Waiting For Wren (Book Five In The Bodyguards Of L.A. County Series) (35 page)

“That’s wonderful.” She touched his hand and quickly pulled back as the simple gesture proved to be overwhelming. “I hope you’ll be at peace.”

“Thanks.”

Waves crashed in the background, and she grabbed at wisps of her windblown hair, struggling not to squirm while they both struggled through painfully polite conversation. “I should probably—”

“So, I got a new place.” He jammed his hand in his pocket.

Her brow winged up. “Oh, yeah?”

“Mom sort of freaked when she brought me home a few days ago.”

She chuckled as he grinned. “I take it the ugly couch is history?”

“No way. I couldn’t get rid of my couch. That thing’s too damn comfortable.”

She smiled again.

“Ethan said you’ll be hanging around the Palisades this weekend. You should come by and check out the new digs.”

She shook her head. “I can’t. I’m cutting my stay short.” Or she was now. “I have to grab the rest of my things at the old house and get back to Santa Barbara. I think I’ve finally found an apartment.”

“Maybe the next time you’re in town then.”

“Yeah, maybe,” she lied. This was too hard. He wanted to be casual friends, and she wasn’t there; she wasn’t sure she ever would be. “I really should get back to the tent. Your mother wants to introduce me to a few people, and I want to say hello to Ms. Hayes.”

“Thanks again for coming.” He enveloped her in a hard hug, and she hesitated, surprised by the sudden gesture. She clung to his solid body, absorbing the comfort and agony of holding him close, then stepped away. He was ripping her to shreds.

“Wren.” He stepped forward, closing the small space between them, and stroked a finger along her jaw.

She looked deep in his eyes as his thumb swept close to her ear and traveled to her chin. She gripped his wrist, drowning in regret, suddenly wishing all of his promises had been true. He was supposed to love her. He was supposed to have waited, but as she stepped back, Casey walked toward them, reminding her that what they’d had was gone—if it ever existed in the first place.

She pressed her lips firm, attempting to stop the trembling, and blinked as tears swam too close to the surface. What had she been thinking? She shouldn’t have come to Monterey. She didn’t belong here. “I’m going to—I should—I have to go,” she struggled to say as a well of emotion choked her. Turning, she hurried up the path, bypassing the tents, Tucker’s parents, and Ms. Hayes, making her way to the driveway and her car. She picked up her pace as she hit concrete and ran, desperate to be away from here.

Hopefully the five-and-a-half hour drive back to the Palisades would be long enough to ease this raw, tearing ache gripping her heart, and she could finally convince herself, once and for all—as she’d tried to do over the last two and a half weeks—that she absolutely did
not
want a lifetime with Tucker Campbell. She would stop off at Costas Drive, grab the remainder of her things, and spend the night with Ethan and his family before she made her trek to her new home in the morning and finally put this chapter of her life behind her.

Tucker sped south on the 405, rushing back to the Palisades in the dark. This wasn’t exactly how he’d planned for everything to work out, but this is how it was. His cell rang, and he pressed ‘talk’ without bothering to glance at the readout. “Yeah.”

“Everything’s all set,” Ethan said.

Tucker sighed his relief as a huge weight lifted off his shoulders. “I don’t know how to thank you, man.”

“Oh, I’ll think of something.”

He grinned. “I don’t doubt it.”

“Where are you?”

“About twenty minutes out.”

“Taking forty-six was the way to go. You’ve got her by a good ten minutes.”

“The Pacific Coast is prettier, but it’s definitely not faster. Thanks again. I’ll talk to you later.” He hung up and glanced at the clock. A ten-minute lead wasn’t much, but he was lucky to have that. He’d spent the last five hours barreling through traffic, gaining his slim advantage. When Wren looked into his eyes, tears brimming, her voice tight with emotion, telling him she had to go, he didn’t realize she meant all the way home. He should have stopped her from rushing up the path, but he’d been too busy digesting the idea that Wren was hurting too.

For two-and-a-half weeks he’d fought his way through the long days, angry and miserable, struggling to accept that Wren had walked away. She’d packed up most everything and headed off to Santa Barbara without a second thought, leaving him to stew in memories and regret while she carried on as if nothing ever happened.

Yesterday had been hell on Earth while he watched her hustle around Ethan and Sarah’s house, beautiful and sweet, helping with the children, cooking, setting tables, smiling and laughing with everyone but him. He’d finally cornered her among the groups of people, with Emma on her hip, and she’d blown him off, but not before he caught the flash of grief in her eyes. He’d tried to find her again, wanting to be certain he didn’t imagine the moment, but she’d done an excellent job of avoiding him. Eventually he had no choice but to leave and make his way to Monterey.

After another sleepless night and a sweaty five-mile run on the beach this morning, he’d convinced himself he didn’t give a damn about Wren Cooke’s grief; she could’ve gone to hell for all he cared. He’d been determined to show himself and her that he didn’t need her, that he could move on and be just fine. He’d played the awkward moments by the cliffs fairly well—finding enormous satisfaction in her discomfort—until she touched his hand and wished him peace. The quick brush of her fingers, delivered with genuine sentiment, instantly left him yearning, and he couldn’t take it anymore. Unable to stop himself, he’d pulled her against him, breathing her in, clinging just as tightly as she held on to him, not wanting to let her go. As she’d stepped away, looking into his eyes while he stroked her soft skin, something powerful passed between them. His anger vanished, as did the pain, and he only wanted them back the way they had been before everything went so damn wrong.

By the time he snapped out of his fog and started after her in a full-out run, he’d been too late, catching sight of her pretty roadster turning right as she drove away. He’d raced back to his parents, explaining what they already knew, got in his Jeep, and called Ethan, setting his plan in motion as he booked it toward the interstate. He’d be damned if he was going to lose her again.

Tucker merged off his exit and slowed to a stop at the first intersection, impatiently waiting to make a right on West Sunset. He turned, accelerating, and braked just as quickly as taillights glowed crimson in the chaos of Friday night traffic. “Son of a bitch. Come
on
.” He was losing his lead. If he was lucky, he had five minutes on Wren, but he still had a good six miles to go. He tapped restless fingers on the gearshift and weaved his way around other cars, finally taking his right, driving the last mile, pulling past the driveway.

Headlights shined far in the distance as he sprinted to the entryway, unlocking the door, slamming it shut behind him, and activated the living room lights with the security panel. He hurried to the kitchen for a beer, fumbling with the opener, finally popping the top, then dashed to the ugly couch, sailing into his seat, powering on the big screen to rehash the highlights from yesterday’s game, waiting as he caught his breath. Moments later, a key turned in the lock, and he settled himself more comfortably.

High heels clicked on the hardwood floor and stopped. “Hello?”

“In here,” Tucker hollered, his heart still pounding. This was it—make or break.

Her heels slapped faster as she picked up her pace. “I think there must be some confusion…” She stopped in the doorway, her eyes going huge. “Tucker? What in god’s name are you doing here?”

He pulled a sip from the bottle, taking her in, and his pulse kicked into overdrive. Damn, she took his breath away. Despite her day in the car, she was tidy, gorgeous, and everything he couldn’t live without. “Catching the highlights—Pats versus Ravens. Hell of a game.” Not that he’d actually seen much of the Thanksgiving Day matchup; he’d been too busy watching her to worry about who was scoring touchdowns.

Brows furrowed, hands on her hips, she stepped further into the room. “Why is your television in my living room? And that ugly couch? Dear God, and your
curtains
.” She dashed to the window, batting at the retched orange monstrosities as she had when they hung in his apartment.

He shrugged as she looked at him with horror. “Sarah hung them for me.”

“Sarah? As in my Sarah?”

“More like Ethan’s Sarah, but I guess.” He took another sip, struggling not to laugh as she stared at him as if he’d lost his mind.

“Why would she do a thing like that?”

“She offered when Ethan and Hunter said they would bring the couch.”

“Ethan and Hunter—I—what—” She shook her head, pressing her fingers to her temple. “What the hell is going on around here?”

“Closing’s not ‘til Monday, but Greta didn’t think it would be a big deal if I moved in a little early.”

“Let me repeat myself: What the hell is going on around here?”

“It’s not that big a mystery, Cooke. You’re moving out. I’m moving in. The end.”

“It’s definitely not the end, Tucker. You’re head injury.” She walked to him, concern furrowing her brows as she crouched in front of him, turning his head from side to side, examining his pupils. “Equal and responsive,” she murmured. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Three, maybe four sips.” He held her wrist, breathing in her sexy scent as she continued to cup his chin. Hints of her perfume had clung to his clothes as he unpacked his bag from Utah. No matter how he tried, he hadn’t been able to escape her.

“I should get you to the doctor.”

He shook his head. “I got the all-clear Tuesday. I’m back to work full-time next week.”

“Tucker.” She attempted to pull away. “We need to get your stuff out of my house.”

“Wren, this is
my
house—the new digs I was telling you about.”

She yanked away and rushed to stand over him. “That’s impossible. Greta said some old eccentric woman was purchasing this place.”

“Casey sure as hell isn’t old, and I don’t think I’d call her eccentric—unique certainly.”

“Casey? The blonde I met today?”

“The one and only.”

She turned away and left the room, climbing the stairs.

He got to his feet and followed, stopping outside the master suite, holding his breath as Wren stood next to the brand new sleigh bed, sliding her finger over the maple footboard. He clutched the bottle in his hand, nervous all over again. “So, what do you think?”

“I think it’s beautiful.” She continued stroking the smooth curves. “The white comforter complements the dark wood nicely. The plants are lovely too. Clean, elegant, yet relaxed and inviting. This is a gorgeous space.”

“Patrick picked everything out.”

She whirled. “Patrick?”

“I let him have a free hand—bedding, furnishings, accents, the whole deal. He thought you would approve.”

She stared down, nodding, and walked to the corner where her remaining items waited.

His stomach sank. This wasn’t the reaction he’d expected. “What are you doing?”

“Getting my stuff.”

“Cooke—”

“I need to go, Tucker.” She bent down and grabbed a suitcase. “I’m tired, and I’m leaving first thing tomorrow morning.”

He snagged her arm. “Wait a minute.”

“What for? I really don’t want to create an awkward scene when your girlfriend comes home.”

He blinked his surprise. “Girlfriend?”

“Yes, Tucker, the blond who bought my house.”

“First off, I bought this house. Second, Casey was Staci’s best friend.”

“I hope you’ll be very happy.” She tugged out of his grip.

He grabbed her elbow. “She’s also my attorney taking care of the sale.”

“Congratulations.” She freed herself and started toward the stairs.

He followed at her heels. “She’s been dating someone for over three years.”

“It certainly didn’t look that way the other night.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means it’s none of my business, and I really don’t care.” She sailed down the steps to the entryway, twisting the doorknob.

He pressed a hand to the wood, shutting the door with a snap, fighting to keep cool through his rising panic. “Obviously you do, so spit it out.”

“Tucker, I have to—”

“Yeah, I know, you have to go.”

“That’s right.” She twisted the knob again, but he held the door closed.

“I don’t want you to go, Cooke. I can’t let you go.”

“Don’t do this, Tucker.” She yanked harder. “I don’t want to do this,” she said on a strained whisper.

He caught the hitch in her voice and slipped off his sling, resting his hands on her rigid shoulders. “Please, don’t go.”

She stopped, turning, her wrecked eyes staring into his. “I can’t do this with you again.”

“There’s still something
here
.” He ran his hands down her arms.

“You’re right. We helped each other through some of the worst times in our lives. We have a bond, nothing more.”

“So that’s the end?”

“Yes.” She reached behind her for the knob.

Desperate, terrified she was walking away, he gripped her arms tighter. “Are you attracted to me?”

She blinked. “What?”

“I asked if you’re attracted to me?”

“You know I am, but—”

“Do you have fun when we’re together?”

“Tucker, I’m not foolish enough to go down this road again.”

His questions had worked in Utah; they sure as hell were going to work this time too. “Just answer my question.”

“Yes, we have fun.”

He took a step closer, trapping her against the door. “Do you think about me when we’re not together?”

She pressed a hand to his chest as tears welled in her eyes.

“Do you think about me, Wren, even half as much as I think about you?”

“Please,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

He stroked his fingers along her jaw, relaxing slightly, realizing she was fighting herself. “I can’t get you out of my mind. Day and night, you’re there.” He stepped closer, their bodies almost brushing. “Do you think of me?”