7

SMOKEY BURKHART HAD managed to live to the ripe old age of sixty-eight before falling in love.

He could honestly say he didn’t much care for it.

He laid another log on the fire, then poked the coals around until the blaze stoked up again, licking the split timbers, curling around the bark. His Ms. Aggie enjoyed a fire. In fact, he didn’t think he’d ever met another woman who liked one as much. She loved the scent of wood smoke, she’d once told him. Said it reminded her of her childhood in the Carolina hills.

Now it would forever remind him of her.

Over the years he’d heard love described in many different ways. He’d heard that it bloomed slowly, like a spring bud beneath the sun. That it had been instantaneous, a single inexplicable look and bam! Done. He’d heard about varying degrees of both, sometimes a combination of the two, but he’d never understood how a chance meeting or prolonged exposure to the same person could result in an affection that would render one essentially dependent on another for basic happiness.

He still couldn’t explain it, but couldn’t deny its existence anymore either.

She’d done that to him.

With a mere smile.

When he was feeling fanciful, which gallingly was happening more and more often, he imagined that the curve of her smile had hooked his heart and her laugh had literally reeled him in. By the time their initial interview was over he’d been leaning closer and closer to her, that was for damned sure, as though his body needed to be as near to hers as possible.

In truth, he hadn’t required a job at all. He’d worked in forestry and conservation for the National Park Service for the better part of thirty years. The pay hadn’t been anything to write home about, really, but the benefits were quite good and he’d invested well. It had been a job he’d enjoyed, one that had fulfilled him. He’d seen the absolute best the country had to offer, in parts that few others had ever been.

Though he probably could have stayed on another few years, he’d decided after a too-close call with a momma bear—one that had left him with a foot-long set of scars across his back and a shoulder that still ached—to leave it to the younger guys. To this day he still couldn’t believe he’d missed her, that he’d made such a stupid, rookie mistake.

Water under the bridge.

He’d applied for this job purely out of boredom. A man could only tie so many fishing lures, and after a year of camping across the U.S. and another year putting the finishing touches on his cabin, he’d decided that he wasn’t meant to be idle. Given the choice of greeting people at a local big-box store or being a well-dressed jack-of-all-trades at the Betterworth estate, he’d chosen the latter. He grunted under his breath.

As if he’d had a choice after meeting Ms. Aggie.

“Oh,” the object of his torment breathed, pressing a hand to her chest. “I didn’t realize you were still in here.”

He hadn’t meant to be. Typically, he tended her fire and then got the hell out of her room. The scent of her perfume hung in the air—honeysuckle and lavender (he’d checked)—and made him want to sniff the curve of her jaw, nuzzle the side of her neck. She was dressed for bed, a red chiffon gown that hung to her feet, the matching bed jacket across her shoulders. It was feminine and prim and proper—nothing remotely risqué—and yet the blood raced to his groin faster than a fox on a hare, and his mouth went bone-dry.

He stood slowly and dusted his hands. “I was just on my way out.”

“It’s rather late. You’re welcome to stay here,” she said, predictably. “Take one of the spare rooms.”

She offered almost every night, but he always refused. Spending the night in the same house with her without spending the night with her was more torment than he could stand. It was bad enough being in the same house with her all day, every day, needing to be close to her, knowing it could never work out.

Smokey knew other men could probably get over the fact that a) she was his boss, and b) she had more money than he did, but Smokey wasn’t one of those men. He knew that it was antiquated and old-fashioned…but what could he possibly offer a woman who could have whatever she wanted? What could he bring to the relationship that would have significant value? There wasn’t anything in this world that he could give her that she couldn’t get for herself. Sadly, the playing field was just too uneven—by several million dollars, in fact—and, at some point, he knew that would become an issue.

Better not to risk it.

The flip side to that coin? If he quit, he wouldn’t get to see her at all. His gaze slid to her bare toes, which were curled adorably into the carpet. He snorted. Adorable? When did he start thinking in terms of adorable?

“I’d better not,” he said, giving her a deferential nod. “I’ll see you in the morning, Aggie.”

He left while he still could.

But damn if it wasn’t getting harder.

 

 

CHARLIE SQUASHED THE hint of regret that swelled in her traitorous heart, then quickly picked the lock securing Jay’s door. It was unfortunate that a law-abiding citizen—one who in the past had sworn to uphold said law—had been reduced to such unorthodox tactics, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

She had to know what he’d slipped into his pocket earlier this afternoon. At this point, any clue was significant, and she couldn’t afford not to be privy to whatever he’d found. The stakes were too high and failure simply wasn’t an option.

She had to find the dog first.

That’s what she’d kept telling herself this afternoon after he’d stormed away. Typically, when faced with the same sort of scenario, she could talk herself into believing that she’d done what she had to do. That winning in the boys’ club meant not apologizing for being a hard-ass.

Unfortunately, for reasons she couldn’t seem to figure out, the justification simply wouldn’t come. It was that look, Charlie had ultimately decided. That fleeting flash of genuine fear that had flickered through his eyes. She hadn’t been able to get it out of her head and, even worse, found herself genuinely concerned about what had put it there. What had he been afraid she’d find? What, exactly, haunted him?

Because clearly something did.

She’d been too preoccupied with alternately beating him and lusting after him to note the shadow lurking in that especially blue gaze, but once she’d paused long enough to really reflect, it was there.

Insanely, she wanted to fix it.

As if she could. As if that was her place. As if she hadn’t gone stark-raving mad.

With a telltale click, the lock gave and she quietly slipped into the room. She’d patiently waited until she’d heard his shower start, then she’d sprung into action. She didn’t know how long he’d be in the bathroom—her gaze darted in the direction of the en suite bath and she swore softly when she noted the open door—but she likely only had minutes to do what she needed to do.

A quick scan of the room revealed a tidy traveler, one who had stored his things in the empty closet and drawers and had set up his working area at the small desk in the corner of the room. She’d get to that, but in the meantime, where the hell were his pants? Not on the floor or slung carelessly over the back of a chair like a normal man, Charlie thought, growing increasingly nervous.

She picked up his cell phone and checked the last dialed call—Ranger Security. That didn’t surprise her, and no doubt accounted for the smug smile he’d occasionally shot in her direction over dinner. They must have told him that she’d applied for the job and hadn’t gotten it.

Renewed mortification stung her cheeks.

Oh well, Charlie thought with a bracing breath as she pulled up his email from his phone, she’d known he was going to find out. It had only been a matter of time. A message with an attachment from [email protected] snagged her attention. The subject line said Charlie Martin’s Résumé. Because she was shameless and couldn’t resist, she opened the email.

 

 

As promised, here’s the résumé. Let me know if you change your mind about looking over the background check. Sometimes knowing one’s opponent is half the battle. —BP

Charlie felt her eyes widen and her face flame with anger—quite hypocritically, she would admit—at the invasion of her privacy. How dare they— Who in the hell did they think— A background check? On her? After they’d shown her the door? To what purpose?

She seethed.

Then stilled.

And read the message again.

Let him know if he changed his mind about seeing the background check? So Payne had offered and Jay had refused? Even knowing that she’d read everything she possibly could about him?

That was…unexpected. And undeservedly noble.

She exited the mail app and set the phone back down as though it had suddenly burst into flames.

Damn.

How was she supposed to fight dirty with a guy who was going to fight fair? This had never happened before. It was unprecedented, unfamiliar territory. She wasn’t quite sure what to think, but a more pressing matter arose and she pushed the conundrum to the back of her mind.

A mesh basket near the closet caught her attention. A collapsible hamper. Impressed—even she didn’t travel with her own dirty-clothes hamper—she hurried over and snagged the pants out of the bottom, then pushed her hands into the pockets. She’d just felt something round and plastic brush her fingers when a noise from behind startled her.

Charlie reacted.

 

 

EVEN KNOWING THAT SHE had a black belt in Tae Kwon Do hadn’t prepared Jay for how quickly she could strike. One second the sneaky, diabolical, opportunistic little wench had been prodding around in his pants pocket and the next she’d swung around and struck.

Gallingly, she’d connected with enough speed and force to send him toppling even though he’d had half a second to prepare. His legs flew out from under him and he landed flat on his back, with enough force to knock the breath from his lungs. Rather than check on him the way a normal, feeling woman would, she quickly whirled and grabbed his pants again, groping for the pocket.

Oh, hell, no.

Jay sprang up and tackled her from behind. Despite his bigger size, she managed to roll him with a well-placed elbow to the ribs. Pain shot through his middle and a stinging sensation ripped across his chest as he struggled to get the upper hand—hell, any hand.

“Get away from me,” she grunted. “Or I’m really going to make you sorry.”

He hadn’t gotten enough breath back to talk to her, so instead he continued to try to subdue her. It was like trying to hold on to a damned tornado. She twisted and turned, struck out and clawed. Kitten, his ass, Jay thought—more like a feral cat. The only thing that kept her from landing another potentially brutal blow was the fact that he was literally on top of her more than he was off and she couldn’t get enough strength behind her feet, legs or arms to really let him have it.

“I mean it, Jay. I’m giving you fair warning.”

“Fair?” he managed to croak out, his eyes widening in mock astonishment. He dodged a knee to the groin, trapped her thigh. “That’s rich. You’ve broken into my room, are going through my friggin’ pants and you want to talk about fair?”

Her green-apple scent swirled around him and he was keenly aware of her soft breast against his chest. Damn, damn, damn. She was supple and strong and a strand of dark hair clung to her lush mouth and…

And typically, if he exerted this much energy with a woman it was for distinctly more pleasurable reasons.

But there was something quite thrilling about this, as well. He liked that she didn’t give up, that she wasn’t frightened or intimidated by him. He admired her skill, her courage, her sheer damned nerve.

Ballsy, Payne had said.

The thought had no more flitted through his head when she wrestled her small hand free and grabbed hold of his. He grunted with surprise and went utterly still, then looked down into her wide eyes.

He’d expected triumph—instead he saw shock.

That must have been when she realized he was naked.

He grinned.

She let go and shoved him away, then made for the door. Oh, no. I don’t think so. Jay darted in front of her, blocking her path, and leaned casually against the door.

“What are you doing in my room?”

Color flying high on her cheeks, she looked at everything around her but him. “Put your towel back on,” she said.

“You put it on me. You’re the one who tore it off,” he shot back, enjoying her discomfort much more than he would ever have believed. It was almost enough to make up for the fact that she’d Houdinied her way into his room. He spied his phone, noticed it was at a different angle from the way he’d left it. Irritation twisted through him, forcing him to pull a calming breath through his nose.

She was truly a piece of work.

“I didn’t tear it off you,” she said, shooting him an exasperated huff. “You snuck up on me,” she accused. “What did you expect me to do?”

Seriously? That was her argument? His eyes widened significantly. “It’s my room. One might argue that you snuck up on me.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

She pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes tightly. Another deep sigh, then, “Could you please put your towel back on. That’s…distracting.”

“My room, my rules. I’ll put the towel on when you tell me what you were doing…and what you found.”

She emitted a low growl. “I was searching your things, obviously,” she said, practically chewing the words between clenched teeth.

Her gaze darted to him once more, lingered over his shoulders and chest, then she quickly looked away again. Impossibly, she blushed a deeper shade of red.

He grinned. “Yes, I’d rather worked that out for myself. What did you find?”

“Nothing of significance.”

“You’re lying,” he said flatly. He was irrationally disappointed. Reason told him if she was unscrupulous enough to break into his room—hell, to hack into a prospective employer’s system and then tell them about it—he shouldn’t expect her to be honest, and yet… He hadn’t pegged her for a liar.

Her gaze swung to his and he wondered what she’d heard in his voice because she swallowed hard and confessed. “Fine,” she said. “I looked at your call log and checked your email.”

He glanced at his computer. “Did you—”

“No,” she said—then a droll smile rolled over her ripe lips. “I didn’t have time.”

He felt his own lips twitch at her candor. Maybe he hadn’t pegged her too terribly wrong after all. Jay bent forward and grabbed the towel, then slowly—because she deserved it—anchored it once more around his hips. He heaved an exasperated sigh. “Honestly, woman, is there anything you won’t do? Any line you aren’t willing to cross?”

She blinked innocently. “I didn’t download the attachment.”

He snorted. “Because you already knew what was in it.”

She jerked her chin toward his forgotten pants. “What’s in the pocket?”

“If you were me, would you tell?”

“I told you about the peanut butter, didn’t I?”

He leaned against the door once more and propped a foot against it. “That was an accident.”

“What makes you say that?”

“The ‘oh shit’ expression immediately following the confession was a bit of a giveaway,” he drawled. His gaze skimmed over her face, tracing the intriguing lines and angles, the plump mouth and wide eyes. “You have a very expressive face.”

She blinked, seemingly startled.

He laughed softly and quirked a knowing brow.

She scowled and he laughed harder.

“Oh, to hell with it,” she said, striding forward to leave. He’d rattled her enough to spark a retreat? Interesting.

“It was a bobber,” he said.

She stopped short and looked up at him, her hand on the doorknob. “A bobber?”

“Yes. You know, to fish with.”

Another line emerged between her finely arched brows and she bit into her bottom lip, evidently trying to make sense of what he’d just told her. “Is there a pond nearby? A lake? A creek?”

He shook his head. “Not on any map that I’ve looked at.”

He was keenly aware of her—the slope of her cheek, the angle of her jaw, the smooth creaminess of her throat. The sweep of her lashes, the absolute carnality of her mouth. His groin tightened and need shot through him, stark and fierce, with more intensity than he had ever experienced before. Her gaze tangled with his, then dropped to his mouth, lingered. Found his once more, and her pink tongue slid unconsciously along her full bottom lip.

He went hard.

Her breathing shallowed out and he watched her pulse flutter wildly at the base of her throat. Desire darkened her gaze, turned the green to emerald, the gold to bronze. He was hit with the almost overwhelming urge to slide his fingers along her cheek, to see if the skin was as soft and silky as it looked. To feel her sleek hair across the back of his hand, her ripe mouth beneath his. He didn’t want just to taste her—he wanted to eat her up.

She drew a quick breath and dragged her gaze away from his. “Can I ask you something?” she said.

“You can ask. I reserve the right not to answer.”

Something shifted in her expression. Hope, maybe? He frowned, trying to decipher what he saw.

“Why did you refuse the background check?”

Ah. He should have known that would pique her curiosity. “Because it doesn’t have anything to do with what I came here for,” he said.

“I would have deserved it,” she told him, shooting him a chagrined look. “I wouldn’t have blamed you.”

He smiled down at her. “Yeah, but isn’t it better that you don’t have to?”

For once, her expression was completely unreadable. She returned his grin and nodded. Though he didn’t really want her to leave—madness, with a bed that damned close—he pushed away from the door so that she could exit.

“Good night, Charlie,” he murmured.

She darted another glance at him. Paused, seemingly uncertain, perplexed even. “Good night, Jay.”