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Max Payton. The first had been with an artist who had wanted to paint her in the nude. She’d refused but finally relented. Okay, so she had to redress that. She had ended it when he’d gotten too…interested. She’d gotten elusive and distant, which only made him chase her more. The closeness started to make her feel trapped.
She could only think of what she was missing…with her friends, her work, and other opportunities that might be passing her by. But now she remembered how sweet and sensitive Max was, how he always thought about her and did small things to make her happy. She bit her lip thinking how badly she had treated him, and regret twisted her heart. Then there had been that sexy waiter…what was his name? She searched her memory. Enrique, like the singer. Santos. That was it. He didn’t speak great English, but she didn’t need that in bed. She had to admit that she’d met Enrique before she’d actually broken up with Max. In her mind, she was already gone.
Had she been a bad girlfriend or was there some underlying problem she wasn’t dealing with? Okay, she was thinking she had been a bad girlfriend. That stung like hell. She was suddenly ashamed, and she wanted to move over it, block it out, and assign the blame to those two men, and think about Shark and all the possibilities she could explore with him. She should look back at her past relationships and figure out what went wrong. Was it her or them? Gah. She needed answers before she could have a mature relationship…or did she even want one?
She closed her eyes and sighed, unhappiness washing over her in waves of regret. She didn’t like the uncomfortable realizations she was coming to, so she pushed them away, unwilling to think about them anymore.
“So, where are you guys from?” She was desperate to shift her mind away from deep diving into the morass of the past eighteen months. She didn’t want to even think about the times before that. Patterns were arising, and she didn’t think all her bullshit had started only eighteen months ago. It was too much to delve into right now. So, a distraction, maybe her MO, would make her feel better.
“I’m from New Hampshire,” Twister said. “Bethlehem, a small town in the White Mountains with a strong sense of community. We’re a bit like Stars Hollow without Luke and Loralei.”
Maddy smiled. If she didn’t have such a huge girl hard-on for Shark…this man had a really sweet way about him, low-key and his sense of humor was just as charming.
“So, what kinds of things did you do there?”
“Lots of winter sports, rock climbing, hiking and old-fashioned festivals, outdoor concerts, art shows, live music. My parents are antiquers, my mom is an interior designer. She is phenomenal with finding old things and turning them into something special. My dad says, ‘she has the eye.’ They own a busy shop there they run together with my feisty fifty-something granny. My granddad is a carpenter, and he builds stuff for my mom. Good places to eat, several breweries, lots of cute coffee shops, and beautiful inns. The scenery is spectacular.”
“That sounds wonderful. Do you get a lot of tourists?”
“Tons, all year round. They flock there in droves. Our town might be quaint, but it’s popular.”
He smiled, his eyes full of memories of his hometown, giving him a boyish look that was hard to resist. Then it dawned on her. “So why did you join the Navy? It sounds like you loved it there.”
He looked away, nodding. “My father and grandfather were in the Navy, but that’s not why I went into the SEALs.” His voice got rough. “To serve is traditional, but I wanted to protect that way of life.” Clearing his throat, he said, “It’s so meaningful. My plans are to go back and raise a family there.”
“Damn, I didn’t know that, brother,” Brawler said. Maddy looked over at Shark, but he was back into that bad-boy brood. He looked into the rearview mirror, met Twister’s eyes, something silent and strong passing between them. She’d seriously never met men like them.
“What about you, Brawler? Do I detect a smooth southern accent there?”
He smiled, transforming his strong face. “Yeah, I’m from Savannah, Georgia, known for its hospitality and grace, Spanish Moss, coastal location, and cobblestone streets.”
“I’m totally in love with Savannah. The old town feel of it, the history, the small parks…”
“Squares,” Brawler said. “That’s what we call them.”
“Well, whatever they’re called. I love them.” She beamed at him. “What an amazing place to grow up. Do you know that ice cream parlor…what’s the name?”
“Leopold’s. Yup, grew up on their ice cream.”
“That’s coincidental. Isn’t there a Haitian Monument in Franklin Square? Is that right?”
Brawler nodded. “It commemorates their assistance during the Revolutionary War,” Brawler said. “Yeah, and the park bench there was the one where Forrest Gump gave out his wisdom about how life was a box of chocolates.” He grinned.
“That’s not the only landmark in movies. Wasn’t Mercer Williams House the main location for Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil?”
“Yeah, it’s a city rich with history and trivia. I loved growing up there. My mom was a high school principal who went on to the school board, and my dad owns a car dealership. I have two brothers and a sister who still live there.”
All eyes turned to Shark, and he shifted behind the wheel. There was an avid interest in both of his teammates' faces. She had to wonder why.
“I grew up in Phoenix,” he said, the muscles in his jaw hard. He looked at her, his eyes flat and his expression completely closed down. “Moved around a lot.”
She waited for him to elaborate, but there was nothing else.
There was an awkward silence between the four of them, and a terrible ache swelled up inside her. He’d been kicked by life. He hadn’t enjoyed quaint towns, or historical places or strong family ties. Not like them and for the first time in her life, she didn’t want to fantasize about anyone. She wanted to know what he was truly like, what kind of life he had lived, what had put that pain in his eyes, and the heaviness in his expression. She wanted to know Bale Maddox, mentally and emotionally, almost as much as she wanted to know him physically.
* * *
President Didier Baptiste looked out over the presidential palace grounds. Life for him, before he’d been thrust into the limelight and roped into this political morass, had been filled with his two loves, horticulture and his family. He was a botanist and had begun teaching at Universite de Port-au-Prince only three years ago. He missed it immensely.
