Beneath the Scars (Masters of the Shadowlands #13)(101)

The grass on which she stood sank a good three inches. “Yes, Sir.” She blinked. “I mean—”

“Exactly that.” He kissed her lightly. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“I…” The words were there…blocked by her fears. Her past.

“Shhh. I’ll have the words from you soon enough.” His confidence underlaid his words and gleamed in his steady gaze. He ran his thumb over her lips, making her want more and more and more kisses.

He smiled and looked over at the patio. “Stella, want to watch football at my house?”

“No, thank you. But why don’t you watch the game here? Josie’s living room has more space.”

“Woman, you know it’s all about the size of the TV screen.”

“Oh my, how could I forget?” Laughing, Oma rose. “You children have fun. I’m going to go get ready for evening church service.”

“I’ll walk you home.” He gave Josie’s waist a squeeze before striding onto the patio and holding the back door for Oma.

Oma gave an exasperated huff. “My legs still work, you know. I can walk myself home.”

“I enjoy your company, Stella.” Holt grinned, but his voice was firm. “And you don’t mind mine, so stop it.”

As they walked out the door, Josie grinned. Her great-aunt wasn’t any more effective at dissuading the Dom than Josie was.

Wrapping her arms around herself, Josie stood in the center of her backyard.

Holt obviously liked Oma—really did like her. He openly enjoyed playing soccer in the backyard. His affection for Carson was clear—he wasn’t putting on a show to win over Josie.

Whenever he saw something not working in the house, he’d fix it. The leaky faucet. A motion-detector light for the carport. Yesterday, they’d all painted the dining room with Carson on the roller, Holt handling the ladder, her doing the tricky areas around the trim. When she’d put on her chore playlist and started singing with the music, he’d joined in—and knew more of the lyrics than she did.

Over the years, when she occasionally met men who were interesting, she’d imagine bringing them home to Oma and Carson. And that would be the end of her attraction.

But there was no awkwardness with Holt. She grinned and shook her head. That Dom wouldn’t allow awkwardness.

He…fit.

Fit so well that he’d already created a place for himself—not only in her life and her bed—but in her family as well.

“I love you, Sir,” she whispered to herself. Now all she had to do was find the right time to say the words to him.





Chapter Twenty-Three





Monday night, it was Holt and Shoshana’s turn to prepare supper for the firehouse crew. Neither of them being gourmet cooks, they’d fallen back on the old standby of spaghetti and meatballs. It’d turned out good, actually, and well-buttered, crusty garlic bread made everything better. Being vegetarian, Shoshana had insisted on a green salad, so they’d ended up with a balanced meal.

After parmesaning his spaghetti, Holt dug in as Clancy teased their probationary firefighter, Arlo, about mixing up the hoses on the last fire.

“I hear you have a pretty new girlfriend, mate.” Across the table, Oz grinned at Holt.

“He does? Why haven’t I heard?” Tank scowled.

“Come over sometime, and I’ll introduce you,” Holt said. “She lives next door.”

“Georgina says Josie’s nicer than Nadia.” Clancy stroked his mustache. “She likes Josie. Wants her for you.”

Holt grinned. “Your woman’s a good judge of character. I want Josie for me, too.”

“Ah, c’mon,” Derek griped. “That Nadia was fucking hot.”

“True enough.” Holt eyed the young man who’d recently turned twenty-two. “Of course, that polished hotness took hours of work—and beneath it…I didn’t find what I needed. With Josie… She doesn’t need all that shit. In fact, in the mornings, when I see her without makeup or fancy clothing, I swear my heart stops. Because who she is shines through.”

Clancy gave him a look of perfect understanding. The man adored his Georgina.

Derek was frowning. Not understanding.

Holt asked him, “Do you choose your friends by their appearance? Only have well-dressed friends?”

“Ah…no.”

“You pick friends because of who they are. Because you like being with them. A wife—you’ll be with her a lot more than your friends. Me, I want someone I can like, not only in the evenings, but every morning at breakfast, too.”

Derek blinked.

“A nice rack is great”—and Holt had to admit Josie’s breasts were fantastic—“but what’s more important to me is someone who’ll listen. Who’s…kind. I should have looked closer at Nadia.”

Tank considered. “Nadia seemed nice enough.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking. How do you know your Josie is nicer?” Oz asked.

Holt leaned back in his chair. “You met the teens on my street—the ones who called 911 when I got knifed?”

Oz nodded.

“They adore Josie. She listens to them, whether they’re complaining about school or wanting to share their new music discoveries. And she bakes cookies to treat them and her son’s pals. She switched her life around, moved to my neighborhood to be close enough to care for an older relative. After I lost a patient, she insisted I come over and talk about it. Hell, everyone talks to her—mailmen, old ladies, kids. Because she listens…and she cares.”