“You have good instincts.”
“Two minutes ago you reminded me that I literally tackled an aging mother with questionable bladder control.”
“Yeah, but shewasup to something. You picked up on that.” He sets the beer down on the bar behind me. “And if you picked up on such small nefarious intent, I imagine you’ll have no trouble when you encounter someone planning something truly evil.”
He reaches out and takes my chin in one strong, warm hand. His fingertips are calloused, and I imagine that must come from his time as a pig. “Trust your gut, Jensen,” he says softly.
I wish I could, but considering my gut is urging me to reconsider my moratorium on putting meat lollipops in my mouth at this very moment, I’m not sure it’s the wisest part of my system.
“There you are.” Dani wedges herself into the small space between us, the rhinestones on the back pockets of her jeans biting into my hip through my pants. “Hi, I’m Dani Lewis. You might remember me as Miss Buttermilk, 2015, but I’m hoping tomorrow I’ll be known as the North Mountain Pig Show Champion.”
“Oh, that’s…I’m, uh…” Grayson stammers, clearly out of his depth here. No cover story. Not even a good fake name to give her.
Amateur.
I move away from the bar to stand next to Dani. “This is Ian Nichols,” I say. “He’s here to buy a couple boars tomorrow after the show.”
“Well, now.” Dani’s eyelashes work double-time, fluttering so fast I’m afraid she’ll manage to hypnotize Grayson. “I happen to have a fantastic boar that you should look at.” Her hand strokes up Grayson’s arm to squeeze his bicep. “Maybe we should go have a look at him right now.”
“I’m going to just…” I give them both a little wave before turning and snaking my way through the crowd to the door.
Trust my gut, Grayson had said. Well, my gut is telling me The Witch isn’t there, which means the most dangerous thing for me in that bar is Grayson himself.
Focus, Jensen!
I need to get back to the hotel and get some sleep so I’ll be sharp tomorrow. That’s the smart thing to do.
And I fully intend to. I do. But I’ve only made it a few yards down the sidewalk when I hear the bar door open, the sound of the revelers inside spilling out into the muggy night. “Olive,” Grayson calls, jogging to catch up with me. He grabs my arm, pulling me to a stop on the sidewalk and looking down at me with an exasperated look on his face. “Did you just abandon me with your meat-sucking friend?”
“I’m not Olive here, remember? I’m Sally, and I have a pig to show tomorrow.”
But he doesn’t release my arm. Instead he reaches out with his free hand and gently takes hold of my other arm, too. “I swear sometimes it seems like you’d rather be anyone but yourself.”
He’s not wrong. Especially not right now. Because Agent Jensen needs to be laser focused on catching The Witch, on not letting Cressida and everyone else down.
But Sally doesn’t have to worry about that. Sally’s biggest worry is whether or not her pig drank enough beer to gain some weight. She can let herself go tonight, can give in to thetemptation to do all the things with Grayson that Dani was doing to that poor piece of meat.
Grayson must sense I’m teetering on the edge of surrender, He tugs me closer, wrapping his arms around my waist and resting his forehead against mine. Closing his eyes, he whispers, “You’re enough, Olive. Just the way you are.”
I am lost. In this moment, it doesn’t matter who I am—MBI agent, professional screwup, fairly terrible pig handler. I want this. I want him.
Grayson. In this moment, he’s all that matters.
I lean forward and kiss him. I mean for it to be just a little kiss, a tidbit to satisfy the boundless craving I have for this man. But the moment my lips touch his, I know this isn’t a craving that can be satisfied with just a tiny taste.
One of his hands grips my hip, pulling me hard against him, while the other hand moves up to slide through my hair, cupping the back of my head and holding me right where he wants me, right there on a sidewalk beneath a buzzing streetlight, moths occasionally bumping the side of my face in their haste to get up to the light.
Grayson’s hands release me, and he breaks away to scoop me up into his arms before diving back to my mouth again. “Hotel room,” he mumbles against my lips. “Now.”
I pull back and look up at him. That lock of dark hair is feathering his forehead again, and his chiseled cheeks are all shadowed in the weak light from the streetlamp, and he’s breathing like he’s just wrestled a Bigfoot into the back of an unmarked MBI SUV. “You can’t carry me all the way to the hotel,” I say.
Above his shadowed cheeks, his eyes glitter. “Watch me.”
And he does.
He really, really does.
CHAPTER 18
