Page 6

Kelly

While Mr. Wildlife makes his call, I warm my fingers on my coffee mug. The way angry dark clouds whip across the gray sky, I believe the weatherman. The Nor’easter headed our way may well turn into a bomb cyclone.

Friggin’ awesome. I’ll need to fill the snow blower’s plastic gas tank, buy ice melt, and pull the chains from my vehicle’s tire well.

I’m still adding to my mental list when the sexy scientist wanders in the front door. “Hey, Kelly.”

My jaw opens to respond in kind until I realize I simply can’t. “I’m sorry. You don’t look anything like a Jack.

“No? What then?” Smiling, he bites the tip of his glove.

As he removes his outer gear, my fingertips drum the desk. “I’m not sure. Something more nebulous, more unusual.”

“Bruce Wayne? Clark Kent?” His wink makes me blush at my foolish attempt at flirting.

I blame lack of sleep for what passes from my lips next. “I know. The Incredible Hulk.”

Flexing his muscles, he chuckles, sits, then opens his laptop. Ink peeks beneath his flannel shirtsleeve rolled halfway up his forearms. A Semper Fi draws my attention.

No wonder he has that I could kill you with a spoon vibe. “What was your unit?”

“Force RECON.” His steady, unreadable blue eyes send chills down my spine.

Because he shared his service, I think it’s fair I do the same. “Second Battalion, First Division. Afghanistan.”

Strolling behind him, I pick a pine needle from his hair, surprised at the silkiness of his locks. Holy crap, for a guy who spent the night in jail, he smells delicious.

When he turns, electricity snaps between us. We’d probably still be sitting there, but a horn honks outside, reminding me I’m on duty.

Dammit. I rush out, check passports, and raise the gate. When I return, the atmosphere reminds me of the millisecond before lightning strikes.

I glance over his shoulder and point to the third garage on his screen’s list. “Ames will give you a fair price on tires.”

“Thanks.” His fingers clamp around mine, keeping me prisoner.

Again, I’m drawn into the depths of his blue eyes. I don’t believe in love—but lust? Sure. We’re both adults. Who would blame me? The sex police? Besides, after he heads back to Burlington, we never have to see each other again unless we agree to the occasional booty call. My lower lips tingle. How long has it been since the she-nub has shown interest?

My mental box makes an appearance in my mind’s eye, but I quickly set it back into the bowels of things better not thought about .

Around one, I make him a leftovers sandwich. By mid-afternoon, we’re chatting, so I move my laptop to the table, where we sneak glances and share random touches.

At one point, I picture him in my bed, kissing me in intimate places until I become wet with want. Face heated, I squirm. Eyeing me, he tilts his head and stretches before opening his legs. His body language could not be more explicit.

Just my luck. The door flies open before I can gather the courage to invite him home.

In struts my daughter. “Hey Mom, Dad claims he’s way too busy to…”

Her eyes widen, locking onto the stranger sitting at my table. “Hello. And you are?”

Mr. Wildlife rises smoothly, a hint of amusement flickering across his face, “Hi, I’m Jack. I work for Vermont Fish and Wildlife.”

My offspring turns to me, her brows lifting in a silent, s eriously, Mom?

I never allow anyone to park in my building, let alone get comfortable. She crosses her arms before relenting to take the outstretched hand. “I’m Mackenzie, but everyone calls me Mack. A pleasure meeting you.”

She grips firmly, capturing his gaze precisely like I taught her. Gurion returns the shake with easy confidence, his smile warm, not at all condescending.

Quite sure he passed the first test, I clear my throat. “You were saying something about your father?”

Mack’s face shuts down, fingers twitching at her side. “He doesn’t want me tonight. He’s too busy .”

When her voice cracks at the end, my stomach tightens. Dammit, Peter. The bastard doesn’t try to pretend anymore. His personal assistant is barely older than a babysitter, yet he ditches his daughter without a second thought.

As tears pool in her eyes, I shift forward, arms open. “C’mere. Give me a hug.”

“Eww. Mom. I’m thirteen, not six.” She dodges me like a pro and squats beside Monstro.

The white furball stretches luxuriously, arching into her touch while she buries her fingers in his thick fur. Smug as hell, the crazy feline meets my stare.

Stupid cat.

Mackenzie swipes her sleeve across her face, grabs the knapsack off her shoulder, and thunks it onto the table. “I’ll be right back.”

Spinning on her heel, she vanishes into the restroom.

As the silence settles, my guest leans back, one arm draped over the back of the chair. A few moments later, he stirs, “She’s a great kid.”

“She likes you.” My breath hitches while he scratches the feline’s head.

What would it be like to have his hands in my hair?

The traitorous feline purrs like a damn motorboat as the man smirks. “Told you. Everyone loves me, including Monstro.”

Folding my arms, I scowl at the picture of pure contentment in front of me.

I can’t believe I’m jealous of the cat.

None too soon, my daughter returns. She’s pulled her tresses into a neat ponytail. A faint sheen of lip gloss catches the light.

Oh no. She’s up to something.

Once she’s plopped onto the chair across from our visitor, she tilts her head in mock curiosity. “So, what are you doing here, Jack from Wildlife ?” Her tone is spot-on, mimicking Jake from the State Farm commercials.

While I snort, my guest raises an eyebrow. “I had a little car trouble. Your mom was kind enough to let me stay until my tires are fixed.”

My teenager hums, tapping a finger on the table like she’s considering his words carefully. With the confidence of a kid spoiled by her dad’s guilt trips, she announces, “Well, if that’s the case, why not take us out to eat?”

I groan. “Mackenzie, that’s not polite.”

She shrugs, completely unbothered.

Thankfully, Gurion chuckles. Not missing a beat, he bobs his head. “Dinner sounds like fun.”

“Wait, what?” Nonplussed, I blink to ensure I haven’t fallen into an alternate reality.

Challenge in his eyes, he places his elbows on his knees and leans forward. “Yeah. I mean, it’s only fair. Your mom saved me from being stranded in the middle of nowhere. The least I can do is buy you both a meal.”

Mack beams. “See, Mother? He doesn’t mind.”

I sigh, rubbing my temple. Clearly, my vote doesn’t count, and if I’m honest, I want to spend more time with the hot ex-Marine.

I push back from the table, shaking my head. “Fine. But if we do this, I get to pick the place.”

“Ugh. No salad bars, please.” The groan from my daughter makes me laugh. She thinks pizza sauce counts as a vegetable.

“I was hoping for steak.” The Natural Resources employee smirks as I thumb through the menus in the drawer under the coffee.

Excellent. Now they’re ganging up on me.

Before long, five o’clock rolls around, and my replacement shows up.

“Hey, squirt.” Jeremy, clad in his cow-scented plaid jacket, ruffles Mack’s hair as he steps inside.

She swats at him half-heartedly, but a grin tugs at her lips.

Shrugging off his coat, he settles behind the desk. Grabbing the logbook, his sharp gaze flicks to Mr. Gurion. Just like that, the farmer’s easygoing demeanor shifts. The death stare he levels at my guest is straight out of a sci-fi novel—cold, assessing, and terrifying.

“Anything noteworthy I should be aware of?” He scratches his salt-and-pepper beard, his attention still locked on Jack.

“Nope. Same ol’, same ol’.” I suppress a sigh while maintaining a neutral expression. The town grapevine has undoubtedly worked overtime, spinning his arrest last night into something far more interesting than the truth.

Jeremy grunts but doesn’t appear convinced. “What about Rob? Have you heard from him yet?”

His question twists my stomach. Dante isn’t only my boss—he’s one of Jeremy’s best friends. The fact he’s gone radio silent concerns us both.

I shake my head. “To be honest, I’m starting to worry.”

My friend and coworker exhales, settling his heavy frame into the desk chair. “I wouldn’t. You know how he gets.”

His comment doesn’t quell the acid burning my esophagus. “Yeah, I suppose.”

Eyeing me for a moment, he smirks. “Are you going for his job when he retires?”

“Me? Hell, no.” My laugh, more like a seal’s bark, makes me slap a hand to my mouth. “I like my cushy position.”

Jeremy chuckles. “Me too. Besides, I’ve got a farm to run.”

Done changing the guard, we say our goodbyes and race to the car. As I blast the heat, Jack’s phone buzzes.

“Yup, okay. Thank you… We’ll pick it up after dinner. I will. Bye.” He shoots me a warm smile. “My car’s finished. If you wouldn’t mind, can you drop me off on your way home?”

“Sure.” My grip tightens on the wheel while a strange pang of disappointment settles in my chest. Not that it matters—with my daughter sleeping at my place tonight, sex is officially off the table.

Just as well.

But still… the thought of a quick tumble had been enticing.

After a twenty-minute drive, we settle into a booth at The Old Barn. The warm scent of grilled meat and seasoned fries fills the air, mingling with the muffled hum of conversation.

I order a light beer, our host goes for the local brew on tap, and Mack gets a Diet Coke. As we dig into our burgers, the door swings open.

Oh fuck. My mouth freezes mid-bite.

John Bourdin strides inside, scanning the room like he owns it.

Shrinking in my seat, I casually let my napkin slide off my lap, hoping—praying—he doesn’t notice me.

No such luck.

By the time I straighten, the man of my nightmares beelines to our table.

Frowning, the former Marine shifts closer. As his arm brushes against mine, his body coils. His hands may rest at his sides, but I don’t miss the tension in his fingers.

Quietly for me, he mutters, “Your ex?”

“No. He’s nobody,” I whisper back. “Say nothing. Let me handle this.”

Before John can open his obnoxious pie-hole and ruin my evening, Jack slips an elbow around my waist, pulling me into a kiss. A real one. Not a polite, let’s-make-this-convincing peck.

Nope.

Firm, demanding lips claim mine. His tongue teases the seam of my mouth until it parts. As his left hand slides up to cradle the back of my neck, he holds me in place to deepen the connection.

Moaning softly, my brain misfires. Synapses crackle as if stepping onto thin ice—my sole excuse for melting into him. When we finally come up for air, my thirteen-year-old applauds.

Only seconds have passed, yet, in that time, Bourdin’s face has turned an alarming shade of purple. While his neck muscles pulse, my fake boyfriend pushes back from our make-out like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Smirking, he rises to his full height and thrusts out a hand. “Jack Gurion.”

To his credit, the coyote shakes the offered greeting. He towers over many men, but next to Mr. Wildlife, he’s simply another guy trying too hard.

“John Bourdin. Friend of the family.”

Like hell he is.

Nostrils flared, eyes narrowed, the Canadian grimaces. His clipped nasal accent makes his first name sound more like Zh un.

My fake date’s smile doesn’t falter. “A pleasure to meet you. Me and my sweetheart met online. I think I’ll keep her.” He winks at me, but his eyes hold danger, like MI6’s Agent 007.

Sensing the challenge, the thug bristles. He snatches a fourth chair, flips it around, then straddles it. Leaning in, he snarls. “How long you here for, zhjack ?”

The ex-Marine doesn’t flinch. Instead, he simply glows at me like he has a naughty secret. “As long as it takes to convince this woman to give me a chance.”

The romantic gesture makes my heart stutter. That’s why I miss what is said next.

Sparks flickering in his eyes, Gurion’s lethal, smooth voice lowers. “How about we discuss this outside?”

My eyes roll. I can already picture it. The fistfight. The sheriff. My daughter watching, as two grown men go at it in a diner parking lot.

Nope. Not happening.

“This is not Victorian England,” I snap. “There will be no duels outdoors or otherwise. Do I make myself clear?”

Jack chuckles but doesn’t argue.

John, however, licks his lips, letting his gaze drop—to my thirteen-year-old seventh-grader. His eyes linger a fraction too long on her chest.

“Remember what I told you.” His threat snaps what little patience I had left.

As I reach for my sidearm, Jack’s lazy charm vanishes. A blizzard brews in his gaze, his jaw tightens, and his fists clench.

I don’t know what’s about to happen next, but one thing is certain—this night has taken a dangerous turn.