Raid

chapter Ten

Church Sunday



My eyes opened slowly, and at first I didn’t get it.

I didn’t get the heavenly softness that covered my body.

I didn’t get the bright sunshine that seemed to be coming from everywhere.

I didn’t get what sounded like a shower coming from not too far away.

I didn’t get the languorous feeling that permeated every inch of my frame.

I didn’t get the pleasant ache between my legs.

Then I got it and I shot up to sitting in Raiden’s bed, leaning into one hand, the other one clutching the afghan I gave Raiden to my naked chest.

Holy Moses, I slept naked.

Holy Moses! I never slept naked!

But I knew why I did.

I slept naked because the second time Raiden did what he said. He played with me. He worked my body until I was drenched. And when he gave me an orgasm, it felt like I was coming apart at the seams.

He did things to me. Amazing things, wild things, things I knew about and things I didn’t. Things that, if I told someone, might sound strange or kinky, but things that, the way Raiden did them to me, were absolutely not.

I let him.

And I loved every second.

And I slept naked because the time after that, Raiden did not take an excruciatingly long and exquisite amount of time making love to me.

No.

He took an excruciatingly long and exquisite amount of time worshipping me.

There was no other way to put it.

If the first time was fast, wild, out-of-control and phenomenal, the second time was slower, wilder, totally in Raiden’s control, but out of mine and it was sensational.

But the last time was like an out of body experience.

It was magnificent.

So much so, waking naked in Raiden Miller’s bed the morning after our second date, I didn’t feel like a slut or a skank, mortified by either.

I felt happy.

So I smiled.

I looked down at the afghan Raiden obviously wasted no time using and I slid its beauty up my chest, smiling into the cashmere.

Seconds later, I dropped the blanket back to my chest, looked around and my smile died.

I was on a stacked set of queen-sized mattress and box springs that sat on the floor. The sheets were white and appeared clean, bright, even almost new. A comforter with a subtle geometric design in masculine colors of blue and red was on the floor, only the afghan on me.

The bed, as it were, was in the middle of an enormous room made entirely of wood, the walls punctuated profusely by huge, multi-square-paned windows that definitely needed to be cleaned. There was a lamp on the floor by the bed, its ceramic base chipped, a long extension cord running across the rough wood floor, plugged into the wall. Also by the bed was a small pile of condoms, some paperback books and strewn magazines.

Mostly to avoid the pile of condoms and what they said, my eyes wandered.

On the wall across from the foot of the bed was a wardrobe, one door open and dangling drunkenly. Some clothes could be seen hanging haphazardly inside, a variety of athletic shoes and boots spilling out the bottom. More clothes in a tangle on the floor that led to wardrobe.

To one side, a dresser, all the drawers open; tees, thermals and boxer briefs dangling out the drawers.

On the opposite wall, a battered countertop covered in boxes of cereal, crackers, jars of protein powder and piled dishes. A sink that was piled with dirty dishes. There was a fridge to one side of the counter that long ago should have been put out of its misery, and a crusty, old range at the other end that might actually be a health hazard.

In front of the scary kitchen, there was an old, chrome sided Formica-topped table with two chairs, their black vinyl seats torn, padding coming out. The top of the table had a laptop and papers, with more papers scattered on the floor.

There was a big, locked trunk against the back wall with a stenciling on the side that read “Cpl. Miller, R”. In the corner by it, a weight bench and a rack of weights surrounded by a mess of dumbbells on the floor that looked the size only Hercules would work out with.

And last, there was an old, faded plaid easy chair with a rickety standing lamp beside it and an even ricketier spindly table that also was covered to overflowing with paperbacks.

The whole thing screamed Beverly Hillbillies before they struck oil.

The only hints at décor were an alarming number of shotgun racks on the walls, three of them. Two were empty, one had two guns in the slots and boxes of ammo on the shelf under them. I was no gun expert, but they didn’t look like shotguns. More like fancy rifles.

And the other piece of decoration was a framed eight by ten photo on the dresser. The space was huge and the picture was far away, but I could see it was a mess of men, some holding guns, all wearing smiles and desert fatigues, probably because a bleak desert landscape could be seen behind them.

Raiden’s unit.

The unit that was mostly lost.

Nearly all of the men in that picture were gone.

Holy Moses.

I narrowed my eyes on the picture, like doing this would engage superpower vision I did not have and would make it come into better focus just as I heard the shower turn off.

I twisted to look at a rough plank paneled room that jutted out in the far corner. A room that looked like it had been added in a hurry, the work done by five year olds.

The bathroom.

I couldn’t believe Raiden lived here, but he obviously did. I recognized some of the cargo pants on the floor from the days I was crazy, creepy stalking him.

Actually, I couldn’t believe anyone could live here.

He didn’t need a housecleaner.

He needed a house.

On this thought, hinges screamed in agony. A section of the wood paneling swung open and Raiden strolled out, wet hair slicked back, droplets of water on his broad shoulders, a towel around his hips and the rest of his lusciousness on display.

The second and third time last night, I got to see (and explore) Raiden’s body.

It was amazing in clothes.

It was way, way better without them.

His eyes came to me. They grew warm and he appeared to be heading to the kitchen-ish area, but switched directions, walking to the bed.

He didn’t enter it or put a knee in it. He didn’t say hi.

He bent and hooked me around the back of the neck with his hand in a way that I had no choice but to go up, which I did. Once partially up, his other arm closed around me, and when I was crushed to him his head came down and he took my mouth in a good morning kiss that made my toes and my fingers curl, the latter of which did it in the hard muscle of his shoulders.

When my hands slid up into his wet hair, he lifted his head, caught my fluttering eyes and said, “Mornin’, honey.”

“Good morning,” I breathed.

He grinned then pulled me out of bed, incidentally pulling the afghan with me as it was squashed between our bodies, and he put me on my feet.

“Get dressed, babe, runnin’ late. We gotta get you to your house. You gotta do whatever you do to get cute then we gotta get your grandmother and get to church,” he gave his order and after issuing it, he let me go and sauntered toward the end of the bed.

I hurriedly wrapped the afghan around me and watched him go.

Then I froze because now I had his back and I could see marks on his skin. Three of them; red, and in sections the skin was broken.

Scratch marks.

From my nails.

Oh my God.

“Did I do that to your back?” I whispered.

Raiden stopped, turned to me and smiled a smile I felt right at the heat of me.

“Oh yeah,” he answered in a voice that ratcheted up the heat so significantly it was a wonder I didn’t burst into flames.

He liked that.

A lot.

Wow.

Then it hit me he said we had to get Grams and get to church.

“Uh…” I mumbled then got lost in watching his lateral muscles shift and undulate as he bent and gathered my jeans, top and underwear from the floor and tossed them on the mattress.

I came out of my stupor when he moved to the wardrobe and the entire thing swayed dangerously as he opened the closed door. I fought the urge to rush across the room and put both hands on the side to brace it before it settled. Then Raiden reached in and yanked some clothes off hangers. Repeat the swaying and me fighting the urge to rescue his wardrobe before he turned, tossed the clothes on the back of a chair and moved to the dresser.

I found my voice and asked, “Are you going to church with Grams and me?”

“Yep,” he replied, digging in a drawer.

I looked down at my clothes on the mattress then reached to grab my panties, finding I was totally okay with that.

I had on panties and bra and was pulling up my jeans when I spoke again.

“Can I ask you question?”

“You can quit askin’ if you can ask and just ask,” Raiden replied, a smile in his voice, his eyes coming to me. Then he yanked off his towel.

My mouth went dry.

He was perfect everywhere.

Everywhere.

This made me suddenly aware that I was not.

I had great legs, this I’d already noted. I had an ample chest, which sometimes worked for me, sometimes was annoying when blouses gaped at my breasts. I also had a tiny waist, which made buying jeans a pain in the patoot, but looked good in dresses.

I also had a little pouch at my belly that no amount of cycling and snowboarding got rid of, mainly because I did crunches and pushups about twice a week rather than what I told myself I’d do (four times). I also liked hot fudge sundaes, Grams’s biscuits smothered in apple butter and a variety of other things that weren’t real good for me, so it was a battle I had no hope of winning.

Raiden had an eight pack (yes, eight), noticeably limited body fat and hip muscles so significantly cut you could lose yourself in those valleys for days.

Therefore, I decided no more hot fudge sundaes, definitely five days a week of crunches, pushups and I was adding planks. I was also cutting out sandwiches and eating salads for lunch, just in case the rest didn’t take.

“Baby, you stare at my dick any longer, Miss Mildred’s gonna have to send out a search party.”

My body jolted and my eyes shot to his to see the creases at the corners standing out in amusement.

“I was staring at your hip muscles,” I corrected.

“Whatever,” he muttered, his lips now smiling too, then louder, “just sayin’, anything in that vicinity, your eyes on it, it’ll get thoughts on its own.”

“So noted,” I mumbled and shrugged on my top.

“You had a question,” Raiden prompted, stepping into some boxer briefs.

I decided to stop watching so I could concentrate on buttoning my blouse, so I tipped my chin down to watch my fingers do just that as I asked, “What is this place?”

“Dad’s hunting lodge,” he answered and I looked at him again.

He was moving back to the chair and I was shocked at his words.

His sister Rachelle and I were only acquaintances, but friendly ones who had known each other our whole lives. We talked, gossiped, shared news and pleasantries, and if time allowed, sometimes this could go deep, but she’d never mentioned her Dad. The same, but obviously less, due to age differences, with Raiden’s Mom, Mrs. Miller.

What I knew was Mr. Miller took off and was persona non grata in town. He even once tried to come to one of Raiden’s football games and some of the men not so cordially invited him to march back to his car, and when he didn’t they escorted him there.

He never came again.

I looked back down at my buttons and said carefully, “Your Dad?”

“Yep,” Raiden replied, and I again looked at him to see he had a pair of suit pants up, zipped but unbuttoned and was shrugging on an attractive, moss green dress shirt.

Surprisingly, he also kept talking.

“When I was sixteen, tracked him down, told him to deed it over to Rachelle and me, seein’ as he paid child support when he wanted, which meant never, and Mom was havin’ troubles makin’ ends meet. It wasn’t a surprise, because he’s a massive dick, that he wasn’t feelin’ generous, though his words were that Mom could go f*ck herself and I could too. So I drove to his house every night, let myself in and shared my thoughts with my fists. And when he got smart and started to talk his bitches into lettin’ him spend the night at their places so he could avoid me, I found ways to track him down and let myself in, shared he was a massive dick who didn’t pay child support and when he was at home and had a steady woman, he knocked her around. He suddenly found his choice of beds was dryin’ up, so he got smart and deeded it over.”

His words slicing through me like a dozen razor blades, I stood absolutely still and stared.

Raiden seemed not to notice my immobility. He went to the wardrobe, slid a belt off a hanger, turned to me and kept speaking as he did up his pants and added the belt.

“Meant we got the monthly money from rentin’ out the bottom half where Mr. Lean kept his old tractors and whatever we could get from hunters who don’t give a shit where they sleep and cross country skiers on a budget. Didn’t help a lot, but did mean we didn’t lose our house.”

“You nearly lost your house?” I asked quietly, and he smiled at me.

“Seems you didn’t pay that much attention to me.”

I did.

Still.

“I know you—” I started.

Raiden interrupted me, “Worked nights and weekends. Reason Rachelle is such a great cook is because she did the same at the nursing home, junior nurse’s aide. She loved downhome cooking and she pumped old folks for recipes. She’s got about eight card files full of ‘em.”

That explained that.

Now the hard part.

“Your Dad knocked your Mom around?”

“Yeah, babe, why do you think I set his ass out?” Raiden answered, and I went back to staring.

“You set him out?”

“F*ck yeah.”

“But weren’t you only fourteen?”

“You can f*ck someone up, Hanna, you get a good boot in his crotch. He’s so busy dealin’ with the pain, can’t defend himself when you land a fist repeatedly in his face or a boot to his ribs.”

I couldn’t believe this, and more, I couldn’t believe Raiden was so matter-of-fact about it.

My heart hurt and my stomach was clutching, but I forced my mouth to say, “I’ll be sure to remember that.”

Then I focused my attention on finding my flip-flops, mostly because I didn’t know what to do with all the feelings I was having, none of them good, and I had to focus on something.

“Hanna,” he called as I found my flip-flops and was shifting them with my toes so I could slide my feet in. I looked back at Raiden. “A long time ago and better with him gone. It was worth it. That shit didn’t mark me. He was gone, instant happy for all of us, even if things were tight.”

I nodded, not feeling mollified even slightly and looked back to my shoes.

“Honey,” he called again and my eyes went to him. “Not bullshitting you. Rache, Mom and me, we’re close. Him gone, we were happy.”

“Okay,” I replied.

“You say okay, but your face says something else.”

“What does my face say?” I asked, but I knew. I never played poker because I didn’t know how and also because I’d suck at it, mostly because I had no clue how to keep my thoughts from showing, nor, until then, had I had any reason to.

“One of two things, can’t tell which. Either you’re pissed or you’re about ready to cry.”

I turned my full attention to him. “Both, I guess.”

“Right, then, like I said. No need for that emotion because it was and is all good.”

“I can sense that, considering the matter-of-fact way you’re discussing it, sweetheart,” I told him. “But I don’t like that you went through that or that things were tight for you guys or that you had to get in your Dad’s face to get him to do something to help take care of his own kids.”

“It happened, but it’s been done for nearly twenty years.”

“I still don’t like it.”

He grinned. “I’ll give you that ‘cause it’s cute, but you got until we get to your house to get over it.”

To that, I returned, “My Mom and Dad love each other and they loved me and Jeremy. My grandparents loved us until they died. My great-grandmother dotes on me. All of my life, I had love and safety. Life didn’t touch me until I decided to start living it, and the worst thing that’s ever happened to me was what Bodhi and Heather did, and that’s on them, not on me. I never had what you had. I don’t know what to do with knowing you had to deal with that. I don’t like knowing you had to deal with that. And I just learned about it so it may take longer than the next twenty minutes for me to get over wanting to reenact the boot to crotch maneuver on your Dad. Because you’re an awesome guy, Raiden Miller. Your Mom and sister love you because they have reason. You’re a gentleman. You’re a kind neighbor. You’re even a hero with the medals to prove it. And you deserve a Dad who taught you how to be that. Not a life that led you to being that despite having a massive dick for a Dad.”

I made my stupid speech and shut up.

Only then did I feel the room and fully take in the look on his face.

Both made me take a step back, because the former was pressing on me like a weight I instinctively felt I had to escape, and the latter was reeling me in on a lure so strong it was a wonder I didn’t fly across the room and into his arms.

The intensity of both scared the heck out of me.

“You need, right now, to walk down to your car, Hanna,” he told me.

That was so weird, I stammered, “I… sorry?”

“I’ll be there in a minute.”

“But—”

The air in the room got heavier right before he ordered, “Go, Hanna. You don’t, we won’t. Do you understand me?”

I didn’t, not fully.

What I did understand was that I needed to walk down to my car.

So I gave him one long, last look, memorizing the look he was giving me and the way it made me feel: terrified, but at the same time warm and happy.

Then I walked across his crazy pad and unlocked the door, moved through it and descended the steps to get to my car.

* * * * *

Two hours later…

I woke up when my pillow started shaking.

When I did, I saw I was in church and had my head on the navy blue fabric of Raiden’s suit-jacketed shoulder.

A Raiden who was silently laughing.

I bolted straight.

“Sweet Jesus, forgive her,” Grams, who was sitting on the other side of me, murmured to the ceiling. “Pastor Wright’s sermon is far from inspiring, you hear that, Lord, but still. My precious girl’s got better manners.”

At this point Raiden’s body started shaking so hard the pew started shaking and people started staring.

I turned to him and hissed under my breath, “Stop laughing,” to which he kept shaking but raised his brows at me.

I gave up on him and turned to Grams.

“We went to the double feature last night, Grams,” I explained on a semi-fib in a low voice, doing this out of the corner of my mouth.

“My recollection, it was a triple,” Raiden muttered. I turned to him and shouted, Shut up! But did it just with my eyes.

Raiden took this in, and of course it made him swallow down an audible grunt of hilarity.

I rolled my eyes to the ceiling and asked for forgiveness for a variety of things.

“Mm-hmm,” Grams mumbled noncommittally.

“Shh!” Mrs. McGuillicutty, sitting down from Raiden, shushed us.

Loudly.

So loudly, Pastor Wright’s eyes came to our pew and narrowed, though he didn’t miss a word of his sermon.

I looked at my hands that I was folding in my lap and felt about eight years old.

“Shush yourself, Margaret,” Grams shot back. A Grams, I’ll add, who often acted eight years old, and now was clearly going to be one of those times. “God likes laughter,” she finished.

“Grams, let it go,” I told my lap.

“Some of us are trying to listen,” Mrs. McGuillicutty snapped.

“Then listen and keep your nose outta other people’s business,” Grams returned.

I turned my head and bent into her. “Please, Grams, just let it go.”

Grams settled back on a wiggle, grumbling, “Shushing my granddaughter. Who does she think she is?”

Not one ever to leave the last word, or in all honesty to be nice most of the time, Margaret McGuillicutty didn’t let it go either.

“I’m a churchgoing woman who wants to listen to the sermon,” she retorted to Grams.

I was too exhausted and riding a high of being with Raiden to do anything about it, but I just knew when Grams chose that pew and Mrs. McGuillicutty was in it that we should have found an alternate seating arrangement.

I was right.

Grams leaned across me to say to Mrs. McGuillicutty, “No one’s stopping you but you.”

“And perhaps our choir can have all of your attention as they sing their next hymn,” Pastor Wright suggested into his microphone, but the comment was clearly directed at us since he was staring straight at us. I knew he loved Grams and me (Mrs. McGuillicutty was up for debate), but he didn’t look all that happy.

Raiden lifted an arm and wrapped it around my shoulders. He tucked me tight to his side and dropped his lips to my ear.

“Let ‘em battle it out. You’re just makin’ it worse.”

I clamped my mouth shut and my eyes on the choir.

Grams and Mrs. McGuillicutty exchanged a few more barbs before Grams sat back, muttering, “I love this hymn and no McGuillicutty is gonna make me miss it.”

Thus letting Margaret have the last word with, “Boudreaux, think they own this town.”

Though Grams did get in a, “Humph!”

We successfully made it through the final prayer and communal hymn without incident, but hostilities reengaged after Pastor Wright released us.

“Falling asleep and whispering in church like it was a Boudreaux bedroom and kitchen. Shameful,” Mrs. McGuillicutty remarked loudly to no one, and all in the vicinity looked away like they wished they could whistle.





This, of course, meant Grams said to her, but directed her remark at me. “Need you to get me a cane, child. Not to walk with it, so I can beat Margaret over the head with it.”

Raiden chuckled.

Margaret gasped.

So did I, before I hissed, “Grams, we’re in church!”

She waved her hand in front of her face, “God’s forgiven me for a lot over ninety-eight years, that’s the least of it.”

“We gonna get breakfast or we gonna have a smackdown in pew three?” Raiden asked, sounding amused.

Grams didn’t miss a beat. “Breakfast. Need my vittles to perform a successful smackdown.”

Then she turned and toddled off slowly down the pew.

I leaned around Raiden and said to Mrs. McGuillicutty, “I’m sorry, Mrs. McGuillicutty.”

“As you should be,” she fired back. “No excuse for rudeness. And falling asleep in church? Appalling.”

I gave my apology, therefore did my duty to good manners. She could be ornery. She had to answer to God for that, not me.

Therefore, I was going to let it go and get out of there.

Raiden had other ideas.

He turned his big, tall frame Margaret McGuillicutty’s way and looked down at her.

“One, Hanna apologized. The right thing to do is accept, not throw it in her face. Two, Miss Mildred can take care of herself and she’s too old to give a damn what you think. Obviously, Hanna cares or she wouldn’t have apologized when she had no need to. Now what you gotta know is, if I’m standing next to her or not and I just hear you were rude to her, I’ll take it as you bein’ rude straight to me and I think most folks in this town know you do not want to be rude to me.”

She stared up at him, lips parted while I processed what he said and the fact that any of this was happening at all.

She snapped her mouth shut to hiss at Raiden like he was twelve, not thirty-two, “Well, I don’t believe it. I’ll be having a word with your mother, Raiden Miller.”

“Have at it. She won’t give a flying mostly because she thinks you’re as foul-tempered and aggravating as everyone else in town,” Raiden fired back.

A couple people heard and tittered, proving him right.

I decided we were both done so I grabbed his hand and yanked him down the pew.

Fortunately, he followed me.

We made it to Grams, then we followed in what felt like suspended motion as she made her slow way out of the church, her snail’s pace hindered further with the need to call a greeting to everyone she knew, which was just plain everyone.

Raiden made a break for it at the doors, mumbling his excuse of, “I’ll go get the Jeep.”

Fortunately, this meant when we got to the end of the walk at the front of the church Raiden was there.

Like we had when we came, I climbed into the back and Raiden held Grams steady at waist while she latched on with a bony hand. He mostly lifted her into her seat, but in a way where it made it seem like she put her foot to the edge of the door herself.

We were on our way when I decided a debrief was in order.

“I don’t believe that happened,” I remarked.

“Believe it, chère. Margaret has always been a sourpuss. Makes it worse, she had her sights set on your Granddaddy and never got over losin’ him to your Grandma.”

This was news.

And made the whole situation even more unbelievable.

“Seriously?” I asked. “That had to be fifty years ago, and sorry, Grams, but they’ve both passed. Holding a grudge when there’s no one left to hold it against?”

“Lost love, precious,” Grams replied, turning her head to look out the side window. “Stings like a wasp bite that never fades.”

This made me pause for reflection, especially the knowing way Grams said it, but Grams wasn’t done.

“Probably didn’t help, my boy’s beautiful granddaughter sittin’ next to the town hunk. History, in a way, repeating. Salt in the wound.”

My eyes went to the rearview mirror, caught Raiden’s and they rolled.

When they rolled back, his were back on the road but they were smiling.

We hit the Pancake House, all pancakes, all the time, (no kidding, they had nothing but pancakes, sausage and bacon on their menu); a weird restaurant that did booming business about fifteen miles out of town up the foothills. It had a fabulous view and the best pancakes I’d ever eaten. So good Grams and I never went anywhere else for Sunday breakfast, and this continued the tradition of Dad and Mom taking us all there every Sunday up until the Sunday before they moved to a different state.

As usual, the pancakes didn’t disappoint and breakfast was fun. Grams talked through most of it, which meant Raiden and I laughed through most of it, and Raiden didn’t surprise me by being gentlemanly and charming.

We had syrup covered plates and were on our third cup of coffee when Raiden’s jacket chimed. He took his arm from the back of my seat, dug into his suit jacket that he’d slung on the back of his chair, pulled out his phone, looked at it and turned to me.

“Gotta make a call.” His eyes slid to Grams. “Excuse me.” His attention came back to me, his hand came to my jaw and he tilted my face up to touch his mouth to mine.

That felt nice. I liked that he was making a habit of kissing me when he left me, so my lips tipped up against his.

I watched up close as Raiden’s eyes smiled. He let me go, straightened from his chair and walked away.

I watched the show.

“Now, chère, church with the grandmother and word whizzin’ ‘round town about holdin’ hands, all cozied up at Chilton’s, of all places. Good to know early that boy isn’t about half measures. But I’m guessing you’re sparin’ your old biddy of a Grams the details about how you caught the eye of Willow’s most eligible bachelor.”

I looked at her, grinned a little and replied, “I was running late this morning or I would have called to let you know he was coming with us, but yeah, Grams. Raiden and I are seeing each other.”

“Don’t kid a kidder,” she said softly, and my brows drew together at this unexpected reply.

Unfortunately, she explained.

“Not lost on you I’ve lived me some years, precious, but they didn’t slide by and not touch me. A girl falls asleep at church on Sunday morning because she had too much fun on Saturday night and one look at Raiden Miller says clear exactly what kind of fun he has with a pretty girl.”

That was when I felt my eyes get big.

“Grams, I—”

She waved her hand at me. “Don’t. Got ourselves enough marks on our soul, disprespectin’ God in His house today. Don’t add to that, chère.”

I closed my mouth.

Grams didn’t.

“A week ago, he came to my house. I knew why. He’s got about as much interest in doing an old woman’s yard work as he has in goin’ to the ballet. But I looked up at that big, strong man and thought to myself, Raiden Miller? I liked that for my girl. I liked it a lot. You’ve been alone for a while now and a girl like you, it’s a waste, you bein’ alone. Always knew in my heart you’d stand by the side of a man like Raiden Miller. Those boys you saw, they were okay, but not one of them was good enough for my Hanna. Now hardly any time at all has passed and he didn’t waste a lick of it. He’s diggin’ deep into that heart of yours, with intent, and child, I’m gonna share, it troubles me.”

Again, this was unexpected, but this time not in a confusing way. In an unwelcome one.

“Sorry?” I whispered, stunned.

“Way he looks at you now he’s had you, way he is, man like that.” She shook her head, her eyes went distant then she focused on me. “Boiling under the surface.”

I leaned across the table toward her. “What are you talking about?”

“Had me fooled over sweet tea but now… now I see it.”

“Grams—”

“That man is dangerous,” she declared.

My heart skipped a painful beat and I stared.

“What?”

“Don’t get me wrong, he won’t break your heart. He’d die before doin’ that. But there’s a lotta ways to get a broken heart, precious girl. And he’ll do it all the same not even knowin’ he’s doin’ it.”

Grams was experienced. Grams was wise. Grams was observant. And Grams was smart.

Therefore, I didn’t like this. Not one bit.

Still, I started to explain, “Grams, we’ve only been out on a couple of dates, but he’s really a good guy. A gentleman. And—”

“Dangerous. In every line of his body, hidden deep in his eyes. Missed it then, but he hadn’t had you then. I see it now and I see you got bit by his bug. I’m tellin’ you, Hanna, you be careful. You go forward cautious. Hard to guard your heart from a man like that who’ll do nothing and everything to win it in a way you’ll want him to own it forever. But mind this, child. Raiden Miller doesn’t find a way to beat back the danger lurking within, he’ll go down and he’ll take you down right along with him.”

She held my eyes, hers bright and keen, and I realized my chest was rising and falling fast. I took a sip of coffee and sat back, trying to force myself to relax.

I was also thinking about the air in his hunting lodge that morning, the look on his face when I said I wanted to give his Dad a boot to the groin.

There was something about that that moved me, scared me, spoke to me. I just didn’t know what it was saying.

“You find a way to have fun, you enjoy him, chère, and I’ll enjoy him when I’m with you two. But don’t forget what I said,” she continued, taking me out of my thoughts.

“Okay, Grams,” I told the tablecloth.

“Love you,” she told me and my eyes moved to her. “Said what I said and I’ll end it with this. If you’re the kind of woman who can withstand the blaze of hellfire he’s got burning inside, he battles that and wins, you will know nothing for the rest of your life, no taste, no experience, not even the birth of your children that will be sweeter than the love he’ll have for you.”

Oh my God.

She was totally freaking me out!

“We’ve only been on two dates,” I whispered.

“I see that. And I see he’s lost in you so completely it’s a wonder he knows his own name.”

I was back to semi-panting.

“He’s headed this way, precious. Take a deep breath,” she ordered, and my eyes went over her head to see added proof to what I’d had repeatedly had all my life. That Grams not only had excellent hearing, but eyes in the back of her head.

Raiden was headed our way, but he’d been stopped by Mrs. Bartholomew and her family. He was standing at their table, talking.

I deep breathed then took another sip of coffee, trying to force back Grams’s dire words, fit them someplace in my brain where I could go over them later (preferably with KC). I achieved this feat and had it together when Raiden slid back into his chair beside mine.

He also slid his arm along the back of my seat as he asked, “More coffee or the check?”

“Naptime for biddies, son, so the check. And I’m old, I’m a grandmother, so that means I pay and I don’t care how much of a man you are. When you’re old and a grandfather you’ll know what I mean and you’ll be glad you let me do it.”

He pulled me into his side and grinned at Grams.

I felt how great we seemed to fit together and frowned at Grams because I loved that feeling and she’d made me terrified of it.

She ignored my frown, lifted her hand and called, “Darla! Child, bring us the check, would you?”

Darla, our waitress, like she did every Sunday when Grams called for the check, scurried to do the matriarch of Willow’s bidding.

* * * * *

An hour and fifteen minutes later…

“You wanna tell me what’s on your mind?”

We’d just dropped off Grams. After a glass of sweet tea (well, Raiden and Grams had one, I had diet root beer), Raiden was taking me home.

I turned to look at him and asked, “Sorry?”

“You’ve been weird since the Pancake House.”

“I’m tired,” I replied.

Not exactly a lie, just not the whole truth.

“I get you home, you rest. I gotta go out and do something and when I get back I’ll bring a pizza. But after pizza, babe, you gotta have energy.”

I felt my nether regions quiver as I looked to the windshield.

I forced down that feeling and asked, “Does this something you have to do have to do with your crew and drug dealers?”

“No, it has to do with another job, but that has to do with my crew. Just not drug dealers.”

This was an answer, but it still wasn’t.

I didn’t call him on that.

I just mumbled, “Oh.”

“Change of plans tonight,” he stated. “Pizza, me sharin’ about what I do, then I’ll test the recuperative powers of the nap you’re about to take.”

I turned to him, “Raiden—”

He cut me off, “I tell you, it’ll be honest. It’ll freak you out, but you’ll deal.”

Holy Moses.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“It means I got out, assessed my talents, made decisions about what I wanted to do, I’m doin’ it. What I do might come as a shock to you, but then you’ll get over it,” he declared.

There were more words there, just no explanation.

“Uh, just FYI, this discussion is not conducive to me getting a nap,” I shared.

He gave me a quick glance and grinned.

“Right then. I’ll tell you I did all the work last night. I’m in the mood to test you to see what you can do, and just a guess, honey, but I ‘spect you’ll wanna pass.”

He would guess correctly.

But that comment also wasn’t conducive to me getting a nap.

We were pulling up to the front of my house so I turned fully toward him.

“Raiden, I—”

His belt zipped back and he undid mine. His hand wrapped around the back of my neck and he pulled me to him. My hand came up automatically and crashed into his chest, then I did, scrunching my hand between us.

“What I do isn’t bad,” he said quietly. “It isn’t conventional but it isn’t bad.”

“Okay, so now I’m not totally freaking out, I’m only kinda freaking out,” I replied.

“Babe, a day ago, you found out two of your friends played you. You freaked out, felt the pain, sucked it up, hung up on that f*cker when he tried to phone and moved on. You take care of your grandmother, not like it’s a burden like everybody else would treat it, but a boon. That translates to her so she doesn’t feel the burden of being a burden and she can just enjoy the life God’s seen fit to grant her. What I do is what I do. It’s part of who I am. It came from what life threw at me and you’re gonna suck it up and deal with that too.”

This was a cool speech, but it was also a scary one.

So I asked a pertinent question.

“What’s happening here?”

“I’m about to kiss you good-bye, you’re about to take a nap, and in a few hours I’ll be back with pizza.”

“I mean with you and me.”

His eyes held mine, his hand slid up into hair and his other hand lifted to wrap around the side of my neck as he replied gently, “You know the answer to that.”

I had a feeling I did, and it exhilarated and terrified me.

“Raiden, maybe we should—”

“If you’re gonna say slow things down, baby, enjoy this because this is as slow as it’s gonna get.”

I felt my eyes get wide.

“Yeah,” he confirmed to my unspoken cry of shock. “If you can take it tonight, I’ll explain that too.”

“Now there’s no way I’m getting a nap,” I mumbled.

“You wake up happy?” Raiden asked and I blinked at him.

Then I whispered, “Yeah.”

“I did too. When was the last time for you?”

“The last time, what?”

“The last time you woke up happy.”

Oh God.

Before him, I wasn’t unhappy. I also wasn’t exactly happy.

What I knew was this: waking up in Raiden’s bed, I definitely was happy.

“I don’t remember,” I admitted.

“Me either,” he replied.

Oh God.

I liked that and hated it. I understood it just as much as I didn’t. I wanted to know why he wasn’t happy just as much as I was scared to find out.

“Raiden—”

“We’re holding onto that,” he declared, and like it had a mind of its own my hand slid up his chest to curl around the side of his neck like it was answering his statement for me and doing it by agreeing.

He knew it, felt it and understood it.

Therefore, he stated in his rough, commanding voice, “Yeah.”

I dropped my head to his shoulder.

He was right.

Yeah.

I knew what was happening here.

His hand slid out of my hair so he could wrap his arm around me. “What do you like on your pizza?”

“Everything but onions, peppers, sausage, pineapple, ham, anchovies and olives.”

His voice was smiling when he remarked, “So you’re sayin’ you like pepperoni and mushroom only.”

I lifted my head and looked at him. “I like all that stuff, just not on pizza. All that stuff makes it complicated. I’m into simple pleasures.”

His amazing eyes warmed and his amazing lips murmured, “I’ll remember that.”

I could get lost in those eyes. I wanted to get lost in those eyes.

But I needed to stay on target.

“Can you tell me something?” I asked suddenly.

His eyes got warmer and his smile hit his lips when he replied, “I can tell you that you asking me if I can tell me something is the same as you askin’ me if you can ask me somethin’. In other words, you don’t have to ask.”

“Noted,” I muttered.

“So ask, I’ll tell,” he prompted.

“Whatever you’re going off to do, are you safe?”

His smile faded and I stared in horrified fascination as it did.

Holy Moses!

I’d been guessing!

“It isn’t safe?” This came out as a squeak.

“We’ll talk about it later.”

“Holy Moses!” I cried, no longer semi-freaked. I was gone.

“Hanna, we’ll talk about it later.”

“Will you be back later?” I asked, borderline hysterically.

His smile came back. “Yeah.”

“Just pointing out, Raiden, you’re about to drop me off, telling me to take a nap but you’ve got some things to share with me later that you told me straight up I have to deal with. Then you intimate strongly that whatever it is you do is unsafe, and you’re off to do whatever it is you do right now. So I’m not in the mood to smile nor am I in the mood to watch you do it, no matter how hot you are when you do.”

He didn’t quit smiling.

Instead, he asked, “You wanna talk more about us going slower now?”

Was he serious?

I tore out of his arms, twisted to the door and threw it open, announcing, “Time for my nap!”

I found an arm hooked around my waist and was twisted back into the Jeep and Raiden’s arms, this time both of which he locked around me.

Then his eyes locked on mine.

“I’ll be back safe and you’ll be cool with what I do, Hanna,” he declared firmly.

“Right. I believe you. But can I make the request now that I have at least a date number five before you rock my world again?”

Another grin then, “I think I can accomplish that.”

“I’d be obliged.”

“You wanna quit bein’ cute so I can let you go, you can get your nap and I can get this shit done?”

“I’ll remind you not a minute ago I tried to exit this vehicle, but you hauled me back.”

“I’ll take that as a no.”

I glared.

Raiden kept smiling.

Then he muttered strangely, “My reward.”

I lost my glare and asked, “Sorry?”

He lifted up, kissed my forehead and whispered there, “Nothin’, baby.” Then he pulled away, ordering, “Go. Rest.”

I needed to go. I hoped I could rest, but I studied him a moment before I leaned in to touch my mouth to his.

His arms came around me, his mouth opened over mine and my touch became a hot, heavy kiss.

Raiden broke it and ordered again, “Go.”

“Okay,” I mumbled. He let me go and I went.

I stood at the door in numero uno of my Sunday’s finest dresses (I did go to church with Raiden Ulysses Miller) and waved.

He didn’t wave back, but I did see him smile.

I closed the door and wandered up the stairs, listening to his Jeep drive away.

I took off my heels by the side of the bed. I climbed in, pulled an afghan over me (mine, not cashmere but still lush) and stared at my pillow, thinking this was how it felt.

This was how it felt when something huge was happening.

It felt fantastic.

And I was scared out of my wits.