by Anne Marsh
She had to laugh at that offer. Strong was barely qualified as a small town since the place consisted of little more than a few streets and a handful of buildings. Strong also came with a historic firehouse, Faye Duncan-Donovan’s art gallery, and a handful of antique shops. The whole place was disgustingly picturesque, from the wooden sidewalks to the red geraniums sprouting from tin cans. Strong was the kind of old-time California place, part small town and all charm, that made drive-through tourists stop and take a second look.
What Strong didn’t have was much in the way of crime.
Mercedes Hernandez, the town’s lone deputy sheriff, doubled as the coroner and the fire marshal, backed up by two reserve deputies and a part-time dispatcher. Mercedes kept busy—Mimi had a fine collection of speeding tickets to prove it—but she could easily imagine the other woman’s reaction to be asked to take on what amounted to babysitting duties.
“I’m fine,” she said, because the Oakland District Attorney’s office didn’t need the details of her life. And it was true. She was always fine.
“If you change your mind or you feel threatened in any way, let us know,” the DA’s assistant said and finally wrapped up their call.
Right. Like that was an option. Instead of answering—because, really, she’d said everything that needed saying—she tapped the Call End button. What did you do when the past refused to stay in the past?
***
Mack ran an eye over the manual’s diagrams as he teased the soda gun apart. Whatever Mimi had done to it, the thing was jacked as hell. He turned a page and discovered the mother lode of information. Problem solved. His hands continued to work on autopilot while he tried to hear what was going on just outside the bar’s front door. Eavesdropping wasn’t nice, but he didn’t mind as much as he should have. Mimi’s face had gotten just a little bit pinched when she’d seen the number. Given her attitude towards worrying—he was pretty sure she’d kick back with a margarita if and when the zombie apocalypse hit—he therefore inferred that the caller probably had extremely unwelcome news.
Secret babies. International political conspiracies. Neither was entirely outside the realm of possibility either. Or maybe she’d just outrun her credit limit. He wouldn’t know, of course, because Mimi didn’t believe in sharing information. Instead, he’d been reduced to hijacking her manual and fixing her soda gun. He was pretty sure that made him pathetic.
Whoever had called her, she wasn’t interested in a long conversation. She padded back inside in under five minutes and hopped up on the counter, crossing her legs, the better to watch him work. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t have minded. He liked looking at Mimi.
She’d worn a little black dress at Faye and Evan’s wedding (clearly, she hadn’t read the memo about not wearing black to a wedding or, more likely, hadn’t cared) paired with a pair of four-inch red fuck-me heels he was fairly certain would haunt his fantasies for decades to come. Today she had on a pair of cut-off shorts roughly the same length as those wicked heels, the soft denim fringe cupping her ass. She also sported a pair of cowboy boots and a faded T-shirt with the bar’s logo emblazoned over her very spectacular breasts.
She’d piled her hair on top of her head in one of those complicated messy up-dos women sported. The style defied the laws of gravity, sexy wisps clinging to her neck where he could just see the edges of her tattoo. Her wedding hair had been fancier and smoother, but this hair made her look like she’d just rolled out of bed and he loved it. And she was beautiful no matter what she wore. Her long, tanned legs begged him to run a hand up their silky length. Down again. Hell, over and over if she’d only let him because her legs weren’t doing the begging—he was. Mentally, because he had some pride, but still. She had him tied in knots and he didn’t like it. Mimi Hart was the kind of woman who ate men for breakfast and letting her know she had the upper hand would be a disaster.
There was a moment of silence as she looked at him. “Am I paying you to do that?”
She didn’t sound all that curious and he didn’t look up from his work. “Nope. Consider it a freebie.”
Over the past few months, they’d established a pattern. He came by and fixed little things for her or he BBQ-ed in the big kettledrum cooker she kept out back. They were almost… friends. And then he’d gone and screwed that up by sleeping with her last night. Of course, since she’d made it painfully clear she planned on ignoring the sex, perhaps the friendship avenue was still open to him.
He waited, but of course she didn’t volunteer any information about her call. Instead, she watched as he screwed the last bolt back onto the gun and tested. The soda shot straight where it should go.
He set the gun back in its holder and restored the manual to oblivion under the counter. “All fixed.”
“Thanks.”
He didn’t want thanks. He wanted information. He knew Mimi liked to take care of herself and, from all the evidence to date, she’d done a damned fine job of doing so. She owned her own bar, managing the books and the inventory as easily as she handled the occasional troublesome guest. He’d seen her show a mean drunk to the door, delivering the man to the parking lot and Sheriff Hernandez with smooth aplomb. Nothing fazed her except—he looked down at the soda gun—the odd mechanical issue and even then, he figured she was simply smart enough to let him do the heavy lifting there.
But something about that call had shaken her. She didn’t look quite as confident or certain as she usually did. Putting his finger on the why wasn’t easy. She was the same gorgeous bombshell of a woman, but her shoulders took on a vulnerable curve as she hunched in on herself and watched him. He didn’t want to guess. No, he wanted her to tell him what had upset her, to open up just a little. Funny how they could have sex, her body open to his in the most intimate way possible, but Mimi herself was further away, more closed off than ever.
“Are you in trouble?” He let the unspoken again hang in the air between them. Too bad if that particular truth pissed her off. He’d never known a woman who got into more trouble, so his guess seemed like a real safe bet.
She didn’t look away or drop her gaze. “Are you listening to my phone calls now?”
That wasn’t a no. He narrowed his gaze. Which, in Mimi parlance, meant hell yes. Great. He stepped toward her, slapping his hands down on either side of her. She’d made a tactical mistake when she’d parked her pretty ass on the counter, because it meant she couldn’t get away from him without an obvious retreat—and Mimi didn’t retreat. Ever.
Sure enough, she glared at him and poked his chest with her finger. At some point between the wedding and now, she’d re-painted her nails. He had no idea when she found the time to do all these girly things, when he knew for a fact that running the bar singlehandedly had her working her ass off, but he liked the color. The red was a cheerful fuck you, with some kind of white flower with yellow centers. He hadn’t realized she had an artistic side, but that probably explained the tattoo.
“In my space, Johnson.” She snapped the challenge at him, but her eyes still looked lost. “Back off.”
He answered her by moving closer and putting a hand on her knee. Her skin jumped against his palm, because Mimi was ticklish. And sensitive. He’d learned that last night. He was taking advantage like this, but he didn’t care. That was the God’s honest truth. Mimi ate nice for breakfast and he wasn’t letting her walk all over him. Instead, he pushed gently on her knee, silently demanding she yield.
“Too bad,” he growled. “I asked you a question. And, yeah, I listened. Close the door if you don’t want an audience.”
Her naughty smile widened. “I don’t mind. Do you like to watch?”
A blast of heat hit him hard, blood surging to his dick as erotic images jolted through his head and derailed his train of thought. Mimi, laid out on his bed, touching herself. Her fingers easing beneath her shorts and underneath her panties while she showed him exactly how she liked to pleasure herself… But that was the point, wasn’t it? She wanted him of
f-balance and thinking with his dick rather than his head. Sex was a great way to control a man but, unfortunately for Mimi, Mack was used to being in charge.
He pushed again. Harder, until he could step right between her thighs. Her lips parted and he wondered what was going through her head as her tongue darted out to wet her lips.
Arousal?
Desire?
Or one hundred percent pure calculation?
He didn’t like that last one at all. The bar’s counter put her at the perfect height for his dick to press against her. Her bare feet pressed into his legs, the heat of her scalding him through those teasing denim shorts of hers. Despite their position, she didn’t look concerned. Instead, she leaned back on her arms, staring at him for a heated moment before she deliberately wrapped her legs around his waist. Power play.
Damn, she was good.
Or bad.
Both words fit her and yet he couldn’t help but look down. The move sent her shorts riding up further and that was the sexiest thing he’d seen since yesterday because she flashed him a lacy hot pink thong. Last night’s panties had sported a little bow right over the heart of her and that made him wonder what today’s looked like. Pink, yes. And barely there… hell, yeah. Mimi wasn’t subtle, which was fine by him. He’d never won any prizes for understatement either. He leaned over her.
“Talk,” he rumbled. “Tell me what’s up.”
Unable to help himself, he rubbed a thumb over the creamy skin of her thigh, tracing the faint red marks there. His marks. He should have shaved yesterday before he’d taken her to bed—or she’d taken him—but he’d been too impatient and she’d been too demanding. She made him forget every rule he had.
So fuck it. He’d grab the bull by the horns and address the massive fucking elephant in the room.
Her naughty grin widened. “You didn’t answer my question.”
Right. The question where she’d asked him if he was some kind of voyeur. He thought about it for a moment, then gave her the truth. “I’d watch you.”
“Oh.” The small sound she made as she inhaled sharply hung in the air between them in the few inches of space he’d allowed her. Maybe she hadn’t expected that particular answer, but she got right back in the game, shooting him another come hither look as she did her best to distract him. “I don’t play those kinds of games.”
She paused, eying him as she considered her answer. “Yet.”
And… he had liftoff. His dick pressed against the buttons on his fly hard enough to leave an imprint. Which was what she’d been going for, he reminded himself. He liked the way she made him feel—hell, he flat-out loved it—but he’d asked her a question and she’d tossed him the pleasure bone to make him forget to care about her answer. That wasn’t happening.
“Are you in trouble?” he repeated.
She deliberately dropped her gaze down his body—more hardening on his part—and then her eyes snapped back to his. “One night,” she reminded him. “That’s my rule and that means that we were officially over and done with yesterday morning. Hands off and back up, smoke jumper. What I do with my life is none of your concern.”
~
Sweet Burn is available June 15th, 2014!
Coming In Hot
Take control…When militant Colombian guerrillas kidnap her clients, EXtreme Adventures travel agent Jenna Collins will do anything to rescue them…including hiring the Navy SEAL she’s struggled to forget. Mack may take orders from her father, but Jenna’s determined to convince the sexy SEAL to work with her. And stick around this time.
Protect the girl…Navy SEAL Mack Riley will take a jungle rescue in hostile territory over close contact with the admiral’s daughter who loved him and left him. But when Jenna forces her way onto the rescue team, the admiral’s orders to protect Jenna at all costs has Mack sticking to her as close as body armor. In the heat of battle, love has a way of breaching the strongest of defenses…
Keep reading for a preview of Kimberley Troutte’s Coming in Hot
Coming in Hot – An Excerpt
Mack was leaving? Why’d he come if he was going to turn back around? Jenna swung around to face Kat. Her assistant cocked her head toward the door. They both knew Mack was their best shot at rescuing the Harmonds.
Jenna ran. “Stop right there, sailor!”
She caught Mack in the hallway. His blue eyes raking over her made it nearly impossible to breathe. Or think.
“What?” His feet kept moving toward the parking lot.
“Where are you going?”
“To hell, most likely. Before that? A bar.”
“This is important. The Harmonds are my responsibility! They might die!”
He stared impassively at her. “The SEALs will move in when the war is over. Your clients will have to wait it out.”
She laced her fingers, determined to hide her shaking hands. “Jacob is only ten years old. His sister is thirteen. You know what those bastards will do to a young girl! And a young boy?”
“There’s nothing you or I can do.”
“Is it that the Navy won’t let you go on this mission? Because I’m sure Senator Tonell could get authorization for you.”
He didn’t speak.
“Or you won’t help because of what happened between us?”
The muscle in his jaw flexed. The fire in his eyes was answer enough.
“Dammit, Mack! This isn’t about us!” She poked her finger into his incredibly hard chest. It was as if he wore body armor under that black tee. But no, it was only muscle. Strong. Lean. Impossibly sexy. Lord help her. She poked him again for good measure. “Not you. Not me. It’s about a terrified little boy and his sister! You need to do the right thing here, Lieutenant Commander. Do the right thing!”
“Tell me why I should.”
Before he said another word, the cell phone rang inside in her pocket. She scrambled to pull it out and was shocked by the caller I.D.
“It’s the driver.” Horror swamped her and she grabbed Mack’s muscular bicep. “But it can’t be. He’s dead.”
“Answer it. This might be the ransom call.”
Her heart pounded so loudly in her ears that she wasn’t sure she’d be able to hear.
He squeezed her shoulder. “Do it.”
“This is Jenna. Who…who is this?”
“It’s me, Jacob.”
He’s alive? Relief and terror hit hard. She gripped Mack’s arm tighter.
“Jacob,” she finally managed. “Where are you?”
“I don’t know. Anna and I are tied together in a dark room. I don’t know where my mom is…” he broke off, crying softly. “They took my mom and dad.”
“It’s going to be okay.” Her voice cracked. Liar. Since when was any of this okay?
Mack wrapped his other arm around her and pulled her in close. “Nice and easy, babe. Tell him to leave the phone on and hide it.”
“Good for you taking this phone, Jacob. We’ll be able to track your location now. Very good thinking. When we’re done talking, leave it on and hide it, okay?”
“I’ll try. When are you coming to get me?”
She blinked hard, willing her throat not to close. Mack rubbed her hair as if instinctually knowing she needed more of his touch to calm her down. It did the trick.
“Breathe.” His lips touched her ear lobe.
She gulped air. “Soon. You keep being brave. And help your sister, too.”
“Promise to hold my hand when we walk out of this place?”
Oh, Lord. “I promise.”
“Okay. I’ll be brave, Jenna.”
A loud commotion on his end meant that Jacob hid the phone, or at least, she hoped that’s what it meant.
Jenna tipped her chin up and looked into a face full of steely resolve. Why couldn’t she be that strong, that brave? “Mack, please, I need your help.”
With the back of his knuckle, he gently wiped the wetness off her cheek. “I’ll do it.”
She pulled bac
k and looked at him closely. “You’ll organize a team to—”
“Yes, Jenna, I said I’ll do it.” His voice was gruff. “But let’s get one thing clear. When this is all over, we go our separate ways. No calling me to take out the trash, or pound something into submission, or find your cat. Got it?”
She swallowed hard. “Yes.” She understood all too well. This was payback. Who said it was a bitch? To her it was one long, lean, heart-stealing, chiseled man.
“Fine. I’ll call you when the mission is over and let you know where to pick up the Harmonds.” He put his sunglasses on. His long legs strode into the parking lot as if he couldn’t wait to get away from her.
She raced in front of him, blocking his path. “My company will pay for everything—salary, essentials, private jet, whatever you need. I’ve been instructed to make this worth your while. Get your team together, and we’ll put you up in any hotel of your choosing for the night. Let Kat know which one you prefer, and she’ll make the arrangements.”
“Don’t worry about me. Have the jet ready to leave in the morning. Good-bye, Jenna.” He said it like he meant it.
Damn him. “Good night. See you tomorrow.”
He gave her one of those looks—jaw muscle flexing, nostrils widening. If she could see his eyes behind the mirrored lenses, they’d be narrowed, intense. “I can find the hangar without help.”
“I’m sure you can. I’m going with you.” She straightened her back, readying for the coming fight.
About the Author
After ten years of graduate school and too many degrees, Anne Marsh escaped to become a technical writer. When not planted firmly in front of the laptop translating Engineer into English, Anne enjoys gardening, running (even if it’s just to the 7-11 for slurpees), and reading books curled up with her kids. The best part of writing romance, however, is finally being able to answer the question: “So… what do you do with a PhD in Slavic Languages and Literatures?” She lives in Northern California with her husband, two kids and four cats.