When he pulls off the highway onto a narrow two-lane street, I rest my hand on his knee. “This FBI guy Hunt. Is he trustworthy?”
The sheriff grunts. “He’s married to my sister who works for Homeland at the border. A while back, she got targeted by a nasty group of terrorists. During that time, they grew close, got hitched, and he adopted my niece. I trust him with my life. You should, too.”
“He was going to arrest me.” I hate how petulant my voice sounds, but if Kade notices, he doesn’t show it.
“Better the Feds take you into custody than the State Police. You saw their tactics. If your case goes to court, he’ll make damn sure it’s fair and legal.”
Not wanting to think so far ahead, I shift gears. “Do you have any other family besides them?”
He snorts. “My lame parents. Sold the dairy farm they promised me right before moving to Florida.”
The tight line of his mouth says, “Don’t ask”, so I won’t even think about it.
He’s usually so even-keeled, the bitterness surprises me. “My sister inherited my grandmother’s house. I got jack-shit.”
“Why?”
“Being a divorcee with a child trumped promises they made to me, I guess.”
“So why not leave?”
He shrugs. “My sister and her kid needed me.”
He rolls into a gravel driveway, our tires crunching the silence. “Here we are.Mi shack, su shack.”
This time I’m more aware of the weathered front porch, peeling trim, the flicker of a naked bulb overhead. “Well, it’s not that bad.”
He scrunches his face. “Riiight.”
Moths flutter around his porch light, drawn to its quiet glow. I know how they feel. Despite everything - or because of it, charged, combustible air particles crackle between us.
We know it only takes the spark of a kiss to start the fire.
As I exit his truck, my whole body shakes in anticipation.
Chapter 23
Kade
Becca barks excitedly as I place my hand on Briana’s lower back, walking her to my front door. The moment we enter, my dog waits for her mandatory pat, then trots off to the kibble cabinet.
All at once, I see everything through a woman’s eyes. The last time she was here, it didn’t matter. Now, the sagging couch with the stained rug scream thrift store. If I had half a brain, I would’ve asked my sister to feed Becca and booked us a swanky room by the ski areas.
“Sorry,” I mutter, rubbing the back of my neck. “Not much of a decorator.”
While Briana scans the layout, her smile mimics my barely-contained desire. “You're kidding, right? Compared to my tent, this place is practically a palace.”
The old me wants her out—away from my space, my stuff, my mess. It’s too intimate. Too exposed. My cock votes otherwise. Vehemently.Show her the bedroom, dickwad. Do you wanna get lucky or what?
Holy crap. Now I’m arguing with an appendage. Can’t get more screwed up than that.
Thankfully, she’s already moved on to opening the cabinets like she owns the place. “Mac and cheese?” Bree says, holding up a box. “Can we?”
A man would be nuts not to love such a self-sufficient woman. “Sure. Knowing how well you take direction, perhaps I should do the honors?”
“Ha ha.” My guest rolls her eyes. “I think I can handle boiling some water.”
Before she can turn to the stove, I step in.
