Cal drove his SUV around the back of the fairly large house sitting on five acres and parked. He took a moment to reach for his phone to text JJ and let him know that he’d arrived at the Greens’ safe and sound.
He’d call his friend later and let him know what he’d found out after talking with Carla, but for now, he took a second to enjoy the silence that surrounded him. Closing his eyes, Cal took a deep breath. What he really wanted to do was turn around and drive right back to Maine. To sit in his quiet house and be left alone. But he hadn’t been able to say no to his mom.
He and his parents had a complicated relationship with the royal family back in Liechtenstein. His mom and dad had left the country after she’d been knocked over by a member of the media when she’d been pregnant with him. They hadn’t been trying to take pictures of her but rather the queen and king, and his mom had simply been in the way. That had been the last straw for his dad, and he’d moved them to England.
The queen and king hadn’t been happy, but it wasn’t as if his dad was ever going to be king. He was so far down the succession line, it would be nearly impossible for him to rise to the top. They’d lived a peaceful life in London, only going back to their home country now and then for official functions.
Cal had joined the British Army, becoming intrigued by a team of Delta Force Operatives he’d seen in action while overseas. Strings had been pulled, agreements made, and not long after, Cal had found himself in the US, training to become a Delta. It was hard work, grueling at times, but he’d done it. He was assigned to work with Chappy, Bob, and JJ.
Cal had never clicked with anyone the way he had with his teammates. The men became inseparable, and when they’d made the decision to get out of the military after being taken hostage, there hadn’t been any question in Cal’s mind that he’d go wherever the others did.
They’d settled in Maine—after Cal had won a game of rock paper scissors—and had established Jack’s Lumber, a tree service. And while the work was difficult, especially with the relentless chronic pain Cal suffered day after day, he had been satisfied and mostly content for three long years.
Opening his eyes, Cal sighed. He was stalling. He needed to go inside and talk to Carla Green and her mother. Get some facts, see what kind of evidence she had, assess how serious the threat was. His cousin Karl had always been an overdramatic kid. When he’d stubbed his toe, he yelled and cried as if someone had chopped it off. When he’d gotten an A minus on a test, he’d expected everyone to treat him as if he’d just cured cancer. He fell madly in love with each of his girlfriends and went into a monthlong sulk when they broke up.
Cal didn’t know if Karl and Carla had truly only met on the internet, but he was mostly certain his cousin was simply being overly dramatic once again when he’d gone up the chain of relatives to get him to do his bidding.
Wiping a hand over his face, Cal took another deep breath before leaning over and opening the glove box. He shook out two aspirin and swallowed them dry, praying they’d make a dent in the throbbing in his head.
He reached for the door handle and climbed out of his SUV. He arched his back, trying to stretch out the kinks from sitting still for so long. Wincing at the way his movement pulled against the scars all over his torso, Cal sighed.
Every day, every movement, reminded him of the hell he’d been through. His friends had done what they could to turn their captors’ attention to themselves, but once they’d realized who they had in their clutches, they’d been positively gleeful. They’d laughed as they cut him, as they’d beaten him, as they’d turned on their video cameras to show the world how low a real-life prince had fallen.
Forcing his thoughts away from the not-too-distant past, Cal started to head back around toward the front of the house before movement caught his attention.
A woman exited through a side door of the house, carrying a trash bag and heading toward a bin directly opposite. Cal instinctively took a single step back, concealing himself behind the house as he studied her. She was small, perhaps a full foot shorter than his six-foot-one frame, and full figured . . . with the kind of curves Cal loved. Probably because he’d grown up around the opposite—skinny women who did whatever was necessary in order to fit into designer dresses, to resemble society’s version of what a pretty woman should look like.
Regardless, he’d always been far more attracted to women who carried some meat on their bones. He loved how they felt against him, under him, how their full tits jiggled and bounced, how their thighs and rounded stomachs were so soft in his hands. A Rubenesque woman was the epitome of sexiness.