The Broken Protector (Dark Hearts of Redhaven Book 1)

I don’t know what has me so damn fidgety.

The fact that in five minutes, Delilah Clarendon’s going to blow into my house, eat my cooking, take up space in my life—or the fact that she wouldn’t tell me why she didn’t want to be alone.

She was acting real cagey on the phone.

Talking low like she didn’t want to be overheard. And when I asked her if someone was there with her?

She just mumbled something back without a real answer.

Damn.

There I was, fixing to go tearing out there, my head rattling with all these dark possibilities.

Montero Arrendell holding her at gunpoint, forcing her to act like nothing was wrong, or maybe his snot-nosed son. But she didn’t sound like she was lying, exactly.

What the hell?

I had to believe her.

Trust her.

And hope she’ll actually show up tonight.

Also, I’ve never cooked to impress a girl before.

I’m no fancy chef. I’m good with boiling some pasta and making a little homemade Bolognese sauce, or throwing a roast in the oven with some chopped up potatoes soaked in a marinade together.

Better than living on sandwiches and takeout like other bachelors I know, or relying on your grandparents to cook for a little girl like certain other bachelors I know. Captain Grant would be lost without some help.

Tonight, I’ve gone all-out.

Panko-crusted crab cakes dusted with seasoning.

Seared asparagus tips in a thick sauce of caramelized cooking wine with sliced mushrooms and almond slivers.

A cheddar pasta bake with bacon and little garlic bread crumbles crusted on top.

For dessert, we’ve got hand-rolled cinnamon nut bread dots with dipping sauces—cream, icing, caramel, strawberry.

I’m standing over the stove, watching a YouTube video on my phone and reading the captions about how long to simmer the wine sauce on low so it thickens just right without going sour when my doorbell rings.

I check the temperature on the stove, then whip my apron off and drape it over the back of a chair before speeding to the door.

Yep, I’ve got it bad, huh?

When I open the door and see Miss Delilah standing there, I have my answer.

She’s not just pretty as a picture.

She is the whole damn picture, simply gorgeous in a dark-grey thigh-skimming pleated skirt, an oversized sweater in light green on top. It’s almost see-through over a pale strappy camisole. Stylish black leather ankle boots with scrunched-up white socks and pale-green trim that matches her sweater complete the look.

The girl knows how to look like sex on a stick without even trying.

Hell, she doesn’t need to try hard when she carries herself with the confidence to pull off wearing any damn thing she pleases.

Her hair’s half up in a knot, half down, and it shimmers over her shoulders in black ripples. She raises the bottle of wine in her left hand and a six-pack of bottled stout hanging from the other.

“I didn’t know what would fit better,” she says with that little grin that makes her eyes glitter and my heart pound like a freight train. “So I brought both.”

“Smart lady.” I peel back to let her in, smoothing my hands over my simple white button-down shirt. It hangs over a dark t-shirt with jeans, like she’d give a good goddamn about one wrinkle somewhere.

“Both works for me. We’ll have wine with dinner and beer with dessert. Hell, might be interesting to see how the beer complements the sauces.”

“What sauces?” She steps inside with a little sashaying stride, this playfulness that makes her so wicked as she hands over the goods. “What did you make?”

“You really want to spoil the surprise already?”

“Have you cooked up the culinary wonder of the world?” Her eyes round in astonishment.

“Come find out, brat.” Laughing, I toss my head toward the kitchen. “Should be about done.”

“Awesome timing.”

“Or I timed the recipes for when I figured you’d show,” I say with a snort.

She just snickers.

I lead her into the kitchen, suddenly painfully conscious of my house, wondering what she must think of it.

The building is a two-story alpine-style cottage. My great-grandparents built it over seventy years ago. It’s dark grey on the outside with ornate white trim framing the black-shingled roof and applied in intricate patterns under the eaves, framing the windows and doors.

Inside, it’s all wood and neutral greys, giving the house this nice moody feel like a misty morning.

It suits me.

A lot of the rooms are smaller like they always are in old houses, but plenty of tall windows help make up for it—and the main living area is one big space with minimal accents.

Doesn’t need ’em with the ash wood. Grain and knots are subtle decoration enough.

I’m a fan of simplicity.

While I’ve long since replaced furniture that wore out over the course of my lifetime, I kept the same minimalist focus on comfort that my parents and Celeste had: soft cream linen upholstery, natural wood tones, furniture with deep cushions.

All stuff meant to be lived on, rather than being show pieces.

It’s been my home since I was born, and there’s still a picture of me and Celeste above the fireplace, right next to another framed photo of my entire family when our folks were still alive and I was just a swaddled-up baby.

I wonder what Delilah sees as she soaks the place in. Her curious gaze turns with each step she takes in my wake.

Does she see a house that’s full of light, love, and memories for generations?

Or does she just see a lonely asshole, clinging to a bygone past he can never bring to life again?

Her small smile gives away nothing as she follows me into my homey kitchen that’s all quartz-topped wood counters everywhere, a big butcher block island, and a massive six-burner range.

Right now, it’s filled with mingling scents of the food. I turn the burner off on the asparagus before pulling on my mitts and opening up the oven.

The pasta bake looks good, and the crab cakes have been sitting pretty and keeping warm so they’ll taste like they’re just out of the pan.

I glance at Delilah.

“Island or table?” I ask, nodding at the barstools around the butcher block, and the dining table tucked against the window on the far end.

“Hmmm. Island?” she says after a moment. “Anything I can do to help out?”

“You can pour the wine, if you want. Glasses are on the rack over there.” I jerk my chin toward the rows of wineglasses hanging upside down from the rack built into the bottom of one row of ash wood cabinets.

With a thoughtful sound, Delilah retrieves two glasses and then climbs up on one of the tall wooden hardbacked stools.

She pops the cork with a practiced twist, easing it out carefully without even needing a corkscrew.

The delicate, tart aroma of white wine joins the smells of the food.

It’s only after a second that I realize she picked the stool I draped my apron over.

After she finishes pouring the wine, she gives me a mild look and picks up one of the strings on the apron, tugging it over her shoulder.

“Nice,” she says offhandedly. “Think I could see you in it? The ruffles suit you.”

“Very fucking funny.” Rolling my eyes, I sling out two plates and start loading up. “It was Celeste’s. The strings are just long enough for it to fit, so I never saw much need to buy a new one.”

Delilah sobers, her eyes flickering with chagrin.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“Lilah,” I interrupt gently, scooping up the cutlery before taking everything to the island. I slide a plate in front of her and finish setting silverware before I say, “I loved my sister. Still love her. After our parents died, she was all I had. But she’s not a forbidden subject in this house. She’d have laughed just as much at me wearing her apron, frills and blue checks and all.” With my hand free, I catch a strand of Delilah’s hair and tweak it, teasing the tip against her cheek. “You didn’t say anything wrong.”

She releases out a slow breath and smiles.

“Good.” She lightly touches the back of my hand.

Smiling like a damn fool already, I settle in across from her with my own plate.

“I don’t fuck with formality, so if you’re hungry, dig in. Unless you want to do the obligatory small talk like it’s a real date. Y’know, the kind where you’re in a fancy restaurant being awkward with each other while you wait for appetizers.”

Delilah had started to reach for her fork, but now she stops, giving me a wide-eyed look. Her cheeks stain in delicate red.

“…is this a date?”

Oh, shit.

Here we go.

I feel like some awkward-ass kid again, all bones, too big for myself.

I clear my throat. “I mean, yeah. If you want it to be. I—”

“Lucas, it’s a date!” Her eyes ignite and she grins in a way I’ve never seen, all sweetness and warmth. “Just call it a date, dude. Because you’re really cute when you blush.”

“You really are a goddamned brat,” I grumble, pointing my fork at her.

“And you,” she says merrily, “must be a great cook. Because just looking at this makes me hungry, and it smells amazing. You really went through all this trouble for me?”

“Wasn’t no trouble,” I lie.

“Lucas?”

“Yeah?”

Her lips press together as she tries to suppress her laughter. “I think you left your cooking video playing.”

Shit.

I glance back at my phone, still propped up on its little stand next to the stove. Sure enough, the video flicked over to the next in the queue even though it’s on mute.

Oops.

There goes my secret.

Muttering, I ignore how hot my face is and get up. I snag the phone and shove it in my pocket, then drop down in the chair and point at her.

“You saw nothing.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Officer.” She laughs, biting into her crab cakes. “Yum. Also, I totally didn’t just watch a man being adorable, looking up recipe videos to cook for me. I’m not flattered at all. Or even slightly impressed.” Then she takes a bite and drops that teasing tone as she lets out a low groan, her eyes slipping half-closed. “I’m lying. I’m completely impressed. This is so good.”

“Yeah?” My chest warms and I savor my own bite before swallowing. Didn’t turn out half-bad. “I used to do all the cooking around the house even before my little stint on galley duty. Cleaning, too. Celeste was always too busy working like hell to take care of us, so I tried to tackle the household crap. Whatever I could do to make it easier on her, but I guess it made me a little too self-sufficient. Sorry if you were hoping to find a beat-up man cave.”

It’s almost strange how easily it slips out.

Just talking about my sister casually, recalling the good times instead of the pain.

With Delilah here, when I think of Celeste, I just smile.

I don’t fall down that pit of hatred and grief, constantly churning around the unanswered question, Where the fuck did she go?

Hell, just being near Delilah Clarendon soothes the raw edges off old wounds and lets me feel something besides pain.

She’s watching me thoughtfully now, like she can see what I’m thinking, before she takes a longer look around the kitchen.

“So, this is where you grew up?”

“Yeah.” I duck my head. “Been in the family for a long time. Figured I should keep it. For a while I let the Bowdens rent it out, back when I was gone. Felt weird, though, with tourists living in this place that belonged to the folks I love.”

“It must be lonely,” she says. “There’s so much family in this house, the way it feels, the presence… but for you it’s like being surrounded by ghosts, isn’t it?”

She has no clue.

Or maybe she does, and that’s the problem.

It’s strange to have her look at me this way, and for me to feel so real.

Like she already knows me inside and out with this presence we have together. I don’t need to bare the painful gristle of my heart when she can already touch it so gently.

Fuck, my mind goes places it shouldn’t.

“Maybe one day I’ll fill it up with family again,” I say without thinking.

Delilah gives me a startled look, tucking her hair behind her ear with a shy smile.

“You never know.” She pauses for another bite, clearly enjoying the grub. She won’t look at me as she murmurs, “I’ve always wanted kids myself someday, but…” She shakes her head, staring at her plate. “I think deep down I’m afraid I’ll damage them. I never had a stable household with someone who really wanted me around. I don’t know what good parenting feels like. It’s different from taking a few child psychology courses. I’ve just got so much bitterness there. So I’m worried I’d be a bad mom and end up hurting them when I just want to love them.” She shrugs. “Plus, I’d probably have to go to a sperm bank to find a dad I wouldn’t want to strangle within a week.”

Jealousy darts through me, no matter how absurd.

“Don’t think you’d hurt them one bit,” I growl. I try to be gentle—this is a heavy thing for her—but I can’t. “You’re the talk of the whole town right now, you know.”

“I am?” She blinks at me.

“Well, yeah.” I turn things over through a few more bites, rewinding my brain to earlier in the day, remembering fragments of conversation. “When I was picking up groceries earlier, I overheard a few parents talking in the store. Their kids are fucking in love with you, Lilah. They think you hung the moon.” I smile. “Grant said Nell talked about nothing else from the second he picked her up. She said you tell the best stories, and you’re really smart and real pretty. She already wants to grow her hair out long like yours.”

Delilah sputters on her next bite, snagging her napkin.

“Oh, my,” she strains out, red-faced. “Well, at least I made a good first impression, right?”

I watch her fondly, giving her a minute to collect herself.

“You really don’t know what to do with compliments, do you, woman?”

“No. So stop it.” Inhaling sharply, she balls up her napkin, giving me a warning look that tells me it could be sailing my way soon if I step out of line. Then she abruptly changes the subject. “Did I ever tell you why my hair’s so long? It’s this silly little thing…”

“Tell me the little things. I’m greedy as hell when it comes to you.”

That earns me an unguarded look, surprised and wide-eyed. “Okay. But only if you tell me a little thing after.”

Damn, she’s good.

“Deal,” I throw back.

“I didn’t cut my hair from high school until I met my mom again,” she tells me immediately. “That’s why I still wear it long. At first it was just carelessness, no one noticing I was getting a little shaggy as they passed me around from family to family, nobody wanting to make my hair their responsibility.” She shrugs again and catches a fine strand of black hair, drawing it over her shoulder to stroke down its length. “Somewhere in this mess, I still have the same hair I had when I was with my mother. That was the best day of my life.” A soft smile flits across her face as she twirls that lock around her finger. “It’s still there. The same hair she brushed with her hands when she hugged me so hard it almost left me sore. Same hair she hadn’t touched since I was a baby.”

Damn, this girl.

I reach across the island to catch that lock of hair, coiling it in my fingers. “You love her to death, don’t you?”

“Yeah. During the bad times, Mom was all I had, even if she was just a distant memory. A fantasy, even. I loved her my whole life without knowing her, even when I thought she abandoned me. It’s like the connection just stayed.” She shakes her head, then wrinkles her nose in a cute little scrunch when I tickle the tip with her hair. “I should call her. Tell her all about Redhaven. She’d like you, I think.” Grinning, she bats my hand away, reclaiming her hair. “Mostly because your mouth is as bad as mine.”

“So she’s got a fondness for sarcasm, huh? I’m sure we’d get along fine.”

“She gave birth to a shit-talker, didn’t she?”

“That must’ve hurt,” I say slowly, well aware I’m taking my life into my hands. “Squeezing out a chubby little cactus.”

“Lucas!” Yep, there it is.

That balled-up napkin boinks off my face while she scowls at me, her lips still curling up at the corners as she laughs.

“I’m not a freaking cactus—okay, maybe I am. Hmph.”

Picking up her fork, she aims it at me before savagely hacking off a few asparagus tips.

“Your turn, mister. Little thing. Now.”

“You want a dirty secret? Fine.” I think for a moment. “I’ve seen every Disney movie ever made.”

The skeptical look she gives me is enough to make me grin.

“…you? Disney?”

“Look, Grant’s off raising little Nell by himself. Most of the time his parents take her when he’s got to work, but sometimes they can’t, so that girl’s grown up half in the police dispatch office with all of us as her babysitters.” I blow out an exasperated sigh, even though I love that kid like she was my own. “If we don’t distract her, she will abso-goddamn-lutely hop on one of the dispatch computers and raise hell. Don’t know how she breaks past the access restrictions. She’s sharp as a whip, that’s for sure. So there’s an entire collection of DVDs in the back room at the station, and since I hang out there when there’s no patrols scheduled on my shift, I’ve seen ’em all. Pretty sure Henri isn’t far behind me, though.”

Delilah laughs, her eyes glittering. “I bet it’s not as good as my collection.”

“You’re into ’em, huh?”

“The music rocks, okay?” She’s flustered now, trying to preserve her tough-girl image. “I mean… I usually watched them with the kids when I was doing my training in New York. They just became a fact of life. But there’s something emotional about the songs, you know? And I like any kind of movie that makes me feel things that strong, no matter what age it’s meant for.” She points her fork at me, a bit of asparagus still clinging to it. “And before you ask, yes, the lyrics to ‘Let It Go’ are burned into my brain forever.”

A shudder of black horror runs through me as she grins.

In the back of my mind, I hear the familiar melody and shake my head violently.

“Don’t. Don’t you dare start singing it, New York. Little Nell wouldn’t stop for six damn months. I swear that song plays in hell’s waiting room. If I gotta hear it one more time—”

“Gotcha!” she says. “See, now I know how to threaten you if I really want my way.”

I drop my fork and raise both hands. “You think you have to threaten me? Anything you want, it’s done.”

“Aaan-y-thing?” She drags the word out, a slow smile growing on her face.

“Don’t like that look in your eye.”

“After dinner,” she announces firmly. “Let’s watch movies. You’ve got streaming, right?”

I snort. “I give you free rein and that’s your first wish?”

“Oh, I never said that’s all I’d want.” There’s something sly in her smile, something that makes my blood blaze. “That’s just for starters.”

“Miss Lilah,” I say slowly, “I think you’re looking for excuses to stay over.”

“And if I am?”

“Fuck the excuses,” I answer, and goddamn, sometimes I have trouble just saying what I feel, but this comes out so easy. “I was hoping you’d want to.”

There’s a long, warm look between us, one that leaves me damn near sighing with the potential in it.

We finish dinner, chasing our food with white wine.

Sometimes we tease, mock-bicker, and I get another napkin chucked at my head for my smart-ass comments.

Mostly, we’re just quiet, and it feels good.

Once we’re done, I load the plates in the sink, snag the beer she brought, and head out to the living room.

I’m still feeling a little warm from the wine, but not quite buzzed. Delilah seems steady as she trails me and then drops down on the sofa with a little swing of her legs, watching me while I hunt for a remote I rarely use, feeling between the couch cushions.

“So Culver Jacobin came to my house today,” she says abruptly.

“What?” My head comes up so sharply I almost give myself whiplash.

“He was there when you called. He was also hanging around when I hallucinated my ex standing outside my house.”

“Culver Jacobin? What the hell was he there for?”

“He’s the cable guy, I guess.” She folds her arms tight, leaning back against the sofa. “He messed with the crime scene. I’m sorry, I just wasn’t fast enough to stop him. He licked the blood, Lucas.”

Delilah grimaces, her whole face screwing up, and I don’t blame her one bit.

“What the fuck?” I just stare at her. “I got nothin’. The Jacobins are weird as hell, but that’s nasty, even for them.”

“Unsanitary for sure. Good thing no one saw him, or you’d probably have a few new cannibal rumors around here. But get this.” Her voice drops a little. “He said it’s pig’s blood. He could tell by the taste, supposedly, because they sell the blood down at the butcher’s shop.”

“Pig’s blood. Huh.” I finally unearth the remote from between the cushions, then go grab dessert and settle in next to her. I try to get my appetite back after what she just told me with the nut bread bites perched on the coffee table in easy reach, flanked by cups of dipping sauces. “Guess that makes it more likely it was just a sick prank. Kids fucking around.”

“I guess. Anyone could buy a carton of pig’s blood from the butcher’s, right?”

“Yeah.” I frown, turning that over. Somehow, it still doesn’t sit right. “What was that about your ex, though?”

“Oh, I… I looked out the kitchen door and I could’ve sworn he was there, hovering around by the trees. There was a lot of shadow. It could’ve been the way the light fell, I guess, because when I ran out there…” She trails off and shakes her head slowly. “Nothing. Not even swaying branches like someone just fled. Culver said he didn’t see anything, either. I think I scared the crap out of him.”

“That’s a nice change for once.” I stroke my chin.

I don’t know.

It’s possible, I suppose.

She’s been putting on a mighty brave face, but anyone would get spooked and start seeing things out of the corner of their eye if they lived through half the shit she’s experienced since coming to Redhaven.

“I guess that makes sense. If it happens again, I’m adding surveillance cameras to your place.”

“Oh, cool. Next it’ll be robo-gun turrets and killer drones,” Delilah teases with a little laugh. “That reminds me, though—the motion sensor lights didn’t come on when we were moving around the yard today.”

“They won’t by daylight. They’re solar powered, so if they’re gonna conserve and store energy they can’t turn on all the time. Only when the light sensors know it’s dark.”

“Ooh.” She purses her lips. “Fancy. You really went all out.”

“Anything for a New York-sized pain in my ass.”

There it is again.

That cute little falter, the way she can’t handle it when someone’s real with her.

She gives me an uncertain look.

I fucking love the way she blushes.

This is how it should’ve been before we went hog wild ripping each other’s clothes off. These quiet moments, getting to know each other, figuring out how we fit.

And she fits real damn nice against me as I stretch one arm along the back of the sofa, offering a place against my side.

Delilah doesn’t hesitate to tuck herself against me, pulling her legs up onto the sofa to snuggle into the crook of my arm. Her scent wafts up like perfume, drenching me as I flick the TV on and scroll through the selection until she insists we do Hercules.

I know this one word for word.

Nell’s in love with Megara and wants to be her when she grows up, assuming Delilah hasn’t stolen Meg’s place in her heart.

Apparently, Nell’s not the only one. Delilah loses herself in the story, watching so transfixed it’s almost innocent, bringing out the sweet young woman under the hardened New York boss girl she tries to be.

While she watches the movie, I’m watching her.

Goddamn, does my heart skip when she sings along, mouthing, At least out loud… I won’t say I’m in love.

Yeah, Miss Lilah.

Me too.

I give her a little surprise of my own, belting out a flawless rendition of “A Star Is Born,” even if the high notes kill me.

It does the trick when she flops over laughing.

It’s so warm and cozy, and by the time the movie’s close to ending, we’re teasing each other more than we’re paying attention, halfway sparring and half feeding each other bites of dessert.

Then, as the closing credits roll, she kisses me.

I suddenly forget all about the son of Zeus even if I’ve got his thunder in my vein when she slips over my lap and straddles me.

My cactus girl melts me with that hot little body, her thighs struggling to even fit around me, that little skirt so tempting I want to rip it the fuck off.

Only takes an instant to turn me into a monster of pure lust.

When I slip my hands under her skirt, digging into her ass cheeks, pulling her closer, kissing her, I’m intoxicated.

Judging by the way she’s breathing, she’s drunk on me, too.

She just holds on tighter, wrapping her legs around my waist.

I lift her up and carry her to the stairs.

This dizzying young woman stays with me all night, long after I tumble her down into the sheets and worship every inch of her body until she screams herself hoarse.