Harper
When Luke smiles like that, I want to shove him against the bar, rip his shirt open, and bite my way down his sculpted body—just like every other woman in Iron Ridge, and probably the whole world.
Which is why I’m never succumbing to his charm—at least that’s the lie I’ve been telling myself since he showed up here in Iron Ridge with his two special forces buddies.
I’ve never met anyone like him. There’s the physical part, sure.
He’s like a badass hero from one of my romance novels come to life—the kind of handsome that should come with a warning label coupled with the bravado of someone who jumps off cliffs for kicks.
My gaze catches briefly on the scar along his jaw.
Then the broad line of his shoulders beneath his black Henley. Then the forearms resting on the bar.
Strong.
Capable.
So fucking hot.
Catching me studying him, he winks.
I hate the way that wink makes my breath hitch. I hate that my pulse kicks.
I hate it even more that he notices, because of course he notices. Luke notices everything.
“You done staring?” I force myself to take a small sip instead of guzzling the rest of my beer down.
His eyes travel slowly over my face, not crude, not subtle. It’s simply honest, which somehow feels more dangerous. “Nope.”
My stomach flips, and I roll my eyes, trying to play it off. “You flirt with me because you enjoy being annoying.”
“No.” He takes a drink. “I flirt with you because I enjoy it, and so do you.”
Lord, give me strength, because I really do.
He leans in and lowers his voice to a rumble that raises goose bumps on my skin. “You know, if you keep looking at me like that, people are gonna think you want me.”
I snort. “In your dreams.”
“Every night, sunshine.”
I give him a scathing look, but he just grins. I’m about to tell him what he can do with his dreams when his phone buzzes.
It’s a small thing—the kind of interruption that happens all the time when you’re with someone. Only Luke’s entire body goes rigid after he gets his phone out and looks at it. I watch it happen in real time: the relaxation drains out of his shoulders, his jaw tightens, and his eyes go flat.
When I was on the police force in Denver, one of the other officers had been in the military before joining the force, and he got that expression when he was about to go out on a call.
I’m not a dummy—I’ve read the report my dad had pulled on Luke and his two friends, Jake Callahan and Mason Rivera, when they bought Blackthorn Ranch and moved to town.
I know the three are retired from the Army’s Delta Force—the elite of the elite.
I just have a hard time remembering Luke’s not only some charming asshole who likes to push my buttons.
He’s trained to kill and must have focus and intelligence.
The “trained to kill” part bothers me, obviously, because I’m in law enforcement.
A couple months ago, Eli Turner disappeared—poof—seemingly into thin air.
I know deep down that Jake had something to do with it, and by extension, Luke and Mason.
I decided to look away, because the Turners are bad news and the sheriff—my dad—hasn’t done anything about them.
Plus, Jake was protecting his now wife, my friend Emma.
Oddly, the only other close female friend I have, Lily Carter, our town vet, just moved in with Mason a few weeks ago.
Even if I could get past Luke’s wildness, I’d never be able to get past his blatant disregard for the system. Whatever Luke’s involved in, I doubt it’s legal or safe. Because do I believe the three special forces guys bought a ranch so they could babysit cows? No fucking way.
If only he weren’t so damn hot.
Sometimes I wonder if a weekend with him would be so wrong.
I’m not sure a weekend would be enough—which is exactly why I steer clear of him.
Luke slides off his stool, way too graceful for being as big as he is, that happy-go-lucky expression back in place as he puts his phone away. “Well, Officer Hot Stuff, I’m calling it a night.”
“Hot date, huh?” I say, watching him closely. It’s past eleven on a Wednesday night—where could he be going after getting a text?
He shoots me a smirk as he pulls out his wallet. “Not compared to you.”
Wait—is he actually going on a date?
Sitting back, I frown as he tosses enough bills on the counter to cover both our drinks and then some, trying to find a trace of that operational focus again, but all I see is his swaggering confidence and that grin I want to knock off his face.
Jealousy hits me like a physical thing, sharp and blistering and completely irrational. Because of course there’s someone else. A guy like Luke doesn’t spend his evenings with a deputy sheriff when there are other options—lots of other skank ho options.
Unless it’s a specific skank ho.
I grip my glass because I can’t grip her neck. “Must be important.”
He looks at me, and for a second it almost seems like he looks apologetic. But I know I misread it when he leans in and says in an unfairly husky voice, “Miss me, sunshine.”
Then he’s moving toward the door.
And I’m sitting here like an idiot, watching him go, feeling the sting of rejection I have no right to feel.
I should finish my beer, pay my tab, and drive home—which is my father’s house, because I’m a loser. I should crawl into my empty bed and live my perfectly reasonable life that doesn’t involve following ex-Delta Force operatives into the night.
I should.
But I’m already standing up. I’m already striding to the door, my cop brain screaming at me that this is a terrible idea, that I’m off duty, that I have no jurisdiction over Luke Bennett’s personal life, that following him is crossing about seventeen professional lines.
My cop brain is right.
But I do it anyway.