“Luke,” Lauren happily chirped my name as soon as I walked into the reception area at Triple Canopy.
I felt my eyes narrow at her happy tone. Sure, Lauren was friendly, but not overly so, and usually, she saved her cheeriness for clients. Today, she was overly so toward me. I searched my recent memories for a reason for the pretty receptionist’s joyfulness and I came up empty. Not that Lauren shared. She came to work, did her job—most of the time with a smile—then left. But she’d never been overly cheery toward me. Logan sometimes, but I figured it was mostly to get under his skin. Like pulling a tiger’s tail to get a reaction. Lucky for her, Logan didn’t bite—ever. He simply ignored her.
“Lauren,” I returned. “What’s up?”
“Your one o’clock is here,” she informed me.
“My one o’clock?”
“Um. Yeah,” she drawled slowly like I was an idiot. “Your one o’clock with Shiloh Kent.”
“I don’t—” Shit, damn, and fuck. “I forgot I was taking over Brady’s classes while he’s on his honeymoon.”
“We can reschedule.” A feminine voice came from behind me.
A very smooth, husky voice that sounded like sex. Not empty, superficial sex that left your balls drained but your soul cold. A sweet promise to warm you from the inside out. The sound of it rich and soothing.
I felt my body grow tight and I turned, ignoring Lauren’s dirty look. Then I had to look down, way down—the woman was no taller than five-four. A pixie face, pale blue eyes that were so light they were pastel. The stark contrast to her sun-kissed skin made them look luminescent. Blonde hair that was so shiny it looked like she’d oiled it up then brushed it smooth.
Christ.
No, Shiloh Kent was not rescheduling.
“Has Miss Kent signed in?” I asked Lauren and held my breath waiting for a correction on her marital status.
None came and Lauren was back to smiling. The receptionist would be on the phone with Quinn before I made it to the range.
“Yeah, all her paperwork is on file and current.”
“You’ve been here before?” I asked Shiloh, and the sexiest fucking smile tipped her lips.
Lauren snorted and I felt like I was missing a joke.
“A few times,” she confirmed.
“This is Sunny Kent,” Lauren informed me.
“I’m sorry—”
“Don’t be.” She waved me off. “It was nice seeing you, Lauren.”
“You, too, Sunny.”
I glanced down at the rifle case and that sexy-as-all-hell voice floated through the air and slammed straight into my chest.
“Fair warning, if you offer to carry my rifle, I’m gonna kick you in the shin.”
“Come again?”
“Again?” Sunny tipped her head to the side and a playful smirk lit her face. “Hadn’t realized I’d come at all.”
It took a moment to get it. But when it hit, for the first time in a long time I roared with laughter. When I was done, I gave her another once-over. She was cute, no doubt. But that wicked dry humor did it for me.
“All right, Sunny Kent. I won’t offer to carry your rifle. Do you know where we’re going?”
“Yes.”
“Lead the way.” I swept my hand toward the hall.
“You just wanna stare at my ass, don’t you?”
Who the hell is this woman, and where has she been my whole life?
“Yep.”
“Well, at least you’re honest.”
She gave a saucy wink and started down the hall.
Damn. I think I’m in love.
2
“That’s a miss.”
I clenched my teeth, slid my finger out of the trigger well, lifted my cheek off the stock of my custom 6.5, and hung my head in frustration.
Third missed shot in a row.
“Call your shot,” Luke continued.
“Left.” I begrudgingly told him something he very well knew since he was looking down range through his spotting scope.
Of all days for me to be off my game it had to be in front of Luke Marcou. I should’ve canceled my range time. Not because my normal spotter when I came to Triple Canopy was on vacation—actually Brady was on his honeymoon which I guess was still a vacation. Not that I’d know anything about honeymoons or vacations since I’d never taken either.
No, I should’ve canceled when I woke up after four hours of sleep and knew today was going to be another shit day. And it was going to be a shit day because I’d had only four hours of sleep after working all night. Work that included being shot at. That wasn’t the shit part—that was par for the job.
The paperwork that went along with discharging my taser and getting my ass chewed out was the shit part.