“There,” she said, pulling her mouth free. “That ought to tide us over for a while.”
Hardly. That one kiss had made his groin throb like a motherfucker. It took all his willpower to banish the surge of lust buzzing in his veins.
They headed downstairs and left the building through the rear doors that opened onto the parking lot. Neither of them said much during the drive, the silence broken only by the occasional direction from Jen. Cash absently tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as he drove north on the I-805, wishing he knew what to expect from this visit. He hated going into situations blind, and by the time he exited the interstate and followed Del Mar Heights toward Jen’s parents’ house, he was feeling tense and subdued again.
The Scott family home was nestled away from the road in a residential area. Modest-sized houses, towering oaks and well-maintained sidewalks flashed by. It was a nice area, and family friendly, judging by the multitude of bicycles and kiddie pools littering the lawns.
Cash pulled into the wide driveway and parked behind a very familiar Range Rover. He smothered a curse. Great, the LT was already here. Hopefully Carson didn’t possess some freaky sex radar that would start beeping the second he saw Cash’s face.
But hell, Jen had raised a damn good point before. Carson had no business basing his recommendation on Cash’s sex life. So what if he’d given in to his attraction to Jen? His love life had no bearing on his military expertise. He was a damn good SEAL, and his c**k played no part in that equation.
Setting his jaw, he followed Jen up the flower-lined path toward the house.
The front door swung open the second they climbed the porch and Carson’s tall frame filled the doorway, his gloomy expression serving as an omen of what lay behind the door. He nodded a distracted hello at Cash, then glanced at his sister.
“How pissed is he?” Jen asked with a sigh.
“Scale of one to ten? Seven, maybe eight.” Carson dragged a hand through his blond hair. “But it’s not directed at you. Mostly Brendan, and then me, for handling it on my own and not telling them.”
Jen frowned. “I’m handling it on my own. They should be mad at me, not you.”
Her brother shrugged. “Come on, let’s get this over with. They’re out on the patio.”
Neither Scott sibling paid Cash much attention. They simply marched down the wide hallway, leaving him to steal a quick glance here and there as he trailed after them. Family photos lined the cream-colored walls in the corridor. There was an obscene amount of shots featuring Carson in his uniform, and Cash also glimpsed a portrait featuring an older version of Carson clad in full navy regalia.
The hallway spilled into a spacious, country-style kitchen with gleaming appliances and an enormous butcher-block work island. A glass sliding door across the room led out to a cedar deck ringed by a slatted wooden railing. As they neared the door, Cash gazed beyond the deck at the manicured lawn and kidney-shaped swimming pool.
Jen’s parents were out on the deck, sitting on white wicker chairs. Both jumped to their feet when they spotted the new arrivals, and a little blonde cyclone dashed over to embrace Jen. Jen must have inherited her diminutive stature and perfect features from her mother, who looked so much like her daughter they could have been twins.
The admiral waited his turn while his wife hugged their daughter, but the hard line of his square jaw belied his patient pose. The second Jen’s mother released her, the admiral pulled her into a tight embrace.
The Scotts looked Jen up and down as if gauging her physical and mental state. Their scrutiny lasted so long Jen finally sighed. “I told you I’m fine. Stop looking at me like I’m not.”
Jen’s mother suddenly peered at Cash. “Is this him?”
“Yes,” Jen replied, sounding both irritated and amused. “Cash McCoy, these are my parents, Laura and Gary Scott.”
Cash approached the couple and stuck out his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Scott,” he said gruffly.
Laura shook his hand first. Her smile was genuinely warm. “Call me Laura, please.”
Gary leaned in for the handshake, his lips curled in a frown as he said, “Call me Admiral. Or sir.”
From the corner of his eye, Cash saw Jen rolling her eyes.
Jen’s father still had a death grip on Cash’s hand. He didn’t want to pansy out and be the first to end the shake, but he knew the older man expected it of him, and the need to get in the man’s good graces beat out Cash’s macho instincts.
He withdrew his hand, then studied Gary Scott. Six feet tall, blond hair threaded with silver, the shoulders of a linebacker and a handsome yet stern face. Commanding was the first word that came to mind. Followed by terrifying.
The admiral narrowed his pale blue eyes. “So you’re the one entrusted with the task of keeping my daughter safe.”
“Yes, sir.”
The man continued his slow appraisal, then nodded as if Cash had passed his test. “You seem competent.”
Relief flickered through him. “Thank you, sir.”
“With that said, know that if any harm comes to my daughter, I will drown you.”
Huh. So that’s where Carson got it from.
“Dad!” Jen chided, but her father had already turned away from Cash.
“Why don’t we all sit down?” Although he formed it as a question, it was clearly an order.
And although the admiral wasn’t his CO, wasn’t even active duty, in fact, Cash’s butt landed in the chair before the man even finished his sentence. So did everyone else’s butts. Which made one thing very clear—the admiral ran a tight ship here.