7. Lee
7
LEE
I closed the text message from Mike with a sigh of relief. I’d gotten Jeff to the hospital and was heading back—now just two minutes out from the airport. Before I could leave with Viktoria, I needed Mike in place to watch over the plane and greet both the new copilot and Jeff’s replacement, if they happened to show up before I returned.
Peering at the closed bedroom door, I ground my teeth. Why the hell had I let her talk me into a field trip?
Because you’re a sap. You saw how scared she was, and you wanted to save her. You wanted to help her take back her power. Bring back that fire of hers. That feisty spirit . I missed locking horns with her, and having to use all my wits to win an argument. Using logic over strength had never been so goddamn sexy…and if my mind didn’t stop replaying her haughty, When I have sex, I own it. I was going to bash my head against the wall. Dammit, I wanted her to own me .
No, I couldn’t treat her like a one-night stand. She wasn’t a woman I could love and leave. She was the type I could see myself with, maybe long term. A lifetime, even. If someone were to ask me about my perfect woman, I guessed Viktoria wouldn’t be far off the mark. Hell, she’d be the mark, the perfect bullseye.
Glaring at the door, I adjusted the semi crowding my boxers. When Viktoria walked out of that bedroom, she’d better have my shirt on. And not just as proof I’d won this round. I liked the idea of my shirt branding her as mine .
You’re going to be shouting Timber soon, dumbass .
I stuffed the asinine notion of falling for Viktoria down deep and focused on my original argument. I didn’t care how loud she got or what protests she threw at me. I wouldn’t let her off the plane if she wasn’t dressed to blend in.
The door opened, and I almost dropped my phone. Whoa . Tall as she was, she was slim enough that my shirt should have dwarfed her, but she’d made it work, tying the ends at her waist and letting the top half hang open, revealing a white silk and lace camisole beneath. The simple black pants and low-heeled sandals with buckles kept the look feminine without going overboard.
I swallowed as she approached. The ponytail swinging behind her gave her a youthful twist, and all I wanted to do was grab it and lasso her in. The scent of wildflowers wafted my way, and I yearned to kiss those plump, red lips.
She rolled the sleeves up to mid-forearm and tipped me a wink. “Don’t get too excited.”
Too late.
“I’m only wearing this until we find something more suitable.”
Dial it back. I had to treat this attraction like one of our battles of wills. For the sake of my heart and my job, I had to keep it professional. Straightening, I did my best to act as unaffected as possible.
“It’s not surprising with how you folded the shirt,” she continued as she passed me, “but haven’t you heard of dry cleaning?” She pinched a piece of the material. “This should be soft, not scratchy.”
I shrugged. “What can I say?” I fell in step behind her. “My time in the Rangers didn’t involve dry cleaning or fabric softener.” More like camouflage paint and bug spray .
Meeting Mike on the tarmac, I took the keys to the nondescript sedan we were renting from one of the airport mechanics—with cash, of course, to remain off the grid. It pricked my conscience to leave Mike behind, but it couldn’t be helped. We were down a man, and someone had to stay with the plane. Scratching the scruff on my chin, I hoped Viktoria and I would blend in…though her exquisite beauty would have everyone noticing her right away.
It didn’t take long to reach the shops downtown. I took them in, surprised. I’d thought my hometown of Springwell, Georgia, was small. This town made that one look like New York City. There was a salon, a diner, an old Baptist church. A cluster of shops flanking an old movie theater. And…that was about it.
“You could walk through this whole town in under ten minutes,” Viktoria said. “Down Main Street, anyway, and out the other side.”
“You could,” I said. “You don’t have small towns in Iceland?”
“I’m from Reykjavik.”
“Not some little fishing village?” I needled her gently as I parallel parked, relieved when I didn’t spy a single parking meter. I hadn’t been able to scrounge many quarters from the crew and had worried our trip might have been cut short. On the other hand, it looked like I wouldn’t have that excuse to fall back on if I needed it.
“What is this place?” Viktoria was peering past me, at the store I had picked.
“You’ll see,” I said, and got out of the car. A second door thunking shut made me shake my head. Of course she wouldn’t let me come around and open her door.
I started toward the secondhand store, only to pause as Viktoria grasped my bicep. Electricity raced through me, and I shivered. With the lower heels, she didn’t quite match my height, but I loved looking her in the eyes without cricking my neck.
“Where are you going?” she hissed, her eyes darting to the store, then up and down the sidewalk. Scattered pedestrians strolled happily along, talking to each other or on their phones.
Leaning into her space just because I wanted to, I whispered, “There’s no Saks or Barneys or whatever here. I doubt there’s even a dedicated women’s store.” I jerked my thumb at the gaudy sign hung up behind me. “This is it, sweetheart. You’ll have to make the best of it.”
Viktoria’s eyes narrowed, but after a moment, she nodded. I slid ahead of her to open the door. A brass bell ding-a-linged and the young store clerk looked up from the magazine she was reading. She beamed at me.
“Welcome.”
I smiled and offered a wave, then scanned the entire shop from end to end. I spotted one customer in the kitchen section, peering intently at mismatched glasses, and counted two exits—the main entrance we’d just used, and the back door that also received the donations. The changerooms were empty, no feet under the doors. Satisfied the place was safe, I motioned Viktoria in. She leaned in close and dropped her voice to a whisper.
“Is this place…clean? These clothes look worn.”
“It’s a secondhand store. You’ve heard of one, right?”
“Of course I have. Just…” A faint, fetching flush colored Viktoria’s cheeks. “They wash the donations when they get them all, right? I won’t get lice, or?—”
I snorted laughter. “Are you serious right now?”
Viktoria’s flush deepened. “I’m new to all this.” She squared her shoulders and surveyed the scene. “Where do I start?”
“This way,” I said. I led Viktoria to the women’s section, with its tight-crowded racks. She stood nonplussed, blinking at the selection.
“How do I know, uh…” She trailed off, frowning.
“Is there a problem?” I asked, leaning against a column.
Viktoria blinked again, then met my eyes. “Uh, no. It’s just that…” Her cheeks turned even pinker, and I suppressed a grin. I couldn’t get enough of this strong woman blushing . “I don’t actually know my size,” I said. “My assistant usually works with a personal shopper using my measurements, and they bring final selections to me. These racks…they’re sorted by size, but I don’t know which one is right.”
Wow. I did not see that coming.
“I’m, uh…” Her gorgeous blue eyes flicked to me, then to a rack. “I don’t know where to start.”
Her confused, embarrassed admission hit me in the gut. I wanted to hug her, or maybe just make her smile. “I thought all women were born with the shopping gene.”
She glared at me.
Okay, then . I scratched the back of my head, then pointed at my clothes. “You can’t go wrong with a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Just pick a couple of different sizes until you find the ones that feel right.”
She moved to a rack hung with jeans in all colors and styles (some stretching back to the 70s). I noted the range of sizes she selected from when she plucked up a few pairs along with some shirts, and a wicked idea took hold in my mind. The store clerk unlocked one of two flimsy-walled dressing rooms, and Viktoria slipped inside.
I scanned the shop once again, checking for threats, and when I was sure there were none, I broke out in a grin. I tromped toward the racks with a spring in my step—I’d always loved pranks since I was a kid. So, Viktoria needed help shopping? I could do that. I rifled through the racks with a sniper’s eye, homing in on bright colors and… interesting prints.
“Oh, yeah,” I murmured, chuckling at my finds. “Let’s see what she thinks about these.” I headed for the dressing room with an armful of color. “Viktoria?” I knocked lightly on the door. “I found a few more things you can try.”
The door cracked open and a single hand popped out. Holding in laughter, I pressed the hangers into her palm. They disappeared and the door shut. I held my breath, unable to stop my smile from spreading. Five, four, three, two, one…
Nothing. She didn’t say a word. Clothing rustled. Hangers rattled on hooks. What was taking so long?
“Lee?”
“Right here.” I bounced on the balls of my feet. Anticipation sang in my blood—would she let me have it or freeze me stiff with a glance? Or throw the whole bundle right in my face?
“What do you think?” The door swung open, and my jaw hit the floor.
Viktoria strutted out like a runway model, in the most hideous Christmas sweater known to man. Puke green and blood red, it had a giant reindeer head on the front, with real, sparkling ornaments dangling from its antlers. The matching Day-Glo-green pleated miniskirt swished with every step, and Viktoria’s designer sandals just helped it all look even more ridiculous.
I schooled my expression to imitate a critic and tapped my chin. “Spin for me one more time?”
She put her hands on her hips and twirled.
“It works,” I pronounced, with a straight face. “You should put that in the keeper pile.”