“What’d you have behind your back? You should have come out shooting.” Finn could feel his lip curling. By the time she whipped her gun out, he’d have the throwing knife dead center between her ferocious gray-blue eyes.
“I don’t want to shoot you,” she said. “But this is private property, and you should leave.”
Which he was about to, but now that he’d seen her, Finn figured he’d have some fun with her. She was not just drop dead gorgeous—oops, not the best pun intended, but she had strength behind those arms of hers. Not that she was a female bodybuilder or anything, but those firm arms and shoulders, that commanding posture, and the waves of confidence radiating from that hot body had him half-hard already, and that was saying a lot after the freezing shower he’d endured.
“Why don’t you put the gun away and then we can talk?” He slowly raised his hands, palms out toward her. “I mean, I know New Yorkers are unfriendly, but I’ve just come from a war zone, and this place isn’t one, is it?”
She swallowed, her throat lurching, and a blush flooded her cheeks as her chest heaved, with what? Anger or passion?
Finn narrowed his eyes at the swell of her breasts and the pebbled nipples straining from her ribbed racerback tank top. Was she flushed because he turned her on, or was she about to blow his head off?
Although, thinking about her blowing his head, well, now, what was a guy supposed to do when faced with a furious blond beauty packing heat?
He feigned disinterest, turning away from her. Slowly, he gathered the loopholes of his duffle together, clipped it tight, and looped the shoulder straps over his arms.
He stretched his muscles and adjusted the weight over his back and clomped down the steps of the deck toward the flagstone path leading to the road.
Now, in the light of day, it was clear that her car was already parked in the carport and that she believed she was entitled to the cottage.
“Hey, mister,” the woman called out. “You left your surfboard.”
Since she’d been rude, he’d be rude. Without acknowledging that he heard her, he picked up speed and marched away on the gravel road.
The surfboard wasn’t his anyway, and the last thing he needed for R&R was a woman who ogled him from the window, then drove him away without a friendly word.
Welcome back to America, soldier. Now, get lost.
Chapter Three
Kerry tucked the nine millimeter handgun into the waistband of her jeans. A girl could never be too safe, especially one all alone. Surfing was a sport dominated by men, and when she used to camp on the beaches or inside a van overnight, she always carried a gun.
There was nothing worse than a bunch of drunk or stoned surfer dudes out on the prowl after a hard day on the waves. The excitement, adrenaline, and competition brought the worst out of some men.
The guy she’d driven off was a real bad ass. The way his eyes drilled through her clothes and focused on her telltale nipples could have effed up her search for inner peace and calm.
Thankfully, he’d walked away before she did something really out of character, like drop her panties and lick the salt off his tats or blow his head off. The last thing she needed was another prick, especially one that came with an attitude.
Swallowing her disgust at herself, she picked up the surfboard and rinsed it off. It was a long one, beaten up and battered. She could tell a lot about a man by the condition of his board, whether he’d dollop tender, loving care by fixing all the cracks, patching and buffing dings, and keeping the rails straight and strong, or like this ass, neglect and abuse it.
The stranger’s board had been hastily patched, and any repairs done were without care or finesse. She picked at the weathered fiberglass which had allowed water to damage the foam and checked the fins.
“Guess he didn’t care enough about you,” she muttered. “Use and dump.”
Patting the board, she carried it back to the shed and set it on a rack. Several other boards were stored in their bags. Kerry couldn’t help peeling one out of its bag.
Her breath caught at the gleaming new competition level shortboard. Not that she could use it without asking permission, but the sight of the board made her heart race and her blood pound, even though she wasn’t ready to get back in the water. Will I ever be?
She unveiled the other boards and found a longboard, sturdy and old-fashioned, and a retro fish board with a flat rocker, built for speed and good for catching smaller and unpredictable waves.
Kerry replaced the boards into their bags and closed the shed door. Strange that they had no lock, or had the intruder broken it?
She’d better call Siena.
Ten minutes later, Kerry had a pot of French vanilla coffee brewing. The creamy aroma and smooth flavor settled her nerves as she rang her friend. It was Sunday around brunch time, so hopefully she was awake already.
“How was your first night?” Siena’s cheery voice never failed to bring a smile to Kerry’s face.
“Luscious. The featherbed was heavenly.”
“You’re staying in the loft? What’s wrong with the master bedroom?”
“Nothing.” Kerry cringed at the thought of the king-sized sleigh bed with the sensuous satin sheets. “I’d feel strange sleeping in a bed you and, er, Cash, um …”
“Oh, you’re so weird. Every time you go to a hotel, you’re in a bed somebody’s er, um … as you put it.”
“Well, they’re anonymous somebodies.”
“I take it you’ve never done it on your parents’ bed.” Siena giggled in a way that suggested she might have.
“Really? You did? Isn’t your father a general or something?”
“Retired. I plead the fifth.”
“Sure, sure, after you bleach my brain.” Kerry took a sip of her coffee and woke up her tablet. “Anyway, I called because I noticed you have a bunch of surfboards. Have you started surfing?”
“Not yet. Those boards came with the house, except for the new one I bought after meeting you.”
“That was two years ago.”
“That’s right, Kerry girl, and you promised to teach me.”
“Except we’re always on the move.”
“And meeting at airports.” Siena finished her sentence. “Go ahead, have at it. So, are you going back in the water?”
Kerry’s heart jumped to a panicked flutter. “The water’s too cold. I just wondered about the boards, that’s all.”
“Use them and have fun! Send me pics and I’ll see you in about a week.”
“Actually, there’s one more thing.” Kerry’s throat tightened, and she wondered whether she should worry Siena or call the police. “I found your storage shed unlocked. Do you usually keep it locked or not?”
“Oh, no one goes in there. We don’t bother locking it. Why, is there a problem?”
“Maybe. I found a guy out there.” Kerry didn’t know why her heart decided to rev like a stuttering motorbike.
“You found a guy in the shed? Dead or alive?”
“Alive, of course.”
“Is he hot?”
“Oh, gawd, Siena, you have Cash.”
Cash Ryder was Siena’s over-the-top hunk of a fireman boyfriend who’d rescued her one snowy evening.
“Doesn’t mean I can’t look. Okay, is he ‘Cash hot?’”
“I don’t know about ‘Cash hot,’ but he was something hot.” Kerry could feel her face heating, or was that her entire body?
“What was he doing? Was he stealing something out of the shed?”
“No, he was taking a shower in the outdoor shower on the deck.”
“Alone? Or with you?” Siena was enjoying this way too much.
“Alone. Of course. I was upstairs.”
“Ah … got it. You were upstairs in the loft and you had a clear view. Deets. Abs? Shoulders? How big were his feet?”
“You have Cash. No looking.” Besides, he’s mine. Oh my, did I just think that? Stop, stop, stop. Calm.
“I’m looking out
for you, girl. Spill.” Siena was like a bulldog on a postman’s leg, and she wasn’t letting go until she got the entire four-one-one.
“So, I wake up and I pull back the curtain to look at the weather and check out the surf, and he was right below me, showering away.”
“Singing?”
“Couldn’t tell. I had the window closed. Big, hunky shoulders, nice, tight ass. Eight-pack abs.” Kerry took a deep breath and swallowed her drool.
“And? You’re leaving out the most important part.”
“Not telling.” Kerry’s skin tingled at the memory. “Let’s just say, even under the freezing water, it was quite noticeable.”
“Like Moby Dick long?”
“Yeah, Moby.”
“So, what happened? Is he still there?”
“No, I drove him away. I mean, he was trespassing and it was obvious he’d spent the night on the deck. I saw his sleeping bag and a large duffle bag. He left his surfboard.”
“Good,” Siena said. “That means he’ll be back.”
“I don’t want him to come back.” Liar, liar, your entire barn’s on fire. “Seriously, he might be a psychopath or something.”
“What are you going to do when he comes back?” Siena asked.
Invite him in. Cup of coffee? Bite of pie?
“Maybe call the police. He’s kind of rough looking, all tatted. I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with tattoos, since your brothers are all inked. But theirs are tasteful, you know, a dragon here and a flower there. This guy has the most awesome sleeves, some kind of warrior design on one arm, something else on the other shoulder, and a patch of roses or thorns on his side—”
“Stop right there,” Siena practically barked, her voice like the crack of a rifle-shot.
Kerry’s nerves rattled over her scalp. “I didn’t mean it about the tattoos. They’re cool, really, and Cash’s is the best and most tasteful.”
“No, no, back up. Describe the guy again? Hair color, eyes. Height, weight. Name?”
“I, uh, well, didn’t get his name. He’s tall, I mean, I’m tall and he’s taller. Dark brown hair, cropped short, big brown eyes. He might have been military, had an Army duffle. I think his name was stamped on it, but I didn’t look. Why? You know him?”
“He might be a buddy of Dexy’s. Did you say Army guy?”
“Shit, you mean he was visiting Dex? I thought you said your brother’s not coming up this week.”
“Let me call Dex and let you know.”
“Sure, now I feel bad.”
“No worries, talk soon.” Siena hung up.
# # #
Finn trudged to the main road and turned left, heading west toward the town. Anger burned in his gut at the way the snotty woman had treated him, as if he were a street bum or criminal. He got it. There were the haves and the have-nots, and most people on this side of Long Island were firmly in the camp of the haves. Grunts like him were only good enough to bleed and die in wars so people like that blonde could enjoy the fruits of living in a free society and leer at men like him for their jollies.
He turned and spotted a car going his direction. A Mercedes. He didn’t have to hook his thumb or wave to know they wouldn’t be stopping for him. He put one foot in front of the other and kept marching.
A minivan passed him, followed by a Porsche, and another Mercedes. It being Sunday meant there would be no gardeners or handymen in pickup trucks coming this way. Looked like he’d have to suck it up and hoof it to the Long Island Rail Road station.
A white sedan pulled up beside him, and the window lowered.
“Hey, you. Get in the car.” It was the blonde. The hard edge on her face was gone, and in its place was a contrite and puzzled expression. She popped the locks to the unlocked position and gestured with a quick toss of her head. “Hurry, you’re holding traffic.”
Which was a laugh. Finn ambled to the car and propped himself over the window frame. “Lady, this ain’t Hollywood Boulevard and I’m not turning tricks.”
At least she had the decency to blush. She looked over her shoulder at the nonexistent traffic and smiled through tightly pressed lips. “Can you come back with me and get this vacation cottage situation straightened out? I know you’re Dex Remington’s friend.”
“Oh, so now that someone can vouch for me, I’m suddenly good enough for you to make polite conversation with.”
“A woman can’t be too careful.” She hadn’t taken those blue-gray eyes off him.
“Neither can a man.” He unlatched the back door and threw his pack on the backseat, then climbed in beside her. “But with you, I’m willing to take a chance since you didn’t shoot me in the back.”
She sucked in a breath and swallowed, her eyes intense, sizing him up. He returned the favor.
She was well tanned, and her hair was sun bleached, a natural blonde. Her face was on the harsher side of pretty, but beauty shone naturally, devoid of makeup over the planes of her cheekbones and the curve of her feminine jaw. He zeroed in on her lips. Now, more relaxed, they were plumper and fuller, moist, partially open, as if waiting for him to complete the connection.
Was she feeling what he was feeling? The electric sparks, the unanswered questions, the moment of truth, wondering what if? Or was she knocked speechless by his remark about shooting him in the back?
Finn leaned toward her slowly. She didn’t back away, neither did she flinch or blink. Those stormy eyes remained steady, assessing, dilating as he drew closer.
Would she keep them open when she came in the throes of orgasm, or would they roll back before the final explosion?
The moment was broken by a horn and a car passing partway into the opposing lane.
The blonde put the car in gear and made a U-turn.
“I could never shoot a man in the back,” she said. “I’m sure you’re the same way.”
“More. I could never shoot someone who wasn’t shooting at me. It’s not just rules of engagement. It’s me.” He held out his hand. “Finn Meriwether, US Army, Ranger.”
She grasped it with her right hand while her left stayed on the steering wheel. “Kerry Mills, professional surfer, quitter.”
Chapter Four
Kerry unlocked the door to the cottage and opened it, motioning for Finn to step in.
Finn wiped his shoes on the doormat and set the bag down at the entry. “What exactly happened here? Double booking?”
“Something like that. Look, I’m really sorry about, you know, everything …” She ambled to the kitchen to brew another pot of coffee. “I’m a friend of Dex’s twin sister, and she got her wires crossed. How long are you here for?”
“A week, maybe two—but it’s okay. I was on my way back to the City when you ordered me into the car.” The corner of his sexy lip turned down, and he leaned over the counter, not amused.
“I might have been a little rude, but you didn’t exactly introduce yourself properly.” She measured ground coffee into the filter.
“Kind of hard to do when I’m buck naked and giving you an eyeful in the outdoor shower.” He deadpanned with his brows lowered and his eyes dead level on hers, like he was eyeing her for target practice.
“I said I’m sorry.” She filled the machine with water and hit the switch. Okay, so she sounded like a grumpy girl at the principal’s office, but how was she to know this man was legit? Besides, he rubbed her the wrong way, all arrogant and aggressive. Heck, he was a well-trained killer. Army Ranger. She’d read that they killed deer during training.
“How sorry is that?” He slid onto one of the barstools. “Sorry enough to make it up to me?”
Oh, and now he was coming on to her in that dead serious manner of his, giving her the creeps. Had someone died and not notified her, or was this Finn’s next career running a funeral home?
“Sorry, bucko, not that sorry.” She swiped open the refrigerator and peered inside, glad that she’d had the foresight to pay Siena’s housekeeper to stock the larder. “Just sorry enough to co
ok you breakfast.”
“Breakfast’s a good start …” His voice trailed off, deep and low.
“A good do-over,” she hastily agreed, suppressing the little voices whispering romance and vacation fling.
His face crinkled with a hint of a smile. “I was thinking of something more exciting to do over and over again.”
“Yeah, uh, I bet.” She bent down to the vegetable drawer to explore the contents. Was it her imagination, or did Mr. Deadpan Finn lace every remark with sexual innuendo?
Silence.
She felt, rather than saw, his gaze settle on her protruding posterior. Don’t look. Don’t look back. She shut her eyes and stood to pluck eggs out of the holder. Why did this Finn bother her so much?
Call him Huck, then it won’t be so hot. Huck rhymes with … Never mind.
She stepped from the refrigerator, but Finn wasn’t looking her direction—at all.
He was flipping through a magazine on the kitchen table. “Will you teach me how to surf?”
“S-surf?” She plopped the omelet supplies on the counter. “That’s all I have to do to be exciting?”
“Why, of course.” He tweaked one eyebrow. “What did you think I meant?”
Kerry threw a cucumber onto the chopping board and sliced. She diced onions and tomatoes, and peeled garlic as the silence dragged.
Finn didn’t seem to be a man who particularly minded awkward pauses in conversation. He simply sat and watched her mince the vegetables, until the onion fumes drew tears from her eyes and she had to stop to wipe them. Damn, if he thought he’d made her cry. Of all the favors he could have asked, why had he asked her to teach him to surf? She wasn’t even sure if she could go back into the water, especially with the scars on her leg advertising her as shark bait.
“Onions.” She sniffled and dabbed her eyes with a tissue.
“Sure, yeah, gets me every time. Onions are just so exciting.” He wrinkled his nose, sniffed and blinked, grabbing a tissue and poking at his eyes.
Seriously? Was an itty bitty piece of onion Kryptonite for a big, tough Army Ranger?
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