by Nicole Snow
She looks at us through the camera with sharp, penetrating eyes, assessing, finally landing on me.
“Who added a sea lion to the menagerie?” she lilts mockingly.
I just shrug.
“He’s the reason we’re here,” Leo says, his huge tattooed forearm flexing. “Alaska Charter, the woman formerly known as Fuchsia Delaney. Fuchsia, Alaska.”
Her upper lip curls. “That’s not his real name.”
“And you want me to believe your parents named you Fuchsia?” I throw back.
“Please don’t get distracted,” Doc says dryly, steepling his fingers, his glasses gleaming. “You can run a deep background check on him later. For now, he—plus one of our longtime friends—needs our help.”
“So Scooby Doo and the gang got back together. I knew Heart’s Edge had a few more bruises waiting.” This Fuchsia woman sniffs, utterly disdainful. “The lot of you are so wholesome it sickens me.”
The guys just exchange amused looks, Warren and Blake chuckling under their breath.
Guess this is just what she’s like.
Pot meet kettle, though, because there’s suddenly a grizzled older male voice calling from off-screen. “Love? Did you want to take care of canning those cherries tonight before they start to go bad? They’ll get freezer burned soon.”
The transformation on her face is almost shocking. Warmth, sweetness, love as she looks at the mystery man. “In a little bit, dear. I’m busy doing espionage.”
“No more international incidents,” the guy says without missing a beat, and she smirks.
“I make no promises,” she says, then turns back to us—only for her expression to go flat, needling. “What?”
Leo grins, a wolfish expression on his scarred face.
“Settling into domestic bliss, are you? You’re a natural, Delaney.”
“Oh, you—shut up. I don’t need to hear anything from you of all people.” She points a manicured finger at him, but she no longer seems so razor-sharp. “Just give me the details. Quit wasting my time.”
I suck down another big pull of coffee, gathering my thoughts.
“We’re looking for intel on the Lockwood crime syndicate,” I say. “Specifically, we’re trying to track down the location of its head, Paisley Lockwood, daughter of former boss Kurt Lockwood. They’ve got a stranglehold on the regional drug market, and one of our locals got mixed up with them in some real ugly ways.”
“You’re talking about Felicity Randall and her father Morgan Randall. Predictable,” Fuchsia says absently, muttering to herself under her breath as she turns away. I can’t quite see what she’s doing, but the glow of a screen washes over her face, followed by the sound of rapid-fire typing.
I blink at her.
“How...how’d you know?”
“Oh, I had dossiers on everyone who’s ever set foot in that godforsaken little town. Another life,” she says like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Who is this woman? “Lockwood, hm? If I recall, they were the big hand behind that little drug ring that used to be in your backyard a few years ago. That gives me a good place to start.”
“What about Galentron?” Warren asks, scratching his beard. He’s been so silent up till now I almost forgot he was there. He’s intensely focused, watching Fuchsia like a hawk. “You can’t tell me the higher-ups weren’t into some heavy stuff. The Lockwoods run a lot of shit out of Washington, Oregon, even up in Vancouver. With the Galentron outfit up there...”
“Yes, yes, I’m already ahead of you, you don’t have to tell me,” she says impatiently, then frowns. “Hmm. It’s going to take me a bit to get an accurate bead on her location, however, I found something interesting.”
“Yeah?” I ask. “What’s that?”
She smirks. “You aren’t the only ones after her. Apparently, princess dearest lacks both her father’s subtlety and his business savvy, hiding his scummy dealings inside more legitimate organizations—and she’s been so brazen that the FBI has a significant reward out for information leading to her arrest. You boys have stumbled into something fun, haven’t you?”
Fun, no.
Interesting, yeah.
Because I can’t help but think that taking down Paisley Lockwood could kill two birds with one stone.
Remove the threat hanging over Felicity’s head.
Then make sure she’ll never want for anything again, without even having to dream of dipping into that tainted gold.
Clean reward money. Well-earned.
If it could save the girl I’ve fallen for, why not?
Why the hell wouldn’t I deliver her future—a life worth living—right on a golden platter?
We don’t linger long.
Everyone’s got their own lives to get back to—wives, kids, plus Eli’s waiting for me up at the big house with Ms. Wilma. Fuchsia said she’ll get in touch with us when she’s got more intel that’ll lead us to Paisley and let us get to her without getting ourselves killed.
So I guess it’s a waiting game.
I’m the last one out of Holt’s office, so I figure now’s a better time than never. I linger near the door, clearing my throat.
He glances up from shutting down his workstation, gold eyes watching me thoughtfully. “What’s up, man?”
“Well...” I sigh. “You remember that shit with me getting into a brawl at the gas station, right?”
“You think I could forget?” He grins, one-sided and rakish. Funny how both he and that Fuchsia woman have naturally mocking grins, but while hers is cold as steel, his is friendly, like he’s sharing some raunchy inside joke. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you throw a punch in all the years I’ve known you. Asshole must’ve really pissed you off.”
“...he’s actually an old friend,” I grind out. “Name’s Gavin Coakley.”
My gut sinks when I say it, even if it’s based on a terrible truth. He doesn’t need to know the whole story about the mine.
“Anyhow, he’s down on his luck. Looking for part-time work. He knows construction and he can handle the machinery. Used to work the mines with me back up in Alaska.”
“Well, that’s unfortunate,” Holt says.
Crap.
“Yeah? No problem. I didn’t make him any promises—”
“I just mean it’s gonna be hard to find him a nickname when you’re both from Alaska. If you want him on the crew, consider it done.” Holt grins, folding his arms on the desk. “Give him my number. Have him call me to set up an interview. We could use the extra hands on the museum job if we want to get it done in time for the city council’s grand opening plans.”
Have I mentioned how sometimes Holt’s a bit of a bastard?
I can breathe a bit easier, at least, and I grin.
“Thanks, chief. I’ll let him know.”
I turn to leave, but Holt’s voice follows me. “Old friend, huh? Is that how you say hello to old friends where you’re from—socking ’em square in the face?”
I don’t know what to say to that.
So I don’t.
I’m just glad it’s one less loose end to take care of.
One less problem dangling over my head.
Speaking of the museum job, it’s a rough day laying the foundation, especially with so much weighing on my mind. So many unanswered questions floating around when all I can do is wait and see if Fuchsia Delaney lives up to the trust the guys put in her.
If I’m honest with myself, though, that’s not the whole reason for the day creeping along.
I want to see Fliss, dammit.
The second I’m clocked out and cleaned off, I’m right back at The Nest, helping her unload her station wagon after the other night. She’d packed it full of everything she’d used for that booth at the festival.
I’m impressed she hauls these huge sacks of beans around by herself.
They’re fairly hefty and weigh close to fifty pounds. I’ve got two tossed over my shoulder, bowing my back as I trudge inside.
I can
’t help but stop just inside the threshold, caught as the light falls over Felicity and Eli, leaning together like they’re thick as thieves and smiling over something on Eli’s camera screen.
They’ve been like that all day.
Eli’s still in love with the café’s vibe, and she’s been adorably open to everything he wanted to try for his camera work. Shifting the furniture just so in front of a window or catching a shot of her working at the register framed through the filigree mounted high on one wall. He also snapped off plenty of shots from above as she stirred patterns into cappuccino froth.
Eli’s easy with her.
She’s sweet with him.
She’s also mighty encouraging, and I overhear her promising she’ll use his photos on the website and social media accounts she keeps for The Nest.
“You’ve gotta get on Instagram!” Eli says firmly. “That’s where people love seeing pictures of things. It’s like, a window for your whole brand.”
“I’ll see about signing up.” She giggles, leaning her arms on the bar. “What about putting a few up in the café itself? Your very first gallery exhibition.”
“Dude. No way.” Eli shakes his head solemnly. “No photos of the café in the café. That’s too meta and you need some more, like, natural scenes.”
Meta, huh? I try not to snort at the ten-dollar words he’s learning from that Tara girl.
“You know,” Fliss says, taking him seriously as she glances around, “I think you’re right.”
As she turns her head, she catches my eye and blinks.
For the briefest moment, she looks startled to see me standing here before she ducks her head, peeking at me past her hair with a shy smile and her eyes lit like a wintry sunset.
My pulse booms in my ears.
Goddamn, I’m hooked.
Hooked on her and the way she fits our lives so effortlessly.
No denying it now—not that I ever did.
If we had our chance, we could be perfect together.
We could be right.
Then again, I felt that way about Katelyn at first, too.
As rotten as she turned out, she also didn’t come with a parade of murderous drug-dealing psychopaths chasing after their stolen blood money.
If I want something more with Fliss, I need to be sure it won’t bite me in the ass. Especially when it’s getting harder by the day to pretend we’re still pretending.
Those kisses taste as real as her coffee—bold, bright, and electrifying.
Can I save her in time?
Can I convince myself I’m not making another big-ass mistake all over again?
I try not to dwell on the cupid shit too much as I finish hauling things into the storage room and help Felicity tidy things up and close everything down.
Right now feels good.
Right now is enough.
Almost feels like we’re faking it in a different way, believing this could actually be real when there are so many reasons why it could go absolutely haywire, spark, and burn our worlds to cinders.
Still, I don’t want to stop.
So I cling to the illusion for a little while longer, marveling at her shy smiles and breathing the air in her wake.
I enjoy becoming a drumming heartbeat just shy of seven feet tall because now my pulse drums for her.
Later, after Eli’s in bed and zonked out snoring, I coax Felicity to the back deck and the hot tub. We could both use the relaxation tonight, I think.
A little time off, a moment to soak and be human together. Not two people caught up in enough trouble for twenty.
With how she frets and gets caught inside her own head, I don’t expect her to agree with me so easily.
I definitely can’t take my eyes off her as she emerges from the bathroom in a sleek strapless bathing suit.
Holy shit.
I swear, the outfit doesn’t know if it wants to be a one-piece or two-piece. It’s all strategically wrapped bits of paper-thin white cloth that spiral around her gorgeous frame, covering all the best parts but her face.
Barely.
And it covers a lot less when she sinks into the hot tub with a soft purr, stretching out and turning that fabric semi-translucent the moment it gets wet.
I don’t realize she’s talking to me just yet—not when I’m this hypnotized.
She lifts her arms to pile her hair on top of her head and away from the water. Her tits rise up gleaming from the surface of the water and—
“...I just can’t help thinking how much it would cost,” she says, and I blink, tearing my gaze up to her face.
Her eyes are up there. Shit. Okay.
“Sorry, say that again? My mind started wandering...”
Felicity gives me a wry look like she knows exactly what was going on in my dirty damned head.
“I was just saying if I ever build a real house one day and leave that mess I grew up in...I want to have a hot tub like this. But I can’t help wondering how much it would cost.”
“Less than you’d think,” I say with a smile. “Honestly, if you bought a hot tub at the old place, I could install it for you. Save you a lot of money. No new house needed.”
There’s a stillness between us then.
Because what I’m saying implies we’ll be in each other’s lives after the trash gets taken out.
We can be friends, right?
I clear my throat, looking away, because when I look at her the last thing on my mind is friendship.
“I know what you mean, though. About wanting a home and not just a place to live. This cabin won’t be a forever thing for us either.”
“No?” Even without looking at her, I hear the teasing smile in her voice. “Not going to be the Charming Inn’s resident polar bear?”
“Careful, woman.” I splash a hand her way, flinging a palmful of water, and she squeals with laughter. “Just saying. I came here looking to make a life. I still want to make that life for me and for Eli, no matter what.”
“I hope you can. I hope you do,” she murmurs. Soft and wistful words. “It’s nice being optimistic, but I’m glad you have that optimism.”
The sadness in her voice draws me back to her—her pensive face, the way the lights of the hot tub shine on her skin in soft spangles.
“Fliss?”
“It’s nothing. Don’t—I mean—I don’t want to drag the mood down.” She smiles self-deprecatingly, flicking a loose strand of cinnamon hair off her shoulder. “I just keep thinking...I’ve always wondered if I could ever have things like that. A normal life. Something that would break the Randall curse and would let me stop being so...so broken.”
“You’re not broken,” I growl, shifting closer to her. “You’re not cursed, either. Leave that shit to bad horror movies where curses are no match for the characters’ sheer stupidity. Everyone has bad streaks, Fliss. Yours can’t go on forever.”
“...is it really a streak if it’s been my whole freaking life?”
“It won’t be. It doesn’t have to be.” I slip my hands through the water to find hers, gripping them with the heat and wetness of the water between us. “We’re gonna make this right. We’re gonna keep you safe. And then no one else’s bad decisions ever have to be your problem again.”
She looks at me like she wants to believe it so much.
The same look she gives says she’s had too many promises broken, too.
When she leans in to kiss me, I understand. More than I think she even realizes exactly what she’s saying.
If we don’t put it into words, it can’t become a lie. A broken promise. A lost faith.
As long as I don’t talk—not with words—I can’t let her down.
Just as long as I kiss her with so much meaning it could write whole volumes in how much I care.
Kiss her and draw her through the water till she’s in my lap again, feeling what she does to me.
I love her this way, I realize—this delicate woman straddling me like she’s in control, when we both kno
w I could take over at any moment.
It’s not about that.
It’s about letting her feel loved without making her feel trapped.
Her silky skin glides against me as she moves over me, against me.
The water adds to the blazing heat between us till we’re all rushed sighs and tingling skin.
Until the thin scraps of fabric between us aren’t enough to stop the wildfire that makes me feel naked against her, her slip of a bathing suit no barrier that stops me from feeling every inch of her skin.
She’s too fucking gorgeous.
The wet white fabric clings to her, her skin showing through it, from the dark rosy shade of her nipples to the soft pinkness between her thighs.
I take her lips, taming her mouth till it goes slack. Then I lick the water drops from her neck, her shoulders, taking her nipples—first one, then the other—in my mouth and toying with them till her back arches beautifully.
She gives back a shudder, moving against me like she’s under a spell, her fingers kneading at my shoulders.
“Paxton,” she whispers, and it’s so fucking gut-deep intimate for her to call me something other than that nickname.
For her to whisper for me like she wants to know me deeper than flesh, sweat, and fire. Like she wants to map my soul.
I give her deeper, all right—peeling that bathing suit off of her with a shallow growl.
She’s naked and beautiful, shining in the hot tub’s lights, arching over me with her hair tumbled everywhere and her spine curved.
Her lush tits thrust high and full, heavy with her nipples roused.
They’re peaked for mischief, tempting me to lick, to nibble, to suck, to do whatever it takes to make her give me those sounds that turn my veins into a foundry.
When she surrenders to her own heat, dragging my trunks down to bare my aching cock, hell.
I’m ready.
With a lustful grin, I wrap my arms around her, holding her to me, letting her set the pace, letting her fucking torture me.
“Had that pussy on my mind all day, Fliss. Give it up,” I whisper, my throat dry with need.
Smiling, she sinks down in a slow, hitched shiver, spinning lightly in my arms. Just the right angle so her ass grazes the angry tip of my dick. Then she’s facing me again, shifting her legs apart.