fraction. The sultry look in her eyes daring him to slide his palm higher.
“UC assignment eight months ago. I had to blend in,” she admitted. “I thought it might come in handy down in the hot South with you. I was right.”
“It’s certainly handy.” He coaxed her thighs farther apart as his fingers drifted up under her skirt.
He positioned his free hand at the hem of her white ribbed tank and pushed it up, shoving her bra up along with it, then cupped her breast. “Perfect.”
She moaned when he gently twisted her nipple, while his other hand teased her inner thigh using small, sweeping circles with his thumb.
“I know we’re taking things slowly, but you have needs, too,” she whispered seductively. “We can stop the teasing and advance to the action.”
“You don’t need to worry about my needs,” he drawled, even though “action” with her sounded significantly better than his hand on his own dick like the last two times. “I might be patient, but I also hate the color blue when it comes to my balls.”
“Ah, I see. When life gives you lemons . . .” She was a quick learner, giving him the same cocky-as-hell smile he’d no doubt tossed her way over the last few days in spite of everything going on.
He brought his mouth to hers while sliding his palm up to her panties beneath the skirt.
“Who the . . . Alexander James, is that you?”
A.J.’s shoulders jerked, and he instantly retracted his hand from beneath Ana’s skirt. The booming voice with a Southern accent belonged to his mom.
Shiiit. He and his brothers must have taught stealth and tactical skills to their mom a bit too well if she got the drop on A.J. and a Federal agent.
A.J. swiped his thumb over his lips, still swollen from all the hot kissing, and faced his mom, not expecting to see her with a shotgun in hand. “Can you lower the gun, Mama?”
“‘Mama’?” Ana shrieked.
“What are you doing here?” He blocked Ana with his body, giving her a chance to discreetly adjust her clothes.
His mom placed the Winchester down on the counter, barrel pointing away from him and Ana. After fixing the strap of her tank top, she folded her lean arms across her chest and gave A.J. the once-over with her sharp green gaze. A rainbow of dried paint splatters adorned the denim overalls she wore when doing her projects, claiming they gave her “good mojo.” His mom may have been sixty-nine years old, but even after raising a bunch of hellions, she hardly looked a day over fifty—her hair, currently in a messy ponytail, was still more blonde than gray, and the lines on her face were laugh lines. “I came over because I forgot my favorite hammer, and when I walked in, I heard a noise. I went out to my truck to grab my gun. I’m not about to have some fool running amuck in Grant’s house and stealing his stuff.”
A.J. bowed his head toward the ground for a brief second. “Mama,” he dragged out. “You should’ve called your sheriff son to come over if you thought there was danger. You could’ve gotten yourself killed if I had been a bad guy.” Hands secured to his hips, he stared at his mom from across the kitchen island, not sure how he was going to explain what he was doing at Grant’s place.
“But it was you,” his mom protested.
“But what if it wasn’t?”
“But it was.” Her gaze lingered on Ana, and A.J. quickly peered across his shoulder, catching Ana’s eyes to assess how she was holding up given the awkward situation. “And what are you doing here, Son? Rory and your father drove you drunken boys to the airport Saturday night, so why are you back, and why didn’t you let us know?”
“I, um.” What lie would his mom believe?
His mom circled the kitchen island to stand closer to him and Ana. “Are you my son’s girlfriend?” she directed Ana’s way. “I reckon you are since he was groping you.”
A.J.’s worst nightmare might’ve been this moment right here and now. Forget Iraq. “Mama,” he tossed out, a plea in his tone to back down.
“I’m Ana.” She stepped forward and offered her hand, and his mom accepted her palm.
“Deborah Hawkins, but you can call me Deb, everyone does.”
“We’re working together,” Ana explained before pulling her hand back.
“Oh?” His mom brought a fist beneath her chin and scrutinized them both. “You always make out with people you