The Summer He Came Home (Bad Boys of Crystal Lake 1)

Truthfully, there was nothing to tell. The woman wasn’t interested. After he made supper for Michael, she’d insisted he leave. She’d done everything but yank him by the arm and throw him out of her house. Said she’d set her alarm for every two hours so she’d wake up and promised that if t

he nausea continued, she’d go back and see the doctor.

Christ, he’d stood on her porch and listened to her turn at least three dead bolts behind him. If that didn’t say “stay the hell away,” he didn’t know what did.

He’d left—reluctantly—and not because he’d been looking to score some action. Being in her home with her kid had been nice and simple and easy.

God, he missed easy. Normal.

“So, she shot you down?” Mac leaned back and smiled.

“What are we? Sixteen? Drop it.” Cain sat up, ran fingers over his taut belly. Hunger pangs sat low in his gut, and he was ready to head back.

They were spending the afternoon at the Edwards place, relaxing and hanging out, just like old times. A barbecue was planned for later—a small, intimate affair—with his mother and Raine invited.

The Edwardses’ loss was still raw, and they were mourning. Hell, they all were, but if Jesse’s death had taught them anything, it was the need to hold close the things that were important. Family and friends. And that’s what today was about.

Mac was supposed to head back to New York on Monday, and as for Cain, he’d finally called his manager the day before, after Charlie had begun hounding his mother. Figured he’d better, before rumors started to circulate that he’d died or disappeared somewhere over the Atlantic.

Their part in the tour was officially over. The Grind had picked up another act to continue with. After the Barcelona incident and Blake’s abrupt departure, they’d had no choice—the Glasgow show had been done with a hired drummer. But as was the way of it in this day of celebrity, the incident, captured on YouTube and the like, had generated even more buzz.

He’d nearly started a riot, and it had only served to enhance BlackRock’s profile. What the future brought was up to him, and as the weight of it pressed on him, Cain grimaced. His next move would be critical, and that begged the question, could he handle it on his own? His entire career had been linked to Blake.

Cain sighed and rubbed the scruff on his chin. Christ, he didn’t want to think about that right now. For the moment he was free, not due in the studio until the fall. Seemed like a distraction was in order. Again his thoughts turned to Maggie.

He arched a brow at Jake and asked the question he’d been pondering since the day before. “When are you heading back to Afghanistan?”

Jake drained the last of his beer, crushed the can in his hands, and looked across the lake toward home. “I’m not.” Jake’s face was hard, his eyes dark as he turned to Cain. “We should head back.”

The conversation was over, and Cain knew enough to let it go. “Sure. Sounds good.” He cracked a smile. “It’s not like we caught anything.”

Several boats dotted the lake. The sun’s intensity had increased in the last hour or so, and cottage country had come alive. The shoreline was dotted with a thick carpet of trees and the seasonal cottages that surrounded the public beach near the south side.

Jake turned their boat north, which was where his family’s home was located. It was the premier spot on Crystal Lake, and the homes that claimed the north shoreline belonged to residents of the town who could afford to live there—which weren’t many—or new money that had come to town from the city.

Cain grabbed his old worn and dog-eared Boston Bruins cap off the seat beside him and pulled it down onto his head. It looked like shit, but then, it had rested in peace, tucked away inside Old Smoky for years.

The ride to the Edwardses’ took less than five minutes, and as they pulled up to the boathouse, he noticed a boy on the beach. A little guy with russet curls, pale skin, and bright green swim trunks. Behind him, up near the gazebo, a woman stood, hands shading her eyes as she glanced toward them, her long, dark hair drifting on the breeze.

His gut flipped and rolled like he was sixteen again, sniffing around the skirts of Shannon Graham, his first crush. He’d been pathetic then, and damn if he didn’t feel a flush creep up his neck now.

Cain rubbed his jaw and let his shaded eyes drink in the simple beauty that Maggie exuded. It was easy to do—the woman was wearing a black bikini. Not a skimpy number like the ones his ex used to favor. This one covered all the parts that should be covered, but as his gaze wandered her creamy flesh, he felt his groin tighten. Her breasts were a touch more than a handful—just what he liked—and though she was slender, her belly was softly rounded, the way a woman’s should be.

But it was the bottoms that snagged his attention. Hello. They were boy cuts. Christ, there was nothing sexier than a woman nestled inside a pair of tight black boy shorts. She turned and spoke to Raine, and his eyes lingered on the soft swell of her ass, the length of her toned legs.

“Your little redhead sure as hell fills out a bathing suit.” Mac smacked him on the back before jumping onto the dock.

Cain glared at his friend and ignored the snort Jake emitted as he leaped onto the dock and glanced toward the gazebo. Cain’s gaze rested on Maggie, lingered on the miracle that was her boy shorts, and desire rushed through him, fast and hot. He clenched his teeth together tightly.

She sure as hell did.

Chapter 7

“You didn’t tell me they were going to be here.” Maggie tossed a towel onto one of the chaise lounge chairs and set her beach bag on the ground. She’d followed Raine to a shaded area beneath a large canopy near the beach, and they were settling in for the day.

“Who?” Raine glanced toward the boathouse and turned to Maggie. Her pale skin was translucent, paper-thin, and the smudges beneath her eyes shadowed a soft gray. Raine shrugged. “I didn’t think it mattered.”

Maggie turned away, rummaging through her bag for God knows what, but intent on looking busy. Occupied. Hard to do, when all she could focus on was the man who—she chanced a glance over her shoulder—was still looking in her direction. Her heart skipped a beat, and she knew she was blushing again.