Love So Irresistible Read online

  Love So Irresistible

  The Lawson Brothers: Book Three

  By

  Marquita Valentine

  Love So Irresistible

  Copyright © 2015 by Marquita Valentine

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without express permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or any events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  www.marquitavalentine.com

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  Love So Irresistible

  The Lawson Brothers

  Book 3

  All former Navy SEAL Mason Lawson craves is solitude. Unfortunately, his new neighbor won’t allow him the peace he so desperately needs. Between the traffic and the music, Mason is constantly on edge—not exactly what the doctor ordered for someone recovering from a couple of bullets to the leg. However, when he finally has enough and confronts his neighbor, nothing can prepare him for how hot he’d get for the teacher next door.

  Piano teacher Skylar Jernigan loves everything about Jessamine—from the quaint Main Street shops to the people who own them. Unfortunately, once she’s chewed up and spit out by her sexy neighbor, Skylar begins to question her decision to move to a new town. Until, that is, she learns he’s suffering from a war wound and refuses to have anything to do with his family.

  Now Skylar is determined to help Mason recover—mentally, physically, and socially—until he turns the tables and sets out to seduce Skylar right out of her meddling ways. Only seduction turns into something more and soon, Mason can’t stop looking for excuses to be with her. But when the Navy wants Mason to reenlist for a dangerous mission, will Skylar be too irresistible for him to leave?

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  About the Book

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek at Love So Tempting

  Read More Books by Marquita Valentine

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  ‡

  Mason Lawson hated being home again. He hated the parties, the parades, his brother and Bailey’s idiotic wedding, and having to smile at people who wouldn’t leave him the hell alone.

  That was all he wanted.

  Isolation.

  Peace.

  Quiet.

  Death.

  Music blared from next door, from a house that should be empty, but wasn’t because the lady who had lived there for the past century had the nerve to meet her heavenly reward and leave the damn thing to her children.

  Those rat bastards had the nerve to sell it to a music teacher of all people, and not the kind who taught at school, either. Oh no, her instruments were at her house because school was out for the summer. Worse, they were being played by kids with skills that rivaled Bomber’s.

  That’s it. He was calling. Mason dialed her number and waited impatiently for her to pick up the phone.

  Surprisingly, she picked up on the first ring. “Hello.”

  “Turn down your damn music, or I’ll call the sheriff and have him do it for you.”

  “Who is this?”

  “Your neighbor. The one you should be considerate of,” he bit out, uncaring of how sexy of a phone voice she had. He wouldn’t pay attention to her sexy phone voice.

  “Oh. Mason Lawson. How nice to finally talk to you. Last weekend, I saw you strolling around in your yard and said ‘hello’, but you didn’t hear me.”

  He didn’t stroll. He limped. And he sure as hell didn’t hear her say anything to him. “I heard you,” he lied. “I didn’t want to answer in case you took it as an invitation to tea.”

  There was a pause. “I see.”

  “Good. Now I want you to hear. Stop encouraging those tone-deaf brats. Some of us need some peace around here.” He would have slammed down his phone if he could, but the damn thing was a cell, so he had to settle for mashing the crap out of the end button instead.

  Violins started up again, and he cursed up a blue streak. Bomber, his four-year-old golden retriever, blew out a breath through his nose and rested his head on Mason’s thigh, as if to say, “Women. What do you expect?”

  A trombone joined in.

  He winced and covered his ears like a two-year-old who didn’t want to hear what anyone had to say.

  Which lately, wasn’t too far from the truth.

  But everyone had something to say—from his doctors, to his psychologist, to his parents. Sometimes his brothers—especially Tristan, but who could blame his twin for being concerned? Then again, Tristan believed they were connected by some force, like in Star Wars. Only, Mason was pretty sure he was Darth Vader.

  He glanced down at his Vader is my Homeboy t-shirt.

  Another reason why people wanted to talk to him. His sense of irony wasn’t having the effect he wanted.

  Like, keeping them away.

  Sure, the majority of them meant well, while the minority wanted to get paid, but he was over it.

  He was over it all.

  A bottle of whiskey sat half empty on the table beside him. He hated the taste, but it made putting up with his neighbor’s racket much, much easier.

  Besides, he couldn’t get addicted to it like he could the drugs his docs prescribed. Well, he could get addicted, but that wasn’t his point. He didn’t want to get addicted. He didn’t want to depend on drugs to get him through his day.

  His bleary gaze caught a flash of light from the whiskey bottle. Yeah, yeah, he got his hypocrisy.

  Boom. Boom. Ratta-tat-tat Ratta-tat-tat

  “Oh, hell no.” He was not going to listen to a marching band all summer. That was enough to make him down the entire bottle of Percocet in one sitting.

  Gripping the arms of his chair, he pushed up to a standing position. Bomber backed up a little. His arms strained as he tried to keep the majority of his weight on his right leg. It didn’t come easily to him—not only was he left handed, he was left-side dominant.

  Something he worked hard on getting rid of during SEAL boot camp. A SEAL had to be able to work with both hands if necessary.

  His foot slipped, and pain shot through his leg like a bullet. “Son of a bitch,” he breathed.

  Reaching for his stupid walking stick—he refused to call it a cane—he hobbled outside, squinting at the fiery orb of light in the sky.

  Sun, his brain reminded him.

  You don’t say.

  This is why we can’t have nice things.

  He laughed at his own joke. Bomber walked beside him, keeping his pace matched to Mason’s. “Good job, buddy,” he remembered to say.

  Bomber didn’t respond to that. He was too busy working. Mason admired a man with a mission. Or a dog, in Bomber’s case.

  Navigating through gravel consisting of rocks and bits of oyster shell wasn’t easy, but he managed.

  Boom. Bo
om.

  “I think I can. I think I can,” he muttered in time to the beat. Before he deployed more times than he could count, he’d liked music. Appreciated the way just the right song could get a beautiful girl out on the dance floor. In fact, there were many things he used to appreciate about life until a roadside bomb had turned everything to shit.

  Boom. Boom.

  It no longer sounded like drums to him.

  Crash!

  Mason dove for cover, wrapping his arms around his startled dog as he rolled to one side. He heard a snap in his leg, and then a man roaring in pain.

  The Lord is my shepherd, he began to recite in his head as he canvassed the area.

  He is my staff. He blinked but everything was blurry, except for that ball of fire in the sky.

  He sustains me. Air blew from his chest. Jesus. I can’t do this again.

  His heart kicked against his ribs. Bomber wriggled in his arms, but he couldn’t let go. He couldn’t let go. He refused to let go.

  A dark shadow appeared over him. A woman, his brain registered.

  I’m dead, was his second thought. He had no gun, no way to defend himself from her. Worse, he’d been trained to take out the enemy, and the enemy was everyone where he went—men, women, and children. It didn’t matter. Not in a time of war. The enemy compelled everyone to fight.

  Fight or die. Fight or watch your children die. Your wife. Your village.

  But he didn’t want to kill another person. He couldn’t. He refused.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, kneeling beside him.

  Cool, questioning fingers touched his brow, and he sucked in a breath. “Lieutenant Mason Lawson, United States Navy 223387465.”

  “Is there someone I can get? Someone in the house?” Her palm lay flat against his cheek. “You’re burning up. Jena Lynn, call 911.”

  “Lieutenant, Mason Lawson, United States Navy, 1223387465,” he repeated.

  “You’ll be all right, Mason.”

  His mind latched onto his name. Letting go of Bomber, he grabbed her wrist. “Don’t leave me.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Don’t leave.”

  “I’m here.” She bent over him, giving his skin solace from the sun. This close, he could make out the dark brown waves of her short hair. Her eyes were like the forest. Cool and dark. He’d always liked the forest.

  She began to hum, a song he recognized. The enemy wouldn’t sing to him, would she?

  “My darling, Clementine,” she sang to him and he closed his eyes, letting her voice comfort him.

  “I hate that song,” he finally said when she was done. “The guy in it cheats on Clementine with her sister and forgets all about her. He has no loyalty. None.”

  Sirens blared in the distance. Reason and clarity fired shots into his brain, making the fog dissipate.

  “Tell me one you love,” the woman said. Her speaking voice was almost as lovely as her singing one. He hadn’t heard lovely anything in a very long time.

  “Tom Dooley.”

  “You want me to sing about a guy who murdered his love?”

  “I’m perverse like that.”

  “Tell me your second favorite song.”

  He stared at her shoulder. “I can’t think of any.”

  With a little sigh, she wiped the corners of his eyes. “There, you won’t have tears when the paramedics get here.”

  Tears. He’d been crying? “SEALS don’t cry.”

  “They really don’t,” she agreed. Her hand brushed his hair back. It had grown out since he’d come home, but he always shaved his face. Always.

  Jaw clenching, he turned to one side, becoming up close and personal with cleavage that was so fine it could make an entire platoon of SEALS cry. And lucky him, he was so close that if he wanted to, he could kiss it. Or at least the beauty mark on the right side.

  The woman cleared her throat. “If you turn the other way, you’ll get a better view.”

  “Not too sure I agree with you,” he said.

  “Turn the other way, soldier, and that’s an order,” she said in her best teacher voice.

  Automatically, he turned with a ‘yes ma’am’. “Not a soldier,” he growled.

  She rewarded him with another caress, and he figured she could call him whatever she wanted as long as she kept that up. The last time someone had touched his body, they’d shoved a needle in him.

  “Seems funny that we’ve been living beside each other for months now, yet this if the first time we’ve met in person. I’m sorry about that. I should have come over a lot sooner and introduced myself.”

  That glorious cleavage belonged to his sorry-of-an-excuse-for-a-neighbor neighbor? The same one he’d just had a phone conversation with?

  Glowering, he struggled to sit up and get a better look at her. “You’re the one making all the racket?”

  “Don’t try to get up. You’ve hurt your leg. It’s bleeding.”

  He stilled immediately. “I was shot twice. Still have shrapnel that needs to work its way out.” The remnants of the bullets that had shattered on impact with his femur were too close to a major artery. The doctors at the VA were hesitant to operate on him again.

  “Maybe your fall helped.”

  Was she out of her mind?

  “I’m Skylar by the way. Skylar Jernigan.”

  “I know who you are,” he groused. “You’re the one violating the Geneva Convention by torturing me with music—and I’m being generous with the description.”

  Her pretty eyes narrowed. “I teach children. The same children who saw you fall and rushed to tell me.”

  “Then let them go work with the gossip editor at the Jessamine Daily. Obviously, they have a talent for that.”

  “If you weren’t hurt—” She smashed her lips together and looked up.

  He looked up too, but at her. Studying her profile, he took in her stubborn chin and full mouth. Her soft skin was lightly tanned by the sun and dark, wavy hair fell just below her jaw.

  Her neck was willowy. Graceful. Made for turning just so and nibbling. Leaving a love bite.

  He blinked. No matter how good she looked, or how hard he must have hit his head to notice, it didn’t change the fact that she was annoying as hell. And didn’t listen for shit, either.

  “You have to change your hours,” he ordered.

  “Buy a pair of earplugs,” she said sweetly. “Ah, the EMT is here.”

  He groaned. “Not him, too.”

  “One of your brothers?”

  “Cousin. Preston. He’s a horn dog.”

  “Thanks. Nice name. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  If he didn’t like her, he would have.

  But he didn’t.

  He especially didn’t like how her hands kept running through his hair, as if she were trying to soothe him. He didn’t need soothing. He needed peace.

  She lightly scratched her nails against his scalp and almost had him purring like a kitten.

  Fine, he needed soothing.

  Bomber paced beside them, whining every so often. So much for treating the dog right. “Here,” Mason said softly.

  Bomber rushed to him, his wet nose fitting right under Mason’s palm. “Sorry, buddy,” he apologized, not giving a damn that Skylar had a front-row seat to his apology. Well, he could leave her lap, but why bother when she felt so good, and Preston was almost on top of them with a gurney anyway. Seemed pointless to move. Maybe even unsafe.

  He was all about safety these days.

  “Guess this is episode number…what are we up to now—unlucky thirteen?” Preston said.

  Mason flipped him off.

  Skylar sucked in a breath. She couldn’t tear her gaze from the man cradled against her as he talked in low tones to his dog.

  Mason Lawson was a good-looking man with dark blond hair and blue eyes that were as dark as indigo. Full lips with a small, jagged scar through the bottom corner gave him a dangerous vibe. But the wet places she’d missed wiping off his face re
minded her of the vulnerability she’d just witnessed.

  As long as she lived, she’d never get the sound of him crying for help, for his momma, for his twin brother Tristan, and finally, for God to have mercy on him out of her head.

  “Please don’t let me take another life,” he had whispered as she held him. “I love my country, but I can’t.”

  It tore at her heart, ripped it to pieces…so she left it, right there beside him in case he needed the parts to mend his. Not with romantic love—she didn’t know him like that.

  His cousin, Preston, got to him first, checking his vitals while asking questions Mason obviously didn’t feel like answering.

  “I fell, damn it,” he growled. “Either strap me to the gurney and drive me to the hospital, or I’ll drive myself.”

  “Let me do my job, and I’ll get you to the hospital,” Preston said.

  Mason grabbed Preston’s wrist. “No sharing with Brody, or Mom and Dad. And especially not Tristan.”

  She didn’t know what was going on, or if Preston had been called out here before while she was away or subbing at Jessamine Elementary.

  But she did recognize a fellow human in need. And if ever did another human being need some love, it was Mason Lawson.

  “How will you get home if I don’t share you’re in the hospital?”

  Mason grew silent. His face flushed.

  “I’ll come get him.”

  Both men swung identical blue eyes her way. No, not identical. Mason’s were a much deeper blue, ringed with black at the center.

  She smiled, but it was awkward. However, she carried through with her hasty decision anyway. “Really, it’s no problem. After my students are picked up by their parents, I’ll drive straight to County Med.”

  Preston narrowed his eyes at her, shining a light in her face. “How hard did you hit your head?”

  She batted his hand away. “I didn’t hit mine.”

  “Could’ve fooled me,” Preston grumbled, checking Mason’s leg.

  “I’m not deaf, you damned idiot.” Wincing, he smacked his cousin in the arm. “Careful, that fucking hurt.”

  “But you are stupid.”

  Mason let out a huff and settled against her. “If this is stupid, I don’t want to be smart.”