by Lori Foster
He closed his mouth again.
Shaking her head, she turned away—and no one could miss the disappointment.
For a few seconds, neither of them said anything, not until Charlotte got inside and quietly closed the door behind her.
It felt...well, final. And also devastating.
Jack cracked a smile. “Girl has a temper.”
“And you don’t?”
“Takes a little more to get mine going. In fact, it usually takes more to get her that hot.” He looked at Mitch in speculation. “Guess you bring it out of her.”
No, he wouldn’t get pulled in again with outrageous observations. “I need to go so I can catch Newman before he—”
“You seem to think we’re unfamiliar with danger, but we’re not. Thanks to the work we do, we run into thugs, psychopaths, even murderers. We can handle one asshole.” Jack put a hand on Mitch’s shoulder. “So the question is—can you handle a little help freely offered?”
If that help didn’t involve Charlotte, maybe he could. Now, though, he couldn’t separate her from his brothers. She came with the family. Hell, she was the best part of it all.
Thoughts of Newman focused on her were enough to freeze his blood. And Ros...sweet, bossy Ros.
“We’re not fragile,” Jack said.
“Neither am I.”
“No, but you are alone—and you don’t have to be.”
Jesus, the way his heart punched it almost hurt. Yes he was alone. Always had been. Life was easier that way—but it wasn’t nearly as nice.
Accept help?
Could he? It made his skin crawl to think of it. Even before prison, he’d stood alone. After prison? He trusted himself first and foremost.
Trying to hide his reaction, he said, “It’s not the way I generally roll.”
“I get that. Coming here is all about adjustment though, right?”
No kidding. So far, Charlotte had been the biggest adjustment he had to make, followed by Rosalyn. In comparison, two brothers were a piece of cake. “I know Newman and you don’t. I have to call the shots.”
“Brodie’s the one who’ll have a problem with that, not me.” Jack clapped his shoulder, then dropped his hand. “So, think you can put off confronting Newman for now? Maybe stick around until we get this figured out?”
Brute had already stretched out in the grass and was lightly snoring. “Right now?”
“Tomorrow. You, me and Brodie together.”
Did he dare? Things might only get more complicated. Newman was unpredictable.
“You have questions,” Jack said. “Give us a chance to help you answer them.”
He had a gut feeling it was a mistake, but the lure of family was strong. Add Charlotte into the mix and...
How could he resist?
“All right, fine. But I won’t sign on for anything that I think puts any of you at risk.”
“See,” Jack said, “you’re thinking like family already.”
* * *
MITCH WOKE WITH a faint sheen of sweat on his body, the air heavy around him. Coming up to one elbow, he listened, determining if he’d just awakened.
Or if something had awakened him.
Dawn light filtered through the tent. Humidity thickened the morning air. Brute slept near his feet, but his paws twitched and he gave a muffled woof in his sleep.
Nothing more menacing than a doggy dream.
Sitting up, wearing only boxers, Mitch stretched and glanced toward the zipped mesh screen door of the tent. The top too had vents—which made it more comfortable for him.
He preferred to sleep outside without the tent, with only the wide-open skies overhead. He breathed easier that way, but here, with woods all around him, the bugs treated him like a feast.
Stirring, Brute looked at him and did his own four-legged stretch.
“Sorry, bud. Did I disrupt your rabbit chase?”
Brute’s tail slapped at the tarp floor and his tongue lolled out with a wide yawn.
“Yeah, I did, didn’t I?” Mitch rubbed his ears. “Let’s go take a leak.” He unzipped the tent and ducked out, Brute right beside him. Automatically Mitch did a quick and thorough search, his senses alert.
All was secure, for the moment at least.
As weak daylight crawled over the woods, birds sang from every treetop. Usually the inherent nature of his surroundings brought him a sense of peace; this was his, a fresh start, a better life.
He was truly free.
But now, with Newman on the hunt, the familiar serenity eluded him.
Brute went in one direction and Mitch another, each heading to a bush. Yes, he had a bathroom inside. A bedroom too.
But fresh air and lack of restriction appealed more than a soft mattress. He had enough privacy here that he could set up a hose and shower outside if he wanted—except he appreciated hot water too much to do that.
Besides, once he got the business going, his privacy would end.
As he tucked himself away, Mitch inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the scents of green woods, earth and a brewing storm. A glance up showed dark bloated clouds off in the distance. If a storm lasted, that could drive him inside tonight. He’d still avoid the small bedroom that felt too much like a cell, despite the window, opting instead for the screened-in porch.
Back at the tent he fetched his phone so he could charge it while he showered, grabbed his jeans, shirt and shoes, and whistled for Brute. First coffee for him and kibble for Brute, then his shower.
He’d offered to help with the gravel around the Mustang Transport offices; he felt bad that he’d bailed on that yesterday. Newman’s appearance put him in a raging tailspin and he was only now recovering.
Because of family? Possibly. He only knew how to operate alone, but maybe he’d learn.
Jack said they were putting off the gravel for a few days while Brodie considered more landscaping. Charlotte’s effect on him, no doubt. If pressed, he’d put his money on Charlotte winning that debate. From what he’d seen, she was the lifeblood of the office, the critical piece that kept it all going.
If she wanted shrubbery and flowers, she should have them. He wouldn’t mind offering his time for maintenance if it’d help her cause. Working with his hands was a pleasure, not a chore.
With that task eliminated, he had the afternoon to work on his own place before he’d meet with Brodie and Jack to figure out how to deal with Newman.
Not that he needed their input, but humoring them was the family thing to do.
Or so Jack had claimed.
For now, physical work would help take the edge off, at least until he could get his hands on Newman.
Standing there in the yard, his bare feet on lush, dew-wet grass, he surveyed what he owned from the pond and outbuilding to the house and yard. He had enough work to keep him busy for a week at least, and that was before Newman had showed up.
He was just about to head in when he heard the approaching car. Brute stiffened, his ears back in his usual sign of worry.
Dropping his clothes to the porch step, he locked a hand in Brute’s collar.
If Newman had found him, he’d put Brute inside so he couldn’t get hurt. Literally, he would die before letting Brute be badly treated again.
Expecting the worst and preparing for it mentally and physically, he waited, watching the narrow road that entered his property.
It boggled him when a blue Focus came down the drive, kicking up dust and reflecting the sunrise in blinding force.
What. The. Fuck.
His thoughts went chaotic—not unusual when dealing with this particular lady.
“It’s okay, boy. It’s just Charlotte.”
Though his tone was gentle for Brute’s sake, turbulent emotions churned. There was nothing just about Charlotte Parrish, not with how he fe
lt.
Forgetting he wasn’t dressed, Mitch stepped away from the porch to wait for her. Already his heart danced against his ribs and his jaw tightened. Seeing she’d come alone fired his blood even more, making his skin burn...and his balls tighten.
Why the hell does she have this effect on me?
And why did he like it so much?
After giving him a wary look through the windshield, she parked and stepped out. With a forced but sunny smile, she gave a lighthearted wave. “Hey.”
Hey? That had to be a joke. If he didn’t have better control, he’d be hard already. As it was, it took all his concentration to keep things in check.
Brute, of course, was happy to see her. He charged her, ran a circle around her and yapped like a damn puppy. She’d been good for the dog.
Trying to ignore the pang in his heart at how warmly she was greeting Brute, he asked, “What are you doing here?”
Her smile faltered. “I—”
“You shouldn’t be.” Yes, his tone sounded harsh but for her to be here at his home, alone? He’d already wanted her, and Newman’s threats against her had only heightened everything he felt.
He wanted to protect her, and he wanted to fuck her. He wanted to talk with her and hold her close, and he wanted to keep her.
More than he’d ever wanted anything, he wanted that.
Jesus. He ran a hand over his face.
Even as they stood there watching each other, her hair curled and a flush colored her face and throat.
She looked so damned innocent—what if Newman had followed her? What if he’d run her off the damn road? What if he’d hijacked her, and worse?
Anger brought him a step closer. “Don’t you realize the danger?”
Alerted to his tone, Brute’s ear twitched, and he came back to sit by Mitch.
“You’re upsetting the dog.”
Mitch dropped a hand to Brute’s neck, gently rubbing.
Eyes narrowed, she advanced a step as well. “What did you want me to do? Hide in the house? Am I allowed to drive to work? The grocery?”
“You didn’t go there.” Those places were at least in town, with people nearby. Though yes, he had a feeling she’d be at risk everywhere until he took care of Newman. Another reason why he should have handled it last night. If he’d known she’d be this reckless, he would have, and to hell with what Jack or Brodie thought. “You came here.”
She nodded, then cleared her throat. “I did, yes. And...um. You’re in your underwear.”
Mitch held out his arms. “It’s the crack of dawn and I was just heading in to shower.”
Her gaze devoured his exposed body, moving over his chest and shoulders, down his stomach and to his thighs. Suddenly he felt naked, as if the boxers had melted away.
Liking the way she looked at him, craving even more, he came forward another step—
“Why do you sleep outside, anyway?”
God help him. At least she’d snapped him out of the fog of lust.
Clearly, she was too busy digging into his privacy to take his warnings to heart.
Sensing that the conflict had eased, Brute looked at him, looked at Charlotte and loped off to visit another bush.
Getting himself under control—again—Mitch asked with a sigh, “Why are you here?”
“We came to see if we could help.”
The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. “We?” He no sooner asked it than he heard another car approaching. “Son of a...” Striding back for his jeans, he hurriedly stepped into them, zipping up just as a red Mustang came into view.
Well hell.
Not just Charlotte, but Brodie too.
“You brought him here,” Mitch accused.
She shrugged. “He didn’t know where you lived, so he asked, and yes, I showed him.” With a beautiful, guileless smile, she added, “I enjoyed seeing you without your jeans, but since Ros came along too it’s probably better that you’re wearing them.”
He opened his mouth with no idea what to say. Was that another of her attempts at flirting?
Snapping his mouth shut, he glowered.
Leaning toward him, she whispered, “You have family now, Mitch. You may as well give in.”
Right. But give in to what?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
WITH A SENSE of satisfaction, Charlotte finished cleaning the large country kitchen. A buildup of dust, cobwebs, dead bugs and mustiness had collected during the long absence of use. Overall, though, it was a lovely room. The porcelain sink showed bright white again. The black-and-white floor, though slightly worn, sparkled in a streak of sunlight through spotless windows. A good rub with furniture polish made the maple cabinets glow.
She’d been cleaning for a few hours now, but so far the storm held off—both from the sky and from Mitch.
When he’d spotted Ros carrying fresh sheets and towels, and Brodie with his toolbox, a sort of shocked disbelief had kept him rooted to the spot. They’d all come prepared to help him get the place in better living condition. Obviously, he wasn’t used to helping hands—but he would be, eventually.
If they convinced him to stay.
Once he’d found his tongue, he’d tried to object. Repeatedly. With lots of gratitude and an equal amount of excuses for why it wasn’t necessary.
Of course Ros steamrolled right through him. She smiled again thinking of it.
Around the yard, Brute and Howler barked in play.
A warm breeze wafted in through the open window, carrying the sounds of muted conversation, hammering and sanding.
Mitch had already scraped parts of the exterior so it could be painted, but with Brodie’s help, they’d finished most of the troublesome spots. They couldn’t paint today, not with the dark clouds threatening rain, but she’d overheard Brodie say they’d all be back to get it done in a single day.
Loose boards in the front steps were now more secure and Ros... Charlotte turned to look through the kitchen doorway. Ros was working on the bedroom and bathroom.
Curiosity took Charlotte out of the room and down the hall.
Humming to herself, her hair tied on top of her head, Ros finished making the bed with fresh linens and a soft quilt.
“It looks great.” But would Mitch ever use it?
“It does, doesn’t it?” Hands on her hips, Ros surveyed the room. “He needs curtains or blinds for the windows, of course—here and in the bathroom window.”
“Oh?” Charlotte peeked into the small, all-white bathroom with an ancient pedestal sink, toilet and bathtub. The tub needed new grout in places, but at least now it was clean, just like the tiled floor. Sure enough, the positioning of an uncovered window would make it easy for anyone to see Mitch while he showered. Naked.
And of course she immediately visualized that. After seeing him in his boxers, it was easy to do. My oh my, the man had an amazing body. Broad in the shoulders, thick in the chest and biceps, with a narrow waist and flat stomach, and that tantalizing body hair... It sparsely covered his chest from one flat brown nipple to the other, then arrowed down as if pointing the way to what he’d hidden in his boxers.
Oh, how she’d love a peek.
Talking while he’d stood there showing off his bod hadn’t been easy. She was rather impressed with herself for accomplishing it.
“Did I miss anything?”
Good grief. She’d been staring at the bathroom too long. Charlotte shook her head and smiled at Ros. “No, it’s spotless.”
“He could use a rug for the floor. Help me remember to take care of that.”
“Sure.” Shortly after they’d all arrived, Mitch had come in to brush his teeth but he hadn’t yet showered or shaved. His toiletries were now neatly arranged on the side of the sink. If he exchanged the chipped mirror for a medicine cabinet, he’d have a little more storage. She’d ment
ion it to Brodie and Jack.
Would Mitch stand here in only a towel while he shaved? Did he use any cologne? She looked around, but saw only soap, shampoo, toothbrush and toothpaste, a razor and shaving cream.
He was a basic guy, living the simple life. Was that a preference, or something he’d gotten used to while in prison?
Just thinking of him—and she’d been thinking of him nonstop since meeting him—made her heart pump faster and her pulse go erratic.
Now with the image of him in snug boxers? Yeah, that’d be stuck in the forefront of her brain for a very long time, fueling all her fantasies.
“You shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble,” Mitch said from somewhere behind her, making her jump. “I’ve never slept in here.”
As if he could see her guilty thoughts, heat rushed into Charlotte’s face. Luckily, he wasn’t looking at her. He had his attention on Ros.
“It’s ready now if you decide to,” Ros said easily as she picked up additional linens from the chair in the corner. “I’ll make up that couch out front too, though how you’d fit on there, I don’t know.”
Charlotte suspected that he didn’t, at least not often. Would no one else ask about the tent? So far they hadn’t. They’d all been too polite.
Humming again, Ros breezed out of the room—leaving them alone.
Had she done that on purpose? Ros wasn’t known as a matchmaker, but she wouldn’t put it past her.
She and Mitch stared at each other. Again. They seemed to do that a lot and she hoped it meant something—like maybe he was as interested as she was.
“The scruffy look works for you, big-time.”
The words took him off guard, making him huff a laugh and then shake his head.
In total disarray, his dark blond hair stuck up, partly, she knew, from his restless hands, but also because they’d interrupted his morning. His darker beard scruff added to his dangerous air. And the intensity in those golden brown eyes... Be still, my heart.
In one respect, Charlotte felt trapped in the room with him. Unlike Ros, she couldn’t just sidle past, not with the way his big body blocked the door—and not with the way he made her heart riot.