“You want me to stay? Help you handle this?”
“No. Knox needs you in Snowflake Falls.”
“Our little bro can wait a few days.”
“Knox is tracking a drug pipeline that's killing people. That takes priority." I set my glass down. “I can handle one lousy con artist and a charity event.”
“And the girl?”
“What about her?”
Colt's mouth quirks. “You going to handle her, too?”
I give him a flat stare. He raises his hands in surrender, but the shiteating grin doesn't fade.
“Just saying. It's been a long time since I've seen you look at anyone the way Viper described you looking at her.”
“Viperneeds to get some new hobbies.”
“Probably.” Colt stands and drains his whiskey. “Be careful, brother. Protecting someone is one thing… catching feelings is another.”
He claps me on the shoulder and heads out. I sit alone in the empty room, staring at nothing.
Catching feelings.Ridiculous.
But I can still feel the press of her body against mine. The way she fit so perfectly. The vanilla scent of her hair and the hitch of her breath when I pulled her closer.
And that goddamn pink dress.
I've hated the color pink for years. Mom loved that color, painted our kitchen and bathroom in candy shades.
I was eighteen when she overdosed. She'd been clean for two months. Long enough for me to let my guard down. Knox was twelve, at a friend's house, and we had to go pick him up and tell him Mom was gone.
I've avoided pink ever since. It reminds me of the people I couldn't save. But on Karina, it looked like armor, as if she was daring the world to underestimate her.
I scrub a hand over my face. This is a job. Protect the girl, burn down Chet Morgan's operation, then walk away.
Simple. So why can't I stop thinking about her?
At seven o'clock the next evening, I pull up outside her apartment building in my truck. It's a modest, well-kept complex, with flower boxes on the balconies. Of course, hers has pink flowers.
I ring the bell. A dog barks inside, then the door opens. My brain goes blank.
She's wearing pink again. Fitted jeans that hug every curve, paired with a sweater that's slipping off one shoulder, showing a strip of soft bare skin. Her hair falls in loose waves around her face. Her lips are shiny and pink, and I stare at her mouth like a starving man.
“Pink,” I say, because I've lost the ability to form complete sentences.
“Is that a problem?”
I shake my head, but I want to peel that dress off her and see if her skin is as soft as it looks.
“Not a problem,” I manage. “Ready?”
She nods and steps outside. A three-legged dog appears in the gap, glaring at me with undisguised hostility.
“That's Dolly,” Karina says. “She doesn't like men.”
“Smart girl.”
