“Not this time. I have an incentive to stay in town.” His voice was low,
intense, and there was no mistaking what he meant. He’d come to a
decision. This was a battle he didn’t intend to lose. The time had come
and she needed to understand.
She was his.
Her back still faced him, but he saw a definite change in her stance. It
was slight, and if he hadn’t been watching her so intently he might have
missed it. She understood exactly what he meant.
Instead of responding however, she muttered something about finding
her shoes.
“Jade? I have your shoes.” His words forced her to turn around. He held
out flat sandals, which she took wordlessly.
“Thanks,” she mumbled, but wouldn’t meet his gaze. She fumbled around
in her purse for her keys.
“Aren’t you going to ask me what my incentive is?” He wanted – no
needed – her to ask.
Maybe she already knew the answer. The past couple days, hell, years,
had been building up to this moment. She might not be prepared for the
truth, but it was coming out anyway. He was sick of carrying this burden.
“What is it?” Long, heavy lashes lifted and their gazes collided. The
question came out as a whisper and almost seemed to stick in her throat.
“You.” The word hung in the air, suspended by an invisible string.
| Excerpts |
| Running From the Past All Rights Reserved |
| From City of Secrets All Rights Reserved |
| © Katie Reus 2007-2008. All rights reserved. |
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He let out a bark of laughter. Normally he’d do a more extensive interview
but what choice did he have? It wasn’t as if people were lining up for the
position and he was afraid his men would mutiny if they had to suffer
through another night of his cooking. “All right, I’ll have to do a background
check, show you the kitchen to see if you think you can handle it, then—”
“No.” She crossed her arms over her chest and set her jaw.
“Uh, no what? You don’t want to see the kitchen?”
“No background checks. I’m not giving you my social security number.”
He stood there quietly, watching her, trying to figure out what was going
on in that pretty head. Desperation and defiance were an odd mix but the
emotions played across her upturned face in equal measures. Caleb knew
he should just tell her to turn around and leave but something in her deep
brown eyes called to his protective nature. Something primitive and
unfamiliar inside him stirred. “Why?”
She swallowed but instead of turning and running as expected, she
answered. “I just broke off an engagement with someone and my family is
less than thrilled with me. I need space and I need to make it on my own
without my family butting in.”
After twelve years as a Marine Corps scout sniper, he was better than
most at reading people’s faces. If there was one thing he knew, it was if
someone wasn’t being straight with him. Her story was good and she
obviously thought quickly on her feet but it was a lie. He’d let it slide. For
now. “Then why can’t I do a background check?”
“If you run my number, my family will find me.”
“How?”
Her face paled and something flared in her eyes. Something he’d seen on
the battlefield more times than he could count. Fear. Real, unabashed,
almost tangible terror. “They just would. Trust me,” she muttered and
shifted her feet again.
He didn’t respond, forcing her to break the silence. “I know you haven’t
had any responses to your ad…”
“How the fu— how do you know that?” he demanded.
A pinkish tinge of color ran across her high, exotic cheekbones. “Alice
Delaney told me you were looking for someone and she also said you were
the worst cook south of the Mason-Dixon line. So I know you need someone
badly and I need a job. Maybe we can strike a deal. I cook for a week and if
you’re not satisfied, I leave. You don’t even have to pay me.”
Her mouth snapped shut as if she knew she was rambling and those
damn expressive eyes widened expectantly, luring him in. Oh she was
trouble all right. No doubt about it.
Caleb was going to tell her to leave. It was on the tip of his tongue. How
could he hire someone without any references? And Alice, the owner of
Delaney’s Bed and Breakfast, didn’t exactly count. She was close to a
hundred and trusted everyone.
All his experience told him this would pan out badly but he wasn’t thinking
with his head. No, he was thinking with a much lower part of his anatomy.
The part that wondered what was underneath that formfitting sweater. Her
breasts were small, just like the rest of her but he’d bet anything she had
perfect, pink nipples. Perfect for sucking and kissing. “When can you start?”
but what choice did he have? It wasn’t as if people were lining up for the
position and he was afraid his men would mutiny if they had to suffer
through another night of his cooking. “All right, I’ll have to do a background
check, show you the kitchen to see if you think you can handle it, then—”
“No.” She crossed her arms over her chest and set her jaw.
“Uh, no what? You don’t want to see the kitchen?”
“No background checks. I’m not giving you my social security number.”
He stood there quietly, watching her, trying to figure out what was going
on in that pretty head. Desperation and defiance were an odd mix but the
emotions played across her upturned face in equal measures. Caleb knew
he should just tell her to turn around and leave but something in her deep
brown eyes called to his protective nature. Something primitive and
unfamiliar inside him stirred. “Why?”
She swallowed but instead of turning and running as expected, she
answered. “I just broke off an engagement with someone and my family is
less than thrilled with me. I need space and I need to make it on my own
without my family butting in.”
After twelve years as a Marine Corps scout sniper, he was better than
most at reading people’s faces. If there was one thing he knew, it was if
someone wasn’t being straight with him. Her story was good and she
obviously thought quickly on her feet but it was a lie. He’d let it slide. For
now. “Then why can’t I do a background check?”
“If you run my number, my family will find me.”
“How?”
Her face paled and something flared in her eyes. Something he’d seen on
the battlefield more times than he could count. Fear. Real, unabashed,
almost tangible terror. “They just would. Trust me,” she muttered and
shifted her feet again.
He didn’t respond, forcing her to break the silence. “I know you haven’t
had any responses to your ad…”
“How the fu— how do you know that?” he demanded.
A pinkish tinge of color ran across her high, exotic cheekbones. “Alice
Delaney told me you were looking for someone and she also said you were
the worst cook south of the Mason-Dixon line. So I know you need someone
badly and I need a job. Maybe we can strike a deal. I cook for a week and if
you’re not satisfied, I leave. You don’t even have to pay me.”
Her mouth snapped shut as if she knew she was rambling and those
damn expressive eyes widened expectantly, luring him in. Oh she was
trouble all right. No doubt about it.
Caleb was going to tell her to leave. It was on the tip of his tongue. How
could he hire someone without any references? And Alice, the owner of
Delaney’s Bed and Breakfast, didn’t exactly count. She was close to a
hundred and trusted everyone.
All his experience told him this would pan out badly but he wasn’t thinking
with his head. No, he was thinking with a much lower part of his anatomy.
The part that wondered what was underneath that formfitting sweater. Her
breasts were small, just like the rest of her but he’d bet anything she had
perfect, pink nipples. Perfect for sucking and kissing. “When can you start?”