CHAPTER 14
Frankie
All right. I’m in big trouble.
I like this guy. He’s interesting. Quiet, but funny. Smart. And unless I’ve got this totally wrong, he’s a nice dude—aside from the whole trying to scare me away thing.
The hot rancher could have just had the cops drag me off this mountain, but instead, he brought me warm clothes, cat food, and firewood. Who goes around being kind to strangers like that? Who does that kind of hero shit?
Heroes do, I guess.
And I have no idea how to deal with one of those. Dad was the closest I ever got to a real-life hero, until now.
I usually attract the exact opposite flavor of trouble. I’m more accustomed to evil men who twist the truth and get off on holding power over others. Small men with loud mouths. The kind who hurt others to convince the world—and themselves—that they’re a big fucking deal.
Sitting across from me right now is a huge man with a small smile. A larger-than-life cowboy Navy SEAL who doesn’t say more than what is absolutely necessary to get the point across. A man who’s willing to let a little cat curl up on his big lap.
So.
Much.
Trouble.
MacLaine’s watching me.
“You good?” he asks.
I nod. “Fine.”
He shifts his weight on the log, careful not to jostle Pussy.
He’s probably uncomfortable perched there, but it’s not like I can offer him a chair or anything.
I pretend to look around at the trees so that I can stifle a laugh.
Pussy is hilarious. She’s totally content on MacLaine’s lap. They make quite the pair.
And it’s a complete shock.
Because holy shit does that cat ever hate men.
I’ve often thought that it must have been a man who threw her in the dumpster the night I found her. She gravitates to females and is a defensive mess around males, even innocent ones like the UPS delivery guy.
Pussy loathes Niko . She hates him to the point that he stayed at my place one night and one night only. It was the night Pussy scratched his bare arms and hissed at him. Then she cornered him in the laundry room, baring her fangs as hair spiked up along her spine.
Smart girl.
Smarter than me, apparently.
But she sure likes my friendly neighborhood cowboy, doesn’t she?
Don’t be stupid, Frankie. MacLaine’s not your anything. He’ll go his way, and I’ll go mine.
Wherever that might be.
“You need to stop bringing me shit I didn’t ask for,” I tell him. “Stop visiting me here. Period. End of story. No more.”
He glances up at me, poker face returned.
Even if MacLaine’s not a bad dude, he’s still bad news.
I can’t pretend I’m not seeing what I’m seeing.
He’s too damn good-looking, with those dark blond curls and ethereal eyes.
I love sex and always have. And I’m thinking about the outrageous possibilities of sex with this man in particular.
What those massive arms would feel like around me. How he could toss me around like a cat toy in bed. And those arms and chest and legs aren’t the steroid-popping bodybuilder kind, either. He’s not gym-bro musclebound. He’s just made this way.
Perfect.
I wonder what he looks like naked. I bet it’s off-the-chain incredible.
I snap out of my reverie to find him focused on me again. Will miracles never cease? I swear there’s a divot forming between his eyebrows. He must have removed his cowboy hat while I was fantasizing about what he looks like naked because I suddenly see the hat’s balanced on the log at his side.
Kevin MacLaine’s hair is thick, curly, and parted a little off to the side, courtesy of a cowlick.
And calling it dark blond doesn’t do it justice.
It falls in coils that range from sun-lightened streaks of yellow to a light golden brown.
It tumbles softly along his head and is tucked carelessly behind his ears.
The ends of those curls graze the top of his flannel shirt collar.
His nose is slightly crooked. I wonder how many times it’s been broken. His mouth is wide, and his lips are full. His chin is square and masculine.
That neck is hella thick, too. Like a tree trunk. I see his hands gently stroking Pussy’s fur. They’re so big. He could grab my entire ass in one of his palms.
It may be in the low sixties out here, but I think I’m starting to sweat.
At this moment, as he sits on a log looking at me with that divot between his eyes, it’s like I’m seeing him for the first time.
He’s beautiful.
And I’m nuts.
Absolutely fucking nuts.
Nuts for allowing myself to feel attraction to—and indulge in sexual fantasies about—a man I don’t know and can’t trust. Because I’m on the run from the last man I mistakenly felt attracted to.
Only days ago, I witnessed some kind of gangland murder. I’m traumatized, for fuck’s sake. I don’t know what Niko will do to me if he finds me, though I’ve got a pretty good idea.
I don’t have time to lust after this Henry Cavill-looking genetic freak of gorgeousness.
I need to look away. Now.
He needs to look away. Now.
We shouldn’t be looking at each other like this.
But I can’t take my eyes off his face. There’s something in his expression that just made my belly flip and my heart pound. It’s the way MacLaine’s looking at me. Not like other men always look at me. I have a lifetime of experience with that shit, and especially since I started dancing at Lynx.
But MacLaine’s not just looking.
He’s seeing.
This isn’t good.
I jump to my feet. “I need to go inside, Kevin. Take the horse and leave. I mean it. Don’t come back. Stay away. Please.”
I reach my arms out for Pussy, but she doesn’t come to me. She’s too comfortable. MacLaine doesn’t show any signs of handing her to me, either. I call my cat, but she ignores me.
Then the hot rancher lifts his gaze to my face, and I gasp. Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing? Is that the start of an actual smile?
I’m not sure I can handle it.