Page 5 of Pirates in Calusa Cove (Everglades Overwatch #2)

CHAPTER 3

Keaton had spent the last year trying to shut down the demands of his body and mind. But no matter what he’d tried, Trinity’s pull on him couldn’t be stomped out—and he’d tried just about everything.

Women didn’t affect him on this level. Contrary to popular belief, he did date.

He just didn’t do long-term relationships.

The military and his career as a SEAL had made that really easy. He’d meet a woman, and if she didn’t have crazy eyes and didn’t seem to be the type of person looking for some guy to put a ring on it right away, he’d bite. Since he was constantly deployed and emotionally unavailable, those ladies walked away from him before he had to be the one putting the brakes on.

He knew that made him an asshole.

But he’d never lied about where he was in life. Or the fact that marriage and kids were not on his agenda and never would be, so there was that.

Moving to Calusa Cove had made dating a little harder. For the first time in his adult life, he was grounded in one place. That certainly gave him the jitters. While he liked Calusa Cove, and leaving the Navy with his brothers-in-arms was a no-brainer, he no longer knew how to make a long-term home for himself.

Of all the guys, he’d thought Hayes would have understood, considering Hayes was a bit of a player. He was the only man on the team who had never been in love and planned to keep it that way. But he’d taken to this tiny little town like a duck to water.

Keaton glanced at the time flashing on the screen of his cell. It was the fifth time he’d checked it in the last ten minutes. It made him crazy. He didn’t want to care. He wanted to drive off to a town a few hours away and pick up some girl in a bar.

But he couldn’t even do that, and he had tried it a few times, but just couldn’t bring himself to pull the trigger.

Ever since he’d laid eyes on the blond-haired beauty, she’d been all he could think about.

Headlights cut through the darkness, and her fancy little SUV rolled into the driveway. The hum of her garage door filled the air.

He stood and leaned against the railing. What the hell was he doing here? Did he really intend to explain to her why her actions mattered to him? Jesus, now that was nuts. They had such a competitive friendship—if one could even call it that—she’d probably toss him out on his ass .

But being called a misogynist, again, had a profound effect on him—one he couldn’t ignore.

She climbed up the side steps, tucking her hair behind her ears as she tugged her hair out of her ponytail, fingering the long strands. She smiled.

She was so goddamned gorgeous. Athletic build. Toned muscles. Killer blue eyes that could suck a person in with a twinkle—or cut them with a glare.

She had a quick wit—completely sarcastic, though often rooted in her desire to be seen and heard for who she was, not what the town perceived her to be. She was smart and tough as nails. Those last two qualities were the ones he admired most.

“Hey,” she said. “I’m going to get a glass of wine. I love sitting out here on nights like this.” She pointed to a storm lighting up the sky about five miles offshore. “Would you like a glass? Or a beer? Or a shot of whiskey? I might have some that burns going down. You know, the cheap stuff.”

He laughed. They had once picked on her for always bringing the most expensive alcohol to their little gatherings. “A glass of whatever you’re having is fine.”

“Keaton Cole is going to drink wine?” She fanned her face. “I might fall over.”

“How expensive is that wine going to be, because I will never understand anyone who drops a hundred dollars on a bottle. That just seems wasteful to me when you can get a decent one for twenty.” He cringed. “Sorry. That was rude.”

“I drink so much wine that I don’t buy the stuff my dad does.” She pointed to the chairs. “It’s less than thirty dollars a bottle. But I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you drink the stuff.”

He shrugged. “It’s been a hot minute.” Like ten freaking years, but he wasn’t about to question his reasons for breaking that rule now.

“Come on in. You can help me carry a tray of snacks. I didn’t even get a marshmallow tonight.”

He stood behind her, inhaling the fresh scent of pears, and waited for her to finish tapping in her keycode to unlock the front door. Once inside, she went right for the alarm system and disarmed it. “I’m surprised you have an alarm system.” Inwardly, he groaned. That was a dumb thing to say when he was trying to apologize for being a jerk.

She glanced over her shoulder while kicking off those damn wedge shoes. “When I moved back here a few years ago, it was after an incident where I used to live. Freaked my father out. Honestly, it freaked me out, too. When I bought this place, my dad insisted on the alarm in case what happened there followed me. I didn’t argue because I worried about that, too.”

“What does that mean?” He curled his fingers around her biceps. His heart pounded in his chest, pumping adrenaline—and not necessarily the good kind—through his system. “What happened? Are you okay? Is someone bothering you? Is this something Dawson should know about?”

She shifted her gaze from his face to his hand and back to his face. “It—or should I say, he—didn’t follow me here. There has been no sign of my ex since I left St. Augustine. He doesn’t call. He doesn’t text. And he’s never shown up. I don’t think he ever will.” She leaned closer. “He’s kind of afraid of me.”

“Okay. But you were sufficiently scared to put in an alarm system. Why?”

“It’s not exactly what you think.” She plucked his fingers off her body, turned, and marched down the hallway while his protective instincts suffocated him from the inside out.

“How about you ease my overactive mind and tell me what happened?”

“The short version is he lied to me, he stole from me, and then he hit me.”

He growled. It was deep and hit his throat like a brick coming up. “That’s?—”

She turned, holding up her hand. “I called the police. I wouldn’t be bullied. It didn’t matter that, at the time, I was in love with the jerk. Lay a hand on me, and we’re done. However, he didn’t like my response. He didn’t like that I wouldn’t tell the cops it was a misunderstanding.”

“I’m sure he didn’t. Did you file an abuse report?”

“I did more than that.” She pulled down two glasses and shoved a bottle of wine at him with a corkscrew before ducking her head into the fridge. “While he was spending a few hours in jail because he left a nasty bruise on my cheek and took a chunk of my hair in his hands?—”

“That sounds like he more than hit you.”

“I fought back,” she said, “and then I packed up all his stuff—because it was my house—and had his mother come get it. I listed the house the next morning and sold it in two days. I filed a restraining order and came running home to Daddy.”

“You say the last part as if it’s a bad thing.”

She sighed as she arranged a few blocks of cheese on the tray and opened a sleeve of crackers. She lifted the snacks and nodded toward the front of the house. “In the end, it wasn’t. But my dad can be protective of his little princess. He hopped in his car and drove to St. Augustine so he could give that man a piece of his mind. Turns out, when I kicked him where it counts, I might’ve done a little damage, and he was in the hospital. My dad left it alone, but he made me promise that if he ever contacted me, I’d first call the cops and then call him.”

“Well, now you can add me to the list of people to call.” He tucked the recorked bottle under his arm and carried the two poured glasses out the front door. He set them on a small table and joined her on the plush sofa overlooking the beautiful waters of Calusa Cove.

“Now, why would I do that when you and I can’t have a conversation without one of us calling the other a name?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, that one you hurled at me earlier was a little triggering.”

“You know and understand that word?” She took the glass he offered and sighed. “I’m sorry. But ever since that night Jared died, you bring out the worst in me. I can’t seem to help myself.”

“I will admit, I can be rough, but that word has more meaning to me than you could know.” He lifted the wine to his lips, stuck his nose inside, and sniffed. Not bad. He took a long, slow sip. “Damn, that’s good.”

“You appreciate wine?”

“I used to.” He set his glass aside and tugged at his shirt collar, showing off his tattoo.

She leaned in and traced the infinity sign with her delicate, hot finger. It scorched his skin. “Who’s Petra?”

“She’s the reason I’m the way I am and why being called a misogynistic prick bothers me so much.”

“Ex-girlfriend?”

“Dead fiancée.” He leaned over, raised his glass, and downed his wine like it was a cheap shot of whiskey, but it didn’t burn.

“Oh. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. Not even my fault. But she called me that a few days before she died.” He raked his fingers through his hair. It was longer than it had ever been since he’d been eighteen, and he still wasn’t used to it. “It wasn’t true, and I know she didn’t mean it. They were words meant to hurt, and we had no idea that she’d die. But that’s not even the worst part.”

Trinity clutched her wineglass to her chest as if it were a rosary. “I can’t even imagine anything could be more awful than that,” she whispered.

“I was deployed when it happened, but because I was mad, I didn’t say I love you when I left.”

Trinity closed her eyes. Her chest rose and fell as she sucked in an audible breath. “I’m so sorry for your loss. That’s gut-wrenching.”

“You’re not going to ask me how she died?” He reached out, taking a strand of hair between his thumb and forefinger and twisting it around. It was soft and smooth.

She blinked. “Does it matter? She’s gone, and that was—is—painful for you.”

“In this case.” He waved his hand between himself and her. “With this conflict between us, I believe the entire context here is important.”

She drew a deep breath. “Okay. How did Petra die?”

“Petra was an adrenaline junkie. We both were, but she was born and raised on it.” He’d never intended to tell the whole story, to be this vulnerable, yet there was no stopping the word vomit about to tumble out of his mouth. “Her little brother was eleven months younger, and their dad pushed him to be an athlete. Water-skiing, snow-skiing, race car driving—you name it, he did it. He had to be the best of the best at everything, and father and son were as thick as thieves. But when it came to Petra, she was just a girl. She was too pretty, too petite, not strong enough—basically, not a man to do any of the things her little brother was doing and that just pissed her off. At the ripe old age of ten, she cut a deal with her dad. She could do whatever she wanted as long as she was the best. She became a world-class water-skier. She actually beat her little brother on the racetrack, and she flew planes. She became an aerialist. However, she never really got the respect of her father and brother that she thought she deserved.”

“But she had yours,” Trinity said softly.

He nodded. “She was an amazing woman. However, she could be reckless in her thirst for her father’s attention. She pushed boundaries, and I did take issue with that.” He raised his finger. “Because I loved her, not because I believed her place was in the kitchen.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“I know, but when Petra and I spent two years engaged, I thought it was time for us to think about actually getting married. I wanted kids. I didn’t want to wait. Of course, I’m not the one who would’ve carried them and given up a few months out of my crazy life, a fact that might’ve flown out of my brain the day we had our fight.” For a second, he wondered if he was no better than Petra for leaving out key details and for not being completely honest about why he’d been so mad at Petra.

What she’d done had been her choice. He believed that with every fiber of his being. But he also thought that she’d owed him—owed their love—a conversation before making that decision without even discussing it.

“I don’t believe most women think they’re giving up anything by having children—if that’s what they truly want,” Trinity said. “But it’s nice to have a partner who understands it’s our bodies that become a human incubator for nine months.”

“Trust me, I get that, and I never wanted Petra to stop being who she was. I just thought it was time for her to stop chasing the high—because that’s all it was— a high. I know this because I enjoyed jumping from perfectly good airplanes for shits and giggles. I bungee jumped. I raced cars, too.”

“You do all that stuff now?”

“No, not for fun anyway,” he said flatly, pouring himself one very large glass of wine. “Petra was a passionate woman—one of the many things I loved about her. The night of the fight, I was packing my things to go to the base for my briefing. I sat her down and told her I wanted her to set a date for the wedding while I was gone and that I wanted her to stop some of the activities. I wanted us to move forward with our lives.” All that was true, but when he’d gotten frustrated, he’d stormed off into the bedroom to take a break before he really said something that would get him in the doghouse. That’s when he’d found the medical records. That’s when he’d learned the truth about the baby and the abortion.

“I shouldn’t pry. This is your story.”

“What do you want to ask me?” He took the opportunity to sip. And sip. Okay, he swallowed three large gulps.

“Was it a discussion? Or a demand?”

He laughed. “It started off as a conversation. I told her how proud I was of all her accomplishments, and that I believed it was time for something different. That it was time for us to start living our lives together. It ended with me telling her that I thought she was reckless and her calling me that dirty word.” He lowered his chin. “I’m a lot of things. I can be controlling and opinionated. Sometimes, I can even be mean. I’ll admit to my faults. But being misogynistic is not one of them. I respect the hell out of women and what any lady has to do to get where she is. I couldn’t imagine being in her shoes. I’m a white dude who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth.” He pressed his finger against her lips. “I don’t care how privileged your life was, you’ve still had it harder than me. I do understand that. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. I just don’t understand why you’re trying to prove to anyone in this town that you’re…” He sucked in a deep breath and sighed. “You’ve got nothing to prove to anyone.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re the golden boy. The most popular kid in school.” She cocked a pretty little brow. “Yeah. I heard that about you. But do you know what I was? I was the rich girl who probably had a servant wipe my ass.”

“Audra does have a way with words.” He shook his head. “She’s your friend and doesn’t think that about you at all.”

“Maybe not, but you think I’m reckless with a stick up my butt just because I back my boat into the dock.”

“Backing your boat in doesn’t make you reckless. It just makes you a show-off.” He leaned closer. “You’re reckless because you’re emotionally charged about some of the things you do, like solo scuba diving for your friend.”

“Oh my God. Really?” Her turn to chug. “Look, I do understand the difference between doing something dangerous and being stupid.” This time, she covered his mouth. “I know all the dangers of scuba diving. I’ve been doing it my entire life. But I take all the necessary precautions each and every time I go out. Because. I. Don’t. Want. To. Die. I go out there regularly because it brings me joy. It gives me peace and serenity from the insanity that is often my life. My mom is nuts, and while she doesn’t live here anymore, it’s hard being her daughter. Being underwater is the one place on earth I don’t have to hear it. It’s also the only place in the world where I feel free of judgment in a place that doesn’t accept me for who I am.” She waved her hand toward the big house. “I am a princess. While I’ve made adjustments in my adult life with not only how I treat people but how I behave, I will not apologize for enjoying the things I’ve earned or a little bit of Daddy’s money. In this town, that makes me an outsider. People treat me differently. They look at me differently. Have you ever noticed that?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Everyone only expects two things from me. To be my mother’s daughter and to screw up. It’s like everyone is waiting for me to make a mistake. To fall on my face in my heels. To crash my boat into the dock.” She waved her hand. “Like the night Jared died and the way Silas came at me. His utter disappointment in me. That wouldn’t have happened to anyone else but me. And the way everyone stood out there, searching, scanning for my wreckage. It wasn’t so much because they were all worried. But because I might have finally done it. I might’ve finally gone and gotten myself killed, and don’t go and say that makes me reckless because that’s the rub—I’m not. The only mistake I made was not radioing Baily and giving her my coordinates when I saw that boat. But everything else, I did perfectly right.”

“Silas. Baily. Me. We were all scared for you,” he said, his voice husky.

“Okay. Who else was really utterly terrified that something might have happened to me? And if you say Dawson, Hayes, or Fletcher, I’ll kick you where it counts.”

He took a moment and pulled up that night. Plucked out the whispers and the chatter. It wasn’t that people weren’t concerned, because they had been—but she was right. Most had been gossiping about how her showmanship—weird choice of words—had finally bitten her in the ass.

However, that wasn’t it at all.

Backing a boat in was commonplace. He did it all the time. He backed his truck into his garage.

All she was doing was what everyone else in this town did. Except, they saw a prissy little rich girl showing off daddy’s toys.

He cringed. “I might have misjudged certain aspects of this.”

“Ya think?”

“Jeez, you’re a tough crowd.” He took her glass, set it on the table, and traced her cheek with his thumb. “As crazy as this will sound coming from me, I like who you are.”

“You have a weird way of showing it.”

“Perhaps this is a better way.” He cupped the back of her neck, drawing her closer. His heart tightened as he pressed his mouth to her sweet, plump lips.

A fire erupted deep in his belly. It spread over his skin like warm butter melting on top of a pancake. His tongue caught hers, twisting and turning, tasting the robust wine.

She grabbed his shoulders, and for a split second, he braced himself to be rejected. He wouldn’t blame her. He’d been an asshole. It didn’t matter that, to him, he had justifiable reasons. She didn’t know them any more than he’d taken the time to truly understand her. She fisted his shirt, deepening the kiss until it was wild and out of control.

They were both breathless, hanging on to each other as if for dear life under the blanket of stars, as the sweet sound of the ocean waves rolled across his ears.

He ran his hand down her collarbone and cupped her breast, forgetting they were sitting on her porch. He’d lost all touch with reality. Nothing mattered but her.

His thumb brushed over her nipple, eliciting a gasp from her parted lips. Emboldened, he let his fingers venture farther, tracing her contours with an artist's precision, a reverence that belied his previous disregard. Her grip on his shoulders tightened, her body melting into his touch like molten wax bleeding onto parchment. His heartbeat thrummed in his ears, a thrilling symphony underscored by the song of the sea and their ragged breaths.

“Wait,” she gasped suddenly and pulled away sharply, breaking their connection. Confused at her reaction, he blinked. Her chest rose and fell heavily under the moonlit sky, eyes wide and filled with something indecipherable.

He feared he’d pushed too far, and his audacious move was unwelcome. But there was no anger in her eyes, no spurned offense or disapproval. Instead, there was an intensity that both intrigued and alarmed him .

“Listen,” she said, quieter now but with a clear urgency in her voice.

The only sounds were the ocean waves rhythmically caressing the shoreline and the occasional faint laughter of some partygoers in the distance. And then it came, a gentle padding from around the corner of the house, growing louder until a dog appeared by their side.

The animal wagged its tail, completely oblivious to the precious moment it had interrupted.

Chuckling at the irony of it all—a man treading uncharted territory with an enchanting woman only to be halted by an excited pet—he dropped his forehead against hers and let out a relieved sigh. “Your dog?”

“No, the neighbor’s down the street,” she said, turning her head. “Sawyer, go home, now.”

The dog whimpered but turned and trotted off, its tail happily wagging in the air.

“Shall we go inside?” she asked so softly he thought he might have been hearing things, but when she stood, collected the tray of food, and made her way toward the door, he knew he’d lost all ability to keep the emotions of the last year at bay.

He followed her into the house. This time, he noted the details. The decor was simpler than he’d anticipated. A seaside beach home. Teal-green, blues, and whites, decorated in a combination of new and old with a hint of nautical. So fitting.

He followed her to the kitchen, wine and glasses in hand. Without saying anything, he set everything down, watching her as she tossed the cheese back in the fridge .

She turned. “Inviting you up to my bedroom is crazy, isn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” He inched closer, wrapping his arms around her slender but muscular frame. “However, we can end things here.” He kissed her tenderly. “For tonight, as long as I know you’ll go out with me.”

Resting her hands on his shoulders, she chuckled. “Would you think badly of me if I didn’t want you to go?”

“No.” He shook his head. “And for the record, this isn’t a one-eighty. Whether I’ve behaved like it or not, I’ve been attracted to you since we met. You’re all I can think about.”

She smiled. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but a part of me wishes I hadn’t fantasized about you during the last year.”

He groaned.

“I like that noise.” She laced her fingers through his and before he could respond, they were at the top of the stairs, stumbling toward her bedroom, with their hands and lips all over each other as if they were about to experience sex for the very last time.

They practically tripped into her bedroom, a blur of lips and hands. Her room was decorated in the same theme as the rest of the house. The nautical blues gave way to soft pastels, walls adorned with seashells and paintings of mermaids. A large bed was nestled in the corner.

He tried to memorize the details, but she consumed every thought. She was intoxicating, a storm he had yearned for throughout the past year. Their clothes were discarded at the foot of the bed, their kisses growing more passionate and urgent. He could feel her heartbeat against his chest, and it echoed his own racing pulse.

He looked at her then—really looked at her.

Her tousled hair fell about her face, and her lips were slightly swollen from their previous bout of passionate kissing. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against her neck.

“You’re not so bad yourself, sailor.”

He chuckled, staring at her for a long moment with his pulse caught in his throat, suddenly, painfully aware of his tattoo. He covered it. He’d never done that before. It had always been a part of him. Of who he was.

She reached out, pushing his hand away and kissing his chest. “Don’t ever do that again,” she said sternly.

“Do what?”

“Try to erase your past.” She glanced up. Her eyes glistened under the glow from the skylight.

Tears? But why? Petra wasn’t her pain, but his.

“I wasn’t…wasn’t…it’s just that… I don’t know.” He scratched the center of his chest. “It’s never been an issue for me before. If anyone asked me about the tattoo, I shrugged and told them she was the…the…”

“Love of your life?”

“Something like that,” he admitted.

Trinity stood before him naked and smiled.

God, she was amazingly gorgeous—a goddess.

“She’s a part of what makes you…you. I would never take that from you, not even if this goes beyond tonight. ”

“I’m kind of hoping there’s more.”

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want that, too, but let’s see if we can go a week without fighting…about something.” She tugged at him, and they tumbled onto the bed with her wrapped in his arms.

She was like nothing he’d ever experienced.

She was wild and gentle, ferocious and tender. A storm wrapped in tranquility. He ran his hands down the smooth column of her spine, soaking in the heat that radiated off her bare skin.

She lifted herself onto him, straddling with a grace that belonged to dancers and forest nymphs alike. Illuminated by moonlight coming through the skylight, it was a mesmerizing sight. A sense of surrealism enveloped him as he watched her move against him, their silhouettes painting an amorous tableau on her bedroom walls.

He cupped her waist, pulling her closer to intensify the connection—physical and emotional. Everything he had been averse to was now welcoming her in. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the soft scent of pears that clung to her skin.

“Am I too much?” she whispered, her breath puffing against his spent nerves.

“Not nearly enough…” he replied through clenched teeth as sensations shot through him like wildfire. He looked at her, desperately willing his heart to communicate what words failed to express.

Her laughter echoed like a melodious hymn that breathed life into still air. She arched back, giving him access to an expanse of unblemished skin that begged for his touch. Every sigh that escaped her lips became a verse in the symphony they were composing together, each gasp a chorus in itself.

She tumbled into the sea of satin sheets beside him post-climax, gasping for breath with a contented smile dancing on her lips. She turned to face him, and her finger danced across a few of his scars. “Your body is covered in these.”

“I know.”

“Each one, like your tattoo, tells your story,” she whispered. “Only, I don’t know them.”

“No, you don’t, and honestly, some I might not ever talk about.”

“I can only imagine what this one is from, and it’s not painting a very nice narrative.” She traced a dainty circle around the combination burn marks from being tortured by electrocution and knife wounds. His captors used to increase the pain, hoping to get him and his buddies to talk. It didn’t work. However, Ken was dead and nothing they did would ever change that fact.

He brought her hand to his lips. “The only important thing about any of these scars is that I’m alive, I’m breathing, and I’m right here with you.”

“Wow. I would not have expected such romantic words from you.”

“Oh, I can get real mushy when I get going.” He hadn’t had a reason to get going in over ten years. Now, he did—and her name was Trinity.

“Do me a favor. If we last more than tonight, never buy me flowers. ”

He jerked his head. “Okay. Good to know, because I would’ve sent some in the morning. Can I ask why?”

She yawned. “Can I tell you that story another time?”

He nodded, kissing her temple. Something told him that as much as he suspected she wanted more, he was never getting that story.

And that meant there wasn’t much of a future outside of a good time.

That shouldn’t bother him, because he never thought about the future when it came to women. But tonight, knowing there wouldn’t be, it crushed his soul.