“You know, my mom always says when someone tells you who they are, believe them.” She held out her hand and tried not to shiver when his rough palm met hers. “So, thanks for telling me exactly who you are. I hope you have a nice life.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I hope the same for you, Julia.”
God,whydid it sound so good when he said her name? It was just her name. She’d heard it thousands of times out of hundreds of different mouths. But something about Britt’s accent…
A subtle rustling had her glancing over her shoulder. Peanut was back to sniffing the crack under the pantry door.
“I think he’s after a treat,” she said, latching onto the perfect excuse to vamoose herself from the scene. They’d said everything that needed to be said hadn’t they? Besides, the sooner she got to the car, the sooner she could get back to the office, and the sooner she could excuse herself to the restroom, where she could grab a few minutes of solitude to work through the disappointment that sat on her shoulders like a four-ton elephant. “I’ll grab one for him on my way out if that’s okay?”
She went to pull her hand from Britt’s grip, but he held on tight. Frowning slightly, she glanced first at their clasped fingers—his hand looked so large compared to hers—and then into his whirlpool eyes.
“What?” she asked uncertainly.
“A kiss before you go?” His voice had gone so low she struggled to hear it. But there was no mistaking the gleam in his eye.
Her silly ovaries started celebrating with party horns and confetti cannons. Lucky for her, her head was still screwed on straight. “Why? So we can torture ourselves?”
“No.” He tugged on her hand. She stumbled forward until her toes touched his. He was a head taller than her, so she had to crane back her neck to hold his gaze. “So we’ll at least have this. This one little thing before we say goodbye forever. Something is better than nothing, don’t you reckon?”
She should tell himno. She should jerk her hand from his. She should march right out of the building and never look back.
Instead, she nodded so quickly she thought she heard her brain clanging against the sides of her skull.
5
Hewitt Birch had spent most of his lifeavoidinginterpersonal drama. But a big ol’ boatload had just fallen into his arms.
Literally.
The dark-eyed waif, who had hoarsely introduced herself as Sabrina Greenlee, had teetered toward him when she realized the FBI was on the scene. He’d caught her before she could hit the ground. And then, when it became clear the feds weren’t content to speak with Britt at the gate and had every intention of walking through BKI’s front door, he’d hoisted her up against his chest as chaos erupted around him.
Boss had yelled for everyone to return to their workstations and act like it was business as usual. Ozzie had switched on the music, and the shop had once again been sweatin’ to the oldies—or the eighties, as it were. And Eliza had hissed,“There’s no time!”when Hew suggested he hide Sabrina and Britt’s brother upstairs in his bedroom.
Which is how he found himself sitting cross-legged on the pantry floor with Knox Rollins on his right and an unconscious woman in his lap.
Formerly unconscious, he corrected himself.
Sabrina came awake with a frightened gasp. Her foot kicked over the box of strawberry-flavored Pop-Tarts sitting beside a basket of russet potatoes.
“Shhhh.” He pressed his hand over her mouth, frowning slightly when the feel of her warm breath against his palm had the hairs on the back of his neck lifting in a way he recognized.
It had only been three weeks since he’d taken someone home from Red Delilah’s Biker Bar. And he’d gone far more than three weeks without nookie before. In fact, when he’d been a newbie Nightstalker flying missions across the Hindu Kush, he’d gone a full two years without the comfort of a woman.
So maybe it was all the amoré floating in the air at BKI that made him ultra-sensitive to the touch of a woman.
The original crew was so partnered up and content it was almost sickening. And one by one, he’d watched his active-duty friends succumb to flying sparks, skipping hearts, and weak knees. First, there’d been Hunter. Sam had quickly followed. And now Fisher—whom Hew had thought would remain a bachelor forever—was planning his wedding.
So, yeah. It was in the air. Which meant maybe he shouldn’t be surprised he was reacting to the little flotsam perched lightly in his lap.
Although the bloodless look of her skin and the deep, sleep-deprived shadows smudging the undersides of her eyes assured him that thelastthing she needed was some huge, hairy man having less-than-platonic thoughts about her.
“Mmm!” she mumbled against his hand, her fingers gripping his wrist. Her short nails sharply pinched into him, and if he’d had thinner skin, she would have drawn blood.
“Shhhh!” he whispered again, pressing his hand harder against her lips while squeezing her arms tight against her sides to stop her squirming. “Be quiet!”
To his relief, she settled against him. But fear clung to her like fog on a New England bay, making her muscles quiver and her chest heave with quick, shallow breaths. The absolute horror he saw in her eyes when she stared up at him gutted him.
“You’re okay.” He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “You’re safe.”
