Walker (In the Company of Snipers #21) - Irish Winters Page 0,3
I’d say it was nice to meet you, but I’m not nice.” Take warning, tough guy. I might look like a harmless runaway housewife, but I can take you down, and if you make me do that, I’ll make you suffer.
He looked to his left, then right, scanning the beach. Was he searching for something or someone? Seemed like it.
“Yes, I’m alone,” she said before he asked. He didn’t need to know she carried. Her tiny bikini was misleading. Let him think what he wanted and let that be her surprise. If he made one wrong move, she’d whip that loaded .380 auto out of the mesh holster tucked at her side, so fast he’d never see it coming.
“Hotrod’s good enough for now,” he murmured, his sharp eyes scrolling up her legs to her belly and on up to her breasts.
“Up here, asshole,” she ordered, removing her glasses. “I have eyes, too.”
“I can see that.” He gave her a curt affirmative nod of his head, which wasn’t square nor much larger than hers. Which was unfortunate. True alpha males, the kind she preferred, had bigger, wider skulls than women. Of course, sometimes, that also made them bigger assholes. But more often than not, it made them cavemen in the bedroom.
Persia set her glasses in the bottle holder carved into her chair’s armrest. She had no illusions about who she was. The men in her life had to be stronger than she was, for her to like them, and so far, she hadn’t met any who were. Not even her new boss. He was tough all right, but he was too damned old.
She let a breath go on a disappointed sigh, not sure what she’d expected from this chance encounter. But this guy wasn’t it. Even as ripped as he was, Hotrod was nothing special. To prove her point, she spread her knees and let her sandals hit the ground at the upright legs of the chair.
As expected, his eyes lowered straight to the juncture of her thighs. See? How utterly, predictably boring. She was wrong. He wasn’t spec ops. If anything, he belonged in a nice clean gym, not out risking his life. He wasn’t the same caliber as her, and he’d probably never seen the ugly side of life, not like she had. Want to bet he lived in his parents' basement with a boatload of athletic gear they’d paid for? That his mommy still did his laundry? Yeah. This guy was just plain ordinary from head to toe. Or. Din. Ary.
“Why the fuck are you here?” snapped out of her. She had better things to do than waste time on a one-night stand. They weren’t her specialty, and she hadn’t come this far south looking for a hookup. This was her beach, her vacation, and her time away from the messed-up world. She’d come here to recharge, not deal with beach trash. Hotrod needed to buzz off.
He rolled his shoulders, which were… Nice.
“A warm shower’d be good,” he said quietly, even as he cast a gaze down the beach again. “Don’t suppose there’s one handy? I can pay.”
“I don’t need your money,” she said dismissively. “There’s a hose outside my front door. It’s cold but you can rinse off there. Then leave.”
His head bobbed like the meek man he was. “Thanks, ma’am. That’ll work.”
You’re damned right it will. “Okay then.” She cupped her kneecaps and tried to hoist herself out of that chair. Unfortunately, Adirondack chairs turned her into an idiot every time she struggled out of their deep, angled posterior, especially after she’d been drinking. Why she’d ever bought the thing, she’d never know. Except she had. It was the chair’s bright, vivid purple color she liked instead of the overdone, boring, tropical hues this state was known for. Who needed more turquoise, pinks, baby blues, or creamy yellows? Not. Her.
She’d no more than huffed at the spectacle she was making of herself, when Hotrod stepped up and offered his hand. See? Mama’s boy.
Persia grabbed hold anyway, amazed at the callused roughness she found there. She’d expected baby soft. Wasn’t what she got.
By then he also had hold of her elbow, and she was caught. “You okay?” he asked gruffly, looking down at her.
Her breath caught at the sudden hit of cinnamon in the air. “Why wouldn’t I be?” She needed him to back off, but he’d pulled her to her feet so quickly, her other palm hit the middle of his chest. Oh. My. Hell.