Natches watched curiously as Dawg prowled the living room and the kitchen.
“When did you start checking up on me?” Natches leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest as he watched Dawg.
“When you came back from Iraq and started actin’ brick dumb.” Dawg grunted as he turned to face him. “You know, I always wondered what the hell made you so much harder while you were gone. What did she do to you? Screw around on you? And you’re heading right back into trouble with her?”
Natches stood still. “You don’t want to go there, Dawg,” he told him carefully. “Chaya’s not the reason for however the hell I was acting or whatever I may have done. I didn’t poke my nose into your hijinks with Crista, so I’d suggest you stay out of my relationship with Chaya.”
“Relationship?” Dawg narrowed his eyes on him. “You’ve never had a relationship in your life, Natches. Are you sure you know what the hell you’re doing here?”
Natches uncrossed his arms enough to scratch at his jaw and remember the fact that he had forgotten to shave. Again. But his cousin’s attitude was bothering him more than the growth of beard on his cheek. Dawg had been acting strange ever since he had learned Chaya was back in town.
“Did you know what the hell you were doing with Crista?” he finally asked. “Come on, Dawg; you blackmailed her into sleeping with you. Did I give you grief over it?”
Dawg grimaced at that. He stood there in his jeans, shit-kicker boots, and that perfectly pressed long-sleeved shirt of his and glared at Natches again.
“Why is Agent Dane back here anyway?”
Natches shrugged. “Tying up loose ends is what I hear. What do you hear?”
“I hear Cranston’s running another op,” he snapped. “And Agent Dane is smack in the middle of it. Did she let you in on that little piece of information?”
“We didn’t exactly get around to discussing it,” Natches informed him. “First you and Rowdy broke down the door to my nice warm apartment, and once I got back here, I wasn’t exactly in the mood to fight with her. What the f**k is your problem anyway? You’re acting like a worried father. I didn’t exactly stay out past curfew.” He smirked at the thought. “Man, Crista is so domesticating you that it isn’t even funny.”
And damned if a flash of pride didn’t hit Dawg’s expression, rather than anger at what he would have once termed an insult.
“Look,” Natches breathed out in irritation. “I know you and Rowdy have been following me around like a spy after secrets. You can stop now, okay? I’m a big boy. I do real good on my own.”
“Until Agent Dane hit your life?” Dawg snapped. “I’ve been doing some checking. Before that bullet took out your shoulder, Natch, you were self-destructing like hell. Taking every mean-assed suicide assignment you could find. Why? And why the hell did it come around just months after you rescued some blond agent from a hellhole in the Iraqi desert? Tell me that agent wasn’t the same one messing your head up now.”
Natches was quiet for long, silent seconds. He stared at his cousin, promising himself he wasn’t going to lose his temper. If he lost his temper, then he’d miss Chaya. And on top of that, he and Dawg would end up whipping on each other with enough force to leave both of them bruised and limping for days. Nope. Wasn’t going to happen.
“Lock up when you leave.” He turned and walked out the door before stepping from the small deck onto the floating walk.
He heard Dawg curse behind him, and he ignored it. His cousin was fishing, and Natches wasn’t biting. It was Dawg’s favorite means of getting answers from Natches, and it used to work. Piss him off and get him fighting. He didn’t give a damn what he said to Dawg or Rowdy then. He would just spill his guts right there in the middle of a fight.
Natches grinned at the thought. Hell, those were the days. Before the Marines, when they were young and wild and filled with too much damned ego. Long ago and far away. More than eight damned years ago.
As he dug his keys out of his pocket and moved from the docks to the parking lot, he glanced back down the marina, flashed Dawg a smile, and lifted his hand in farewell. His cousin was standing there with his hands propped on his hips, and even from where he stood, Natches could see the scowl on his face.
Dawg had never liked Chaya, and Natches knew why. His older cousin had spent too many years trying to protect his younger cousins. Seeing Chaya again last year had ripped Natches’s guts out. It had torn into him knowing she wasn’t ready to push past all that pain inside her yet, knowing it wasn’t time to claim her. And unfortunately, Dawg had witnessed Natches’s struggle; he just hadn’t been positive who the woman was.
Sometimes it concerned Natches, the way he knew things about Chaya. Knew when to push her, when to just hold her. It was in her eyes, those needs she had, swirling in the golden depths. And the harder she fought it, the more she needed.
Last night, she had been like a firecracker ready to explode before he had even touched her. Those pretty golden brown eyes had been frosty, her expression closed, every line in her body straining to hold distance between them. Because what she felt scared her, scared her all the way to the bottom of her soul, and she knew it.
He unlocked his jeep and pushed the key in the ignition as he considered that, and the implications of it. Maybe Dawg had reason to worry, because Natches had a feeling he was only just beginning to realize how far over his head he was with Chaya. He was very much afraid that he just might love her.
Dawg watched Natches drive away and shook his head before jumping the short distance between Natches’s deck and his own. And Crista was waiting for him, standing in the door, watching him curiously as he cast another scowl back at Natches.
“Well, you’re still in one piece anyway.” She looked up and down his body, her eyes twinkling in her still-pale face.
“You should be lying back down.” He let his gaze sweep over her now, his heart softening in his chest even as his c**k hardened in his jeans. Damn what this woman could do to him.
“I’m feeling a little bit better.” She shrugged, looking away from him before turning and moving back into the houseboat.
“It’s too cool outside for you to be standing in the doorway like that.” He closed the door before frowning.
Maybe it was time to move out to the house. It was almost finished. He could push the contractors and get the carpet laid sooner than the spring date they had quoted him. A little extra money and they’d come out sooner. It hadn’t been too cold last year, but still cold enough that she had insisted on wearing too many clothes. And the walkway had gotten icy a few times. He didn’t want to risk her falling into the water.