That so happened to be me.
The moment he pulled down the long driveway, I was struck by the lack of nervousness. For all I knew, he could be an escaped felon or worse, perhaps an assassin where a mission had gone wrong, but I felt safe being around him. How strange. The uncertainty increased both the urgency and the intense longing.
I rubbed my fingers across my bottom lip, realizing his scent was everywhere, lingering in such a way to keep me slightly intoxicated.
With no other sound, I heard every crunch of tires on the packed snow. When his headlights flashed across the bank of garages, I was surprised he didn’t pull the SUV into a bay. A securitylight popped on, blinding and intrusive. I shielded my eyes while my mind shifted to a reminder that even if my fantasy thoughts about who he was and why he was here weren’t true, he was still recovering from a gunshot wound.
Maybe a home invasion gone wrong. Perhaps a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time and he’d preferred me thinking of him as a hero. In my wicked mind, an antihero was more acceptable. Whatever the truth, for some reason the light was almost a red flag, a reminder to be careful.
As soon as he cut the engine, he turned his head toward me. There didn’t seem a need for any words even now, although I sensed he was still ensuring I was okay with being alone with him at his house. I opened the door as an answer, but just before I put my feet down, I realized he hadn’t cleaned off the snow. My heels would sink into the ice, making it impossible to walk.
“Don’t you own a snow shovel?”
My sudden question amused him as it seemed so many of my barbs had done. “I don’t know.”
“Oh, you’re that kind of man.”
“What kind is that?”
Just before I forced myself to stand on the ice even if I wobbled, I offered another mischievous look. “The kind of man who needs someone to do everything for him. You know. A butler. A handyman. A cook. No, no, a chef. You’re way past wanting hamburgers on the grill and homemade lasagna. More like coq au vin or lobster with a filet mignon barely kissed by the flames served with smoked asparagus and garlic mashed potatoes. Lightly chunky.”
He snorted in response, climbing out forcefully as if I’d hurt his feelings.
I laughed, more confident to step onto the snow. The term should have been overconfident. The moment my foot hit the frozen tundra, my legs forgot how to function normally, pitching me forward. No amount of clawing at the door was helpful.
Just before my butt hit the ground, a solid pair of hands caught me, gently returning me to a standing position. And as with every rom-com depicted in a winter storm, I was pulled right into the hero’s waiting arms, crushed against the heat of his chest.
The twist of my body was more painful than I cared to admit, but possibly well worth the aches given the save he’d provided.
“Be careful, my French flower. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Still flustered with heat caressing the skin under my neck, I tried to regroup. “You should call Bart. He’ll be happy to shovel your driveway and sidewalk. He’s a very good man, a sweet soul who’d do anything for you. And don’t worry. He’s trustworthy.”
I was surprised when the ugly glaring light captured a moment in Montgomery’s eyes. Just a split second before the iciness returned, but I witnessed jealousy.
“Is that so?” he gritted out.
“Yes, it is. Such a handsome guy too. I feel safe around him. You can too.” I’d wounded the man again and as if to prove he was the bigger he-man, he gathered me into his arms. “What are you doing?”
The way he cradled me against the heat of his body felt far too natural. He stomped toward the door, his jaw clenched fromfrustration. He might not want me to notice, but I could tell by the hard clench of his jaw and his unsteady gait that he was in pain.
“Saving your pretty ass.”
“You’re jealous.”
“Do I have a reason to be?” Just before he unlocked the door, he peered down into my eyes, his expression all the fury from before, but with an additional possessiveness that not only surprised but enticed me.
The jealousy game was no longer interesting. “Bart is happily married with a baby on the way. Plus, he’s not my type.”
“Good to hear.” He kicked open the door, storming inside.
“Why is that?”
With me still in his arms, he pressed his fingers against the keypad of a security system. Then looking me dead in the eyes, he gave me the answer that honestly, I’d hoped to hear. “Because I’d have to kill him and as you reminded me, that wouldn’t make the townspeople very happy.”
A part of me wanted to laugh, but my instinct told me that he was serious.
He gently lowered me to floor, immediately taking my coat and yanking off his.
