12. Jack
12
JACK
T easing Sloane is too much fun. She pushes back nicely instead of backing off, and it’s too easy to rile her up.
When her elbow digs into my rib, I step back, but only because she put a little force into it. Rounding her desk, I sit in the chair opposite her and smile at how the boss man shakes his head at me. Yeah, I’m a glutton for punishment. Always have been.
Sloane glares at me. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
I fold my hands in my lap and relax, legs sprawling as I sink low in the chair and watch her watch me. “It’s a good thing that’s not what I am.”
Her frustration furrows her brows and makes her frown. Her gaze shifts over to her co-worker, then back to me. Do the two of them have some history? If so, why did she lie for us?
A slew of texts pings her phone, and she reaches into her bag to silence it. She’s retreating again, and I don’t like it. I know where she is when she’s battling with me.
I roll my head to the side to pin her with a look. It takes a long few seconds for her to return her attention to me. “What are you, then?”
Welcome back, sweetheart . I smile, cocky and knowing as I flex my pecs and shoulders at her in an easy squeeze. “Why, I’m your ruggedly handsome protector, of course.”
Her hands splay across the top of her desk, and she closes her eyes, taking two measured breaths. Then those midnight blues threaten to pin me in place and slice me open.
Come at me, Sloane. Show me what you’ve got.
“I thought Rhett was my knight in shining armor.” Her voice is soft instead of cutting, like she means to disarm me, but it only tightens the tense coil in my gut.
“He is, but he’s not as good-looking as I am.”
Sloane rolls her eyes at me. “Just because you are traditionally good-looking with your blond hair, blue eyes, and muscles, doesn’t make you the more attractive among the two of you.”
Sitting up, I lean forward again, lowering my voice like I do when I’m ready to take a woman to bed. “But you do think I’m attractive.”
Standing in a huff, she grabs her clipboard in preparation to stomp away from me into the warehouse. “Wrong takeaway, but I shouldn’t expect any less.”
I’m behind her the moment she makes her move, and I can practically hear her growl of frustration.
I wink at her co-worker, Kingswell, who was conveniently absent yesterday. His name was on a lot of the incoming and outgoing shipments we’ve checked so far. A lot of them were highlighted for mistakes.
Preliminary research shows him as a decent worker, doesn’t miss a lot of work, won’t win any awards either, but he is a good son, taking off to help his mother like he did yesterday. Mrs. Edith Kingswell just got a good prognosis. The radiation for her breast cancer seems to be working.
Sloane disappears into the stacks, but she’s not hard to find. She does actively ignore me as I approach, her mouth pressed into a firm line.
“Want to give me a few of those pages?” I ask, but she waves me off.
Smiling, I hover, peering over her shoulder again. I truly can’t get enough of her soft, sweet scent, but I do resist sinking my nose into her hair for a better sniff.
Her elbow shifts back to hit me again, but I catch her before she makes contact, holding onto her arm. “You know what they say it means when girls and boys are mean to each other, don’t you?”
Sloane’s look is deadly. I eat it up, wishing I could simply lean down and catch her bottom lip between my teeth.
Her nostrils flare. If she hadn’t just admitted that she found me attractive, I might consider it anger, but I’d bet my car she’s frustrated with the fact that I’m charming my way under her skin.
When I grin, she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.
I’m laughing under my breath as I back away. “Relegated to eye candy. I’m not sure how I’ll survive the day.”
I can’t complain, considering most of my duties have nothing to do with beautiful women. I gladly stand back and admire Sloane as she works. Determined. Focused.
Far too good at pretending that I don’t exist unless I force her to acknowledge me.
I don’t. Often.
When the first of her two deliveries arrives, I help her open boxes without asking this time. It tripled the time yesterday, and being in the middle of it all allows me to keep a better eye on her safety.
Kingswell complains about opening every single container. “This seems like a bit of an overreaction to a few mistyped serial numbers.”
“Consider it part of the audit.” Her reply is smooth and not quite a lie. I grin at how she blames us, though.
“We found more than a few typos. We’re opening them all.” I confirm her lie, adding, “Sloppy.”
Kingswell huffs, and Sloane glares at me for my unwelcome help. She doesn’t need me to lend her my authority, but this protective urge is growing. And I don’t like how much insolence Kingston is projecting.
They’re co-workers, but she shows him up.
I don’t need to make much of an educated guess on that one. The records prove my point. Sloane hasn’t made a single mistake.
I mean it, not a single one. Maybe a missing comma in her emails or notes, but never on the inventory. I’ve watched her check and check and check and check herself.
“Come on, we’re going to need more people to keep this up. I’ve got a life, you know.” Kingswell passive-aggressively flings the top of a small crate off and peers inside. His clipboard pinches his side, and the way he scribbles on the inventory sheet screams of an immature attitude.
That’s not something noted anywhere in his personnel files, and the way Sloane is side-eying him makes me think he doesn’t usually act this way. Does he simply want to slip by with mediocre work or does he know something?
“And I don’t?” Sloane returns. “We both have families to take care of, so I don’t want to hear it. If you have to bug off, I’ll stay and get the overtime. Lord knows, I could use it.”
That pings me, and I need to sniff out why. Is it just her being a single mom? Is it the recent breakup? And is it her ex who keeps blowing up her phone?
Kingston keeps quiet for the rest of the delivery. I keep to Sloane as inventory gets put away. Her frustration has doubled since this morning, and she needs an outlet or she’s going to tip over.
“Didn’t mean to step on your toes.”
She glares at me. “Don’t apologize if you don’t understand what you actually did.”
A smile flashes across my face. “But I do. I spoke up to lend you my authority, but you didn’t need it. And in doing so, I undermined you.”
Her shoulders pull back, and the look on her face is stony but not angry. It’s almost like she mistrusts my honesty, my knowing exactly what I did and how she responded to it.
“I’m not his boss.” This must be her way of accepting my apology. “I just get sick of his whining, acting like he’s the only one with responsibilities outside of work.”
There’s something else there, but she’s not ready to tell me.
The day moves slowly, but I don’t mind. I enjoy watching Sloane work, trying to figure her out.
She hasn’t given me many clues, but she’s offered me more today than she did yesterday.
Sloane barely takes a break, and like she promised, she stays late to finish the afternoon delivery, checking each one thoroughly.
I peek on Kingswell as he leaves, his interaction with Boone, and it all seems normal. Cole watches him leave, too. Cole and the sergeant major have been wading through bureaucratic nonsense.
Better them than me.
Cole nods to me, and I brace my hands on either side of the door into the office and lean in to look at him. “Yeah, Boss.”
“I’ve got an errand.”
I wave him off. “Yeah. I’ve got her.”
When I go back to where I left Sloane, I find her gone. She’s not in any of the nearby aisles. Fuck, it’s like she disappeared. And she’s so quiet when she works.
In my search for her, the power goes out. Shit.
I stop and listen. Sloane doesn’t scream from the sudden dark. Not even a squeak.
Then I hear the soft rattle of a cage. I turn toward the cage that holds the ammo and weapon parts. A power outage automatically locks them.
It takes me a minute to find my way back to her. Her fingers weave through the cage, and she pulls back when I near.
“You okay?” My eyes grow used to the dark, and I can see her pale outline, the way her arms wrap around herself.
“Yeah. Fine.”
A soft laugh escapes me. When a woman says she’s fine, she never means it. Or almost never. I’m sure Sloane, for all intents and purposes, is fine, but she’s shaken and won’t admit it.
“I’m going to get you out. Most of these electronic systems have a manual override or emergency release…” I feel around the lock for the small access panel. “If you know where to look.”
Carefully prying it open, I push the jumble of wires aside and release the mechanism to the door.
The click of it unlocking is satisfying, as is Sloane’s sigh.
I swing the cage open and meet her inside, pulling her into a hug.
She doesn’t resist, and I don’t like this overtly vulnerable version of her. Sloane is not timid. She’s the kind of girl who’s ready to set everything on fire. Ready to snap back. That’s the version of her I like.
“What’d you do to the lights?” I poke at the anger that’s always just barely contained under the surface. At least when I’m nearby.
She just shakes her head, so I take it a step further, ready to incur her wrath as I bend down to capture her mouth in a kiss.
Her mouth is soft and pliable. Warm and sweet.
And responsive.
Her hand curls into the front of my shirt, toes propelling her up against me, and Sloane kisses me back.
Fuck. That’s not what I expected.
And now, I want more.