Chapter 2
TYLER
My eyes are drawn to her as soon as I walk into the room.
She doesn’t look the same as she did earlier, when we met on the road, or even in the lobby of the Lakeside Inn, while we were both reserving our rooms. But that shouldn’t come as a surprise, given that we were drenched to the skin and covered in mud.
Now she’s clean and wearing dry clothes.
Her hair isn’t plastered to her head anymore, but springing from it in unruly curls.
A less observant man might not even realize she’s the same person. But I can tell.
It’s the way she holds herself, her chin tipped at a defiant angle and her shoulders high, almost as if she’s bracing herself for an attack.
It’s her high cheekbones and elegantly swooping brows that remind me of the actresses from the old movies my mother likes to watch.
It’s the blue of her eyes, piercing even from across the room—a color that reminds me of a cloudless sky in summer.
And it’s her curves, which I damn well shouldn’t have been noticing back on the road. Curves I shouldn’t have committed to memory as they pressed against me.
But I did. And for some reason, I can’t get them out of my head.
Maybe it was just our proximity. My body reacting to the closeness of a woman after over four years of celibacy. Even if my brain rejects the idea of being with another woman, my body might have other ideas.
And, really, I have been thinking about putting myself out there again.
It’s still just a spark of an idea, spurred on by the relationships my teammates have found.
A longing that creeps up on me at unexpected moments, like watching Rafe affectionately rub his pregnant wife’s belly, or Webb surprising his fiancée with another of those stuffed animals she likes so much.
Maybe it’s time, I’d think. I know damn well Kaia wouldn’t want me to be alone forever. She loved me too much for that.
She would tell me to get back out there.
I can picture her; shaking her head the way she always did when she thought I was being particularly dense, saying, Ty, you need to put yourself out there again.
It’s not right, hiding away like this. I know you love me, but it’s okay to love someone else, too.
Over the last year, I’ve wondered more and more if she’s right.
But every time I’d consider taking one of my teammates’ wives up on their offers to help me start an online dating profile or set me up with one of their single friends, I’d remember standing in front of Kaia, exchanging our vows as we took each other as husband and wife.
I’d remember how certain I was that I’d spend the rest of my life with her.
How could any other woman replace her?
How could I possibly consider sharing my life with another?
A burst of rough laughter jerks my gaze from Melissa and over to a small cluster of men gathered at the bar.
They’re clearly several drinks deep, swaying slightly on their stools as they down their beers.
Locals, I’d guess, and regulars of the Lakeside Inn’s pub, judging from their familiarity with the bartender.
One of the other men says something, and all four of them break into loud guffaws that draw the attention of everyone in the room. The bartender laughs along with them, then lines up a row of five shot glasses and fills them with whiskey.
The bartender—a grizzled man of about sixty with a beard that reaches almost to his chest—lifts one of the shot glasses and says, “Salut, you bastards!”
The four regulars pick up their shot glasses and echo, “Salut, you bastards!” before downing their shots, as well.
My gaze slides back to Melissa, who’s sitting by herself at a two-person table in the corner of the pub.
She has a glass filled with clear liquid and ice, which I’m guessing is water and not a large serving of vodka.
If she ordered food, it hasn’t arrived yet.
In its place is her phone, sitting face-up on her placemat.
Melissa’s expression jolts in recognition as she sees me. Then she gives me a shy smile that lights up her face.
Something grabs hold of my chest and squeezes.
It’s the same sensation I got when she smiled at me the first time. When she was still locked in my arms, so close I could feel her heart racing and the swell of her breasts—
Nope. I’m not thinking about her breasts right now. Or any other part of her body.
Except it’s really hard not to think about her eyes when they’re looking straight at me.
And shit, they’re so blue.
Could they be contacts? Is that how she got such a striking color?
And her hair. She has long, dark spirals that fall halfway down her back, catching sparks of fire and gold as the light catches them. Could it be real, or a perm, like my mother used to get when I was a teenager?
The part of me that wants to deny this sudden draw I’m feeling towards Melissa grabs hold of it as evidence. Maybe it’s not natural, it reasons stubbornly. Maybe her eyes are a dull brown and her hair is stick-straight. Maybe the perfect swell of her breasts is fake.
Latching on, that stubborn part continues, Maybe she’s not naturally pretty, like Kaia was. Kaia, with her pale blonde hair and honey-colored eyes and slim figure that never put on weight no matter what she ate. Kaia was just herself. She never pretended to be something she wasn’t.
But my gut tells me Melissa isn’t, either.
And really, so what if she wears contacts or artificially colors her hair? Does that make her any less of a good person? Does it make me any less interested in her?
Wait. Who said I was interested?
My jaw tightens as my inner debate rages on.
Why are you looking at Melissa like that? You’re not here to pick up women. You’re here because the roads are too bad to get to your parents tonight. And you only feel a connection to her because of the circumstances.
Then the other side chimes in.
It’s okay to think she’s attractive—colored contacts or not. It’s okay to find her intriguing. Not many women would have jumped in to help like she did. And if her smile does things to you that you haven’t felt in years, what’s wrong with that?
I know what my teammates—and also my best friends—would say. They’d tell me to follow my gut. That if I’m feeling something for Melissa, I should be open to it.
As I stand just inside the pub entrance, arguing with myself over nothing—because it’s not like Melissa showed any interest in me to begin with—her smile droops.
The light fades from her eyes. Her teeth dig into her lower lip.
Then she ducks her head to stare at her phone.
Long curls fall around her face, hiding it from me.
Guilt settles in.
Shit. What am I doing?
Staring at her, to start, which is rude at best and verging on creepy.
Not smiling back at her, which would be the polite thing to do.
Shit, why didn’t I go over to say hi? Ask how she’s doing? Find out if the scrapes the paramedics bandaged are doing okay—scrapes I caused, by the way, when I knocked her onto the ground. See if she needs anything?
After all, I know the area. I grew up in Saranac Lake, just about forty miles from here.
I’m not a local, exactly, but I’ve driven through Long Lake more times than I can count.
I haven’t lived here in years, but I still come back to visit my parents whenever I can.
So if she needs something, I could help.
Go over there, I can hear Kaia saying in my ear. It doesn’t mean you’re going to propose to her. It just means you’d like to spend a little more time with her. And there’s nothing wrong with that.
Kaia was always right, even when I didn’t want to admit it.
Just as I’m taking the first slow step across the room, I notice one of the four semi-drunk locals getting off his stool.
His feet land on the ground with a heavy thud, and he sways before grabbing hold of the bar for balance.
He laughs and says something to his friends, and in unison, their gazes all swivel towards Melissa.
That she’s drawing their attention isn’t a surprise. In the half-full pub, she’s easily the prettiest woman here. But I don’t like how they’re looking at her, especially the man on his feet. Their look isn’t friendly. It’s assessing. Predatory.
Sitting alone like she is, they probably think she’s an easy target. A stranger in town, all on her own, staying in a hotel room with minimal security…
No, I haven’t seen her room. But I’m sure it’s just like mine, with a door that could be jimmied open by a piss-poor burglar in no time.
It doesn’t worry me personally, because after twenty-plus years in the Army and two as a security specialist for Blade and Arrow Security, I’m more than capable of defending myself.
But Melissa…
I can picture it: one of the drunk locals slipping something in Melissa’s drink and taking her back to her room to take advantage of her. Or just waiting until it’s late and breaking into her room, overpowering her, and—
Fuck.
There’s no way I’m letting them hurt her. No way.
Picking up my pace, I hurry over to Melissa’s table, cutting the local off on the way. When he realizes my intention, he grabs my arm from behind and growls, “Do you mind? I was here first.”
I spin around to face him. In a low tone that threatens violence if he doesn’t obey, I growl, “Back off. Don’t make me tell you again.”
His posture, which was puffed up in anticipation of a fight, sags. “Who do you think you are?” he mutters. “Some big-city punk who thinks he can do whatever he wants?”
“No.” I lean in close so he can see the promise of danger in my eyes. “I’m a man telling you to back off. And don’t even think about bothering her. I’ll know. And I won’t like it.”
He stares at me for a second before blinking. Then he takes a step back. “Fine,” he spits. “Whatever.” Huffing loudly, he turns to head back the way he came.