Chapter 2
DEAN
The woman’s eyes go wide as the full moon. I can’t tell what shade they are from here, but I can see the red bloom that rises in her cheeks.
Her mouth pops open and closed, and then open again. She rises onto her toes, and I think she’s going to run.
“Were you peeping at me?”
Her mouth closes again, and she puffs out her chest. “Of course not.”
I grab a towel and dry off my sweaty chest as I stride over to her. I note how her gaze follows the towel, darts to my chest, then my biceps, then lands on my face, more flustered than when it began.
A grin spreads across my face. She likes watching me, and the closer I get to her, the more I want to be watched. She’s gorgeous, especially with the blush and the hint of desire in her pretty eyes.
An immediate surge of protectiveness courses through me.
This woman is mine.
“If you want to watch me train, you can just ask. I don’t mind you watching me. But I can’t have you peeping on the other men.”
I want to be the only man who makes her blush.
She folds her arms across her chest. “I was not peeping.”
I reach the other side of the rose bush, and we stare at each other.
She wears nurses’ scrubs; the name tag on her uniform says Lauren, and she’s not wearing a wedding ring. Perfect.
Her hair is dark and pulled back into a ponytail, and some strands have escaped to tickle her neck and cheek. I long to tuck them back into place and run my hand over her cheek to feel how heated she is from that blush, but she’s skittish and I don’t want her to leave.
She’s on the curvy side, and while her scrubs hide it, I bet there’s a soft, feminine body underneath. Her eyes are a deep green, like the foliage on the bushes she’s hiding behind. Worry lines make her brow furrow, and there are dark smudges under her eyes. But that doesn’t dim the fire in them.
Something inside me stirs, and I don’t know this woman, but I want to smooth away whatever’s troubling her. I want to take her home and take care of her. But I also want to make her blush again, just to keep her talking.
“You were hiding behind the bushes watching me work out. It’s the definition of peeping.”
Her mouth drops open again, and she gives an exasperated cry. “I tell you, I was not peeping.”
“So you weren’t watching me work out?”
The pink shade of her cheeks deepens, and while she’s all woman, probably about the same age as me, she blushes like a girl.
“I thought it was a drug den.”
My eyebrows shoot into my forehead. “A drug den?”
I can’t wait to tell Joel that one. When he opened Jake’s Retreat for recovering veterans, I doubt he thought it would ever be mistaken for a drug den.
I have no idea what this woman’s story is, but it’s my story now too. I’m desperate to keep her talking and keep her attention on me.
“I’m Dean Foley. And next time you want to watch me workout, give me a call and I’ll give you a private show.”
She huffs and turns to walk away. Then it seems as if she remembers something and turns back.
“I was not watching you. And I didn’t come here to spy on men working out.”
Her voice rings out in the sudden silence, and she goes that adorable shade of red again.
“Mom?” A voice behind me has me turning around.
One of the boys, Kieren, I think his name is, approaches us, looking as embarrassed as his mother.
There’s no denying the boy’s hers. His dark hair hangs over his eyes.
He’s taller than she is and lanky. He walks with a stoop, like so many teenage boys do, not yet comfortable with their place in the world.
And his green eyes flash the same as hers with embarrassment.
“What are you doing here?” he hisses.
She turns her attention from me to the boy. “Is this where you’ve been sneaking off to? A boxing gym?”
“It’s not a…” He tries to explain what we do here, but she’s not listening. I regret making her so flustered if she’s going to take it out on the boy.
“I did not bring you up for this kind of violence.”
“It’s not like that, Mom.” He glances around at the other boys who are here for the training session. They’re standing by the boxing ring blatantly watching.
“Can we just go?” he mutters, obviously not wanting to be embarrassed in front of the other boys.
I turn to go in and shoo them away, giving the mother and son their privacy.
“We’ll talk about this when we get home,” she mutters.
I turn back to watch them go, the mother marching across the parking lot and the boy following behind, his shoulders stooped.
“Who was that?” A hand claps down hard on my shoulder, and I look up to find Aiden watching the woman and boy leave.
Her scrubs swish in the night as she strides across the parking lot.
“That,” I say, watching her ass sway, “is my future wife.”