Mrs. McKee to answer. Since Beth never had company, why would a knock be of any interest to her?

  Except this one. The girls were both napping on their bears, Melissa with the bonnet strap wrapped around the thumb tucked into her mouth, and the last thing she needed was two cranky babies interrupted from naps.

  Beth sprinted to the door and pulled it open, stepping back in shock at the sight of James Armen.

  He put both hands up in a sign of calming. “You called?”

  “Uh...yes. I suppose I did.” Don’t be an idiot! He’d have to come pick up the food, anyway.

  “May I?”

  “Wh...” Beth looked around, coming to the realization of what he was asking abruptly. “Oh, yes. Come in.”

  James strolled inside, stopping in the middle of the living room, chuckling. “They like them,” he whispered.

  She shut the door and headed into the kitchen, knowing he’d follow.

  His voice came from just behind her. “Is there a problem, Beth?”

  “The bears were very sweet,” she began, then faltered, searching for a way to say the rest.

  “But?”

  Beth turned to him, noting his relaxed stance, his hands shoved in his jeans pockets, his feet parted. Was the man ever uncomfortable?

  “But?” he repeated.

  “The food is too much. I’m sorry, but I can’t accept it.”

  “The fresh supplies would go bad before I could use them,” he reasoned.

  “I’ll pay you for them,” she offered. “But the rest—”

  “Keep it. I’m hopeless in the kitchen. I live on pizza, gyros, and burgers out more often than not. The Colonel and I are on speaking terms, and cereal and hotdogs are about the extent of my prowess.”

  “Really?” Even Ethan had been able to manage the occasional burger or steak, and she’d thought he was the world’s most lost man in a kitchen.

  “Really. I can catch fire to a stove just boiling water.” He grimaced. “And have.”

  Beth stared at him, nearly stunned to silence. “I’ll pay for them all then...a little at a time. I’ll be honest. I don’t usually buy this much at once.”

  James seemed to consider that. “Would you entertain another possibility?”

  Her heart pounded at what he might suggest. “No promises, but I’ll hear you out.”

  “I’d just about kill for a home-cooked meal a few times a week without driving all the way to my parents’ house to get it.” He paused.

  So far, this didn’t sound so bad. “Go on.”

  “I know how much I pay for a decent meal out...a steak or roast chicken with sides and dessert. Maybe an eighth of what I spent on those groceries?”

  “Probably.” It had been a while since she’d experienced it, but that sounded reasonable.

  “How many nights do you have off every week? Two?”

  “Three. I work long shifts the other days.”

  He nodded. “Cook for me two of them...four weeks. Just dinner. If the arrangement is agreeable to you, maybe we could make it a permanent one. I supply groceries, and you cook me a few meals for it.”

  He waited patiently...to outward appearances, though Beth had the strangest feeling that her answer was vitally important to him.

  “Let’s get through the first eight meals,” she managed.

  This isn’t charity. It’s a second job, and even if it only lasts the month, it will be four weeks of food money that can buy the girls the next size up in clothes and shoes. That will put me ahead for the first time since they were born.

  James smiled widely, nodding in what looked like gratitude.

  “Aren’t you the least bit afraid that I’ll be a horrible cook?” she asked.

  “Not in the least.”

  Beth couldn’t force speech. He was putting an incredible amount of trust in her.

  “I’ve seen you boil water without starting a fire. That alone means you’re a better cook than I am.”

  She laughed at the absurdity of his logic. “Until tonight then?” she asked.

  “If it won’t be an imposition to have me over so soon.”

  She shook her head, surprised that it wasn’t. For some reason, she was looking forward to spending time with James. “Six o’clock.”

  * * * *

  James sat back, sighing in contentment. “Delicious,” he complimented her.

  Beth paused, her back to him. “I hope you’re not full. Dessert was part of the agreement.”

  “I’m sure I can manage it.” And, he’d smelled chocolate before he’d made it upstairs. Whatever she’d chosen to make, it was sure to be more good food.

  She came back with a platter heaped with chocolate chip cookies and set it in front of him.

  He rubbed his hands together, wondering how many he could eat without shocking Beth with his appetite. “Oh, yeah.”

  “It was short notice,” she offered in what sounded like an apology. “How does apple pie sound for tomorrow?”

  “If you make it, wonderful. In the meantime, I love cookies.”

  Beth sat, handing cookies to the babies, her face darkening and the edges of her mouth twitching up.

  “Yes?” he prompted, plucking a cookie from the platter.

  “I don’t want to offend you.”

  “That’s hard to do.”

  She smiled, a single laugh escaping. “I’d say you love food.”

  James laughed heartily, and Michelle echoed him with a squeal of delight. “My mother has accused me of that more than once.”

  Beth took a cookie, leaning forward on her elbows. “You really have four brothers?” she asked. She took a bite of the cookie, closing her eyes in pleasure.

  He forced himself to think, the image bringing up portions of his anatomy that needed to shut up for now. “Sure do. You don’t have any?” He popped the cookie he’d grabbed into his mouth, groaning as it started to melt away.

  “Not a single one. No brothers. No sisters.”

  “
Parents?”

  She hurried to swallow another mouthful of cookie. “Dead. My mother when I was thirteen and my father when I was twenty-two.”

  He nodded, at a loss to offer sympathy for so monumental a personal tragedy. “Your husband?”

  Beth smiled weakly, playing another cookie between her fingers. “Ethan and I didn’t have much time together. Only sixteen months after we married, two years total.”

  “I am sorry. I know that’s inadequate.”

  “It’s not. It’s sweet of you to say it. It...was just one of those things. He was killed by a mugger.”

  James fisted his hand on his lap. This was why he hunted, to keep this sort of senseless loss from happening, but while he was killing off beasts, humans were busy killing off each other.

  Beth bit into the cookie, eyeing her daughters, probably trying to avoid looking at James. He’d made her uncomfortable, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself from following the conversation out to the end.

  “You have no family at all. Do you?”

  “None.”

  “Not even Ethan’s?”

  She darkened. “None,” she whispered.

  James wondered at that, but he’d already pushed her too far. “So, are you going to banish me to White Castle and McDonalds for being a poor guest?”

  Beth snapped a look at him, her eyes wide. She tried to talk through a mouthful of cookie, then stopped and swallowed. “You think you’re a poor guest?”

  “I ask too many questions. I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable.”

  She smiled, and his heart skipped. James would do just about anything to see her smile.

  “So, is it Sal’s Pizza for me tomorrow night?”

  “Not tomorrow night or any night I’m off.”

  “But our deal—”

  “If you don’t want to—” she began, her smile fading.

  “I do. Thank you, Beth. This means a lot to me.” More than you can possibly imagine.

  She picked up another cookie, offering it as a toast.

  Chapter Four

  Monday, December 4, 1978

  James stared at the file in his hand, trying to internalize what he was seeing. Whatever went wrong between Beth and her in-laws had been explosive.

  She’d taken her husband’s name of Rice when they’d married, but that had lasted only until shortly after his death. The girls even shared her maiden name of Havens.

  Ethan’s parents lived only a few miles from Beth and the girls, a neat little home on the edges of an affluent area. Considering the girls’ date of birth and when Ethan died, there was no question that his parents would have known about them.

  That was where logic failed him. Gods, Michelle and Melissa were a joy! Warrior affinity for family disregarded, how could any grandparent turn his back on his flesh and blood, the only living links to a dead son?

  He considered the possibility that they hadn’t and dismissed it just as quickly. Beth wasn’t happy with the situation; her reactions stated that clearly.

  James sighed. Part of him wanted to question them, to learn what drove them to ignore their own family this way.

  Another part rationalized that he had no right to do it. In fact, stirring the pot on a bad situation could force them to the boiling point.

  Whatever was wrong between them, it was likely irreconcilable. That was all James really needed to know. He wasn’t in this to secure aid for her; he was in this to become the person she could count on.

  Chapter Five

  Saturday, December 9, 1978

  “Good God, James,” Beth half-laughed. “I’ll be cooking for you forever, if you keep bringing food with you.”

  He winked at her, smiling a sly smile. “You saw through my cunning plan.” He set the sacks down on the countertop. “Does this mean you’re sending me back to University Cafeteria food?”

  She laughed. “I can’t decide if you’re afraid of that or you want it. I mean... You say it every time you do something you know might land you there.”

  James pulled bottles of root beer out of the sack, lining them up on the counter. He didn’t answer her accusation, though the tension in his shoulders fairly screamed that he didn’t want banished to crap restaurants again.

  “Mmmm,” she purred. “What do you have in mind for those?”

  “I was wondering if you liked root beer floats.”

  “Love them.”

  He deposited the root beer between the girls’ bottles, then pulled out a gallon of milk, rotating it to the rear.

  Beth watched that move with a pang of guilt. Since he barely touched the stuff, James was obviously supplying it for the girls.

  He turned, two bananas torn from a bunch in hand, his eyes narrowing. “Something wrong?”

  “It just seems...”

  “Yes?”

  “I understand you buying things you eat and drink, but I really should—”

  “It’s no trouble. If I’m stopping at the store anyway, picking up milk and bananas is no inconvenience. Besides, maybe we’ll make some banana splits later in the month.”

  “Carrying them up the stairs is—”

  “Less of a burden for me than it is for you. You already carry two babies and their supplies up.” He turned to the highchairs and started breaking pieces of banana onto the trays in preparation for dinner.

  Beth took a calming breath, trying not to snap at him. “I have the money to—”

  “Use it to buy other things you need. I know how fast babies grow.”

  “I can’t use food stamps for that, but I can use them for food.”

  He went stone still, barely breathing. Beth swallowed hard, unnerved by his reaction. She prayed that he wasn’t one of those people who looked down on anyone who was forced by circumstance to depend on the system for a while.

  James went back to the bananas. “I guess you’re right about that. Okay... I’ll make you a deal.”

  “What kind of deal?”

  “I’ll bring the milk and juice.”

  “But—”

  “It’s heavy. I’ll bring it.”

  She paused, noting the tension in his shoulders. “It means that much to you?”

  “Yes. I hope you’ll humor me.”

  “If I’m not buying the milk or juice, what’s the tradeoff?”

  “Surprise me. So far, we’ve been eating what I’ve provided. Introduce me to what you like to eat once in a while. A dessert...or a main dish.”

  “What if you don’t like it?”

  He chuckled, heading to the trash to dump the banana peels. “As you so aptly noted, I like food. I’ve eaten rattlesnake and moose.”

  Beth bit back a sound of disgust, curling her nose at the thought. “Snake?”

  “My grandfather taught me never to offend my hosts. That means eating what’s served. Snake’s not so bad, actually...cooked correctly. I’ve tasted a lot worse. With your cooking, I taste much better, and someone who likes food would know.”

  She smiled, the first test of his tastes already in mind. If James survived cure tongue, he could survive anything she threw at him. “You may come to regret this.”

  “Never.” His eyes were hot in an undertone of meaning she’d never noted from him before.

  Beth forced her breathing to steady, abruptly aware of James as a man in her space: strong, handsome, protective, and very desirable.

  Chapter Six

  Friday, December 15th, 1978

  “I told you that you couldn’t serve anything that would disgust me,” he stated, taking another sip of the wine they’d opened after dinner. “You used just the right amount of salt to bring out the flavor of the tongue.”

  “Shhh,” Beth managed through her stifled laughter. She leaned toward him, her nose nearly brushing his.

  James felt his heart begin to pound. The urge to kiss her was nearly maddening. It had been almost two weeks since he’d taken release with a woman, ten days since he’d felt the urge to take it with anyone but Beth.


  But, it was too early to expect a move like that, even now. She’d only allowed him to stay past the girls’ bedtime twice so far, and this was the first time she’d allowed him to stay this late into the night...let alone had drinks with him. Being comfortable with him was not enough. Beth had to want him as a man, and he’d only seen the faintest glimpses of that in the last week.

  She met his eyes, her giggles tapering off into a few hitching breaths. Her breath was sweet with wine and hot against his lips. He burned, the need to close that finger-width of distance driving him further toward madness.

  Dear Tes, I haven’t even kissed her yet and—

  Beth eased forward, tilting her head to his, her eyes closing. He nuzzled her lips, his cock coming to life with just that encouragement. She moved closer, and he pressed his lips more firmly against hers.

  She eased back, her eyes opening, looking at his lips in something akin to fascination. James bit back a groan as she licked her upper lip.

  Then her body was pressed to his again, her lips parting to his, the kiss moving from a sensuous, slow exploration to an intense encounter in a few precious heartbeats. Her hand trailed up his thigh to his cock. James did groan at that, praying fervently that this experimentation wouldn’t end.

  It didn’t. Beth traced him, learning his dimensions while their mouths mated fully. James took a wild chance, feathering his fingertips over her breast.

  She went still, her mouth parting from his and her breathing coming in ragged gasps. He searched her eyes for some sign of either acceptance or refusal. Neither came; she seemed stunned. He started to move his hand away, certain that he’d overstepped her comfort.

  “No,” she whispered. “Please, James. It’s been so long.”

  He nodded. “If you want me to stop—”

  Her lips returned, silencing him. It was a deeper, less fevered kiss, full of aching promise. James tested her decision, fondling her breasts, acutely aware of every gasp and moan, every shift of her body.

  Her hand pushed at his, and James backed away, nearly groaning that it was over. It took him only a moment to digest that it wasn’t.