Page 22 of Ace (The Deuces Wild #4)

There was no way Keller could understand, not given his preconceived mental constructs. To him, everything was either black or white. There was only man’s law, man’s view of the world—as if mankind knew everything. But really. Psychic or fortune teller? Those were her choices?

Savannah filled the last bowl with kibble, set it down in the corner of Sir Galahad’s kennel where he wouldn’t spill it, then straightened the kinks out of her lower back while he ate.

It’d been a relief when Keller loaded the dogfood and shuttled the wheelbarrow from kennel to kennel.

Those bags were heavy. Then he’d volunteered to feed the cats in the next barn over, cutting her immediate chores in half.

But the funeral home would need to hear from her soon.

They’d have questions, and she needed to get back to Gran Mere’s place before night fell .

Running her hand lovingly over the knots and scars on top of sweet Galahad’s hard head while he ate, she told her sweet boy, “Will that last you while I go into town to take care of business?”

The happy dog broke from noisily snuffling, slurping, and inhaling the last of his food to give her a slobbery, comical grin of appreciation. Where once he would’ve snarled at her close proximity to his food, now he smiled.

When he’d been a pup, starvation had been his original owner’s cruel brand of discipline, making his daily allotment of dried kibble the prize he now protected at all cost. He’d quickly established that he’d fight—maybe kill—for food. Thankfully, he trusted Savannah.

But he still went after his food like a steam shovel gobbled up derelict buildings. Instead of leisurely enjoying it, he lowered his massive lower jaw into his bowl and didn’t stop swallowing and scooping until every last crumb was gone. Poor baby had a definite eating disorder.

Here at Sanctuary, Savannah fed all dogs inside their locked kennels. If any of them thought for one moment he was big enough to fight in the common yard, she simply sent them a stern, mental push that let them know who was boss. Her. End of story.

If only she could do the same for Keller.

He’d grown quiet before he’d left for the cat barn.

Morose. No doubt worrying about those guys in the truck or those alligators.

That odd coming together perplexed Savannah too, especially the scary, long-snouted creature.

That fellow looked like he’d stepped straight out of prehistoric times.

Backing out of Sir Galahad’s kennel and making certain his door was securely fastened, Savannah ran smack into her favorite Secret Agent. A hearty ‘Oomph!’ wheezed out of him as they collided, her butt to his very nice—zipper.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you come back. You’re so quiet.” Flustered, she turned and cupped his shoulder to catch her balance, then let go just as quickly, avoiding contact he didn’t seem to want.

He stood there looking down at her. Not reaching out.

Not offering a hand to steady her. His arms long and lank at his sides.

The poor man needed a shower, yet he’d pitched in and fed the three dozen cats she housed, mostly because he hadn’t wanted her stepping outside the safety of the barn until he could walk her into the house. Until he could protect her.

Savannah peered up at her knight in shining armor, her hummingbird of a heart high in her throat again, fluttering to get out. It was funny. She’d never needed saving before Keller came along, but she felt that way now.

Peppermint breath drifted into her face as he stood there staring down at her with a definite tick in the muscle of his square and oh, so stubborn jaw.

Clean-shaven, his hair trimmed extra-short enough to still look neat and combed despite the brownish stain of swamp water embedded in his scalp, the man was unbelievably handsome in a breathtaking way.

Ruggedly sexy, he gave off the lethal aura of a mankiller, yet she knew different.

Keller was a protector more than a predator. He was ‘that guy.’

“Ready for a shower?” she asked as perkily as she could.

It took all her willpower to not take that last step forward into his arms. To not touch him.

He’d hold her if she did, but he’d do it out of duty, and Savannah didn’t want that.

She’d just lost the only person in her life who’d truly meant something. She didn’t need a dutiful placeholder.

But if he were to kiss her…? If he were to reach out and pull her to him…?

His nostrils flared as if he’d heard her thoughts.

“When we walk out that door, you will stay glued to my side, understood? We will not run, but we will not dally. If I tell you to hit the dirt, you will not argue or hesitate. You will obey me in all things, at least until I get you inside your house. Do you understand, Savannah?”

Interesting. He hadn’t used a single contraction. He must really mean what he’s saying. She nodded, wondering if this supreme alpha male expected argument and disobedience once they were safely inside the house. That might be fun.

But his lips were set in a grim line that brooked no argument.

His amber eyes burned with a cruel golden light, all but stabbing her with their intensity.

Even the straight blade of his nose seemed sharper.

Surer. He meant to keep her safe, and he meant for her to listen.

And he’d ignored her question about showering—not that she’d intended they could shower together, but. ..

That too might be interesting .

Darn. Why was she fixated on getting naked with Agent Boniface? He was just another pretty face. So what if they were standing like nervous teenagers inside each other’s comfort zones? That didn’t mean anything. So what if she was drooling? That didn’t mean anything, either.

Savannah couldn’t help but smile. This fierce federal agent meant for her to live. Self-consciously, she brushed the back of her hand over her chin in case she was drooling.

“Ready?” he asked as he unholstered both pistols, plastered her firmly against his side under his arm, and…

She closed her eyes, relishing her fantasy come true as his body heat enveloped her. Together they walked to the front of the barn. My goodness, he was a long, lean drink of sexy warm water. Her hand went automatically around the small of his back, holding onto her own personal Secret Agent Man.

Leaning into the door jamb, Keller opened the door just enough to peer through the crack.

Savannah couldn’t see past his broad shoulder or arm.

But the way his jacket slipped open, revealing his swamp dampened shirt, and the way that shirt rippled against the taut muscles it encased.

.. Sweet Mother Mary. It took every last bit of control not to flatten her other hand to his belly—just to touch him again—to feel those solid abs.

Everything about this guy warmed her insides and other places. “Is anyone out there?” she squeaked .

The tick in his jaw jumped as he studied the lawn between here and the deck off the rear of her house. “We won’t know until we’re outside.”

Savannah could’ve stood there for the rest of her life.

No man had ever cared for her like Keller did.

So what if he was just doing his job? If this stolen moment of semi-intimacy was all she’d ever have of him, so be it.

She’d relish it as long as it lasted, and when it was over, long after he’d left Louisiana and gone back to Washington, DC, it’d be one of those rare memories she’d tell her kids about in years to come.

Maybe her grandkids, too, though fat chance of having any of either.

A gal needed a social life that included adult men rather than just rescued animals and birds if she wanted to end up with children. A date once in a while would be nice.

So yeah. She swallowed hard and faced her truth. This stolen moment with all her dogs watching was as good as it was going to get.

“Promise you’ll do as I asked,” Keller growled, still not looking at her. Still wound as tight as the homerun pitch in the last game of World Series playoffs.

Always. “Yeah. Sure,” she breathed against his neck. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

Tucking her tighter against his body, he shoved the door open.

And they ran.

She kept her head down.

He kept her moving.

Just as they reached the steps up to her deck, he grabbed hold of the railing and stopped cold.

She felt it too. A strong, hard mental push, this one from Keller, restraining her.

Tugging her backward. “Stop!” he ordered as he whirled around, his pistol aimed alongside the right of the barn.

“Shit. Get down, Savannah. Don’t watch!”

Watch what? She crouched, frightened but not sure what she wasn’t supposed to watch, him shooting someone or him dying. Either way, she could not obey that order. Until she felt the hundredth-of-a-second inhale at her back. Until her modest, I-built-it-myself house sucked in upon itself and—

WHOOSH!

Savannah ducked, her hands over her ears and her eyes closed as the house she’d turned into a home some four years back belched out a thunderous stream of dragon fire over her head.

Keller tackled her to the patio like a linebacker nailing the winning quarterback.

His broad, muscular body took the brunt of the debris hurtling over them.

Shards of splintered wood and broken glass.

Dust of sheetrock. Ragged remnants of the brand-new curtains that had, just seconds before draped the sliders, pummeled her cheek and the backs of her hands, now wrapped around Keller’s waist.

He had to be pulverized by now. Yet still he blanketed her, on his belly like a penitent, his thick arms tucked around her head, shielding her face and eyes. His elbows dug into the concrete patio, his fingers interlocked over her hair. Blessing her. Keeping her from harm. Saving her yet again .

“My house,” she cried even as she rubbed her nose over his collarbone. “My birds! I have to—”