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She looked different than the other two times I’d seen her. The first time, at the painting class with her friends, she’d worn jeans and a red sweater beneath the paint-splattered apron with the studio’s logo on it. Her dark brown waves were tied up into a bun that had me wondering what I’d rather do: pin up the messy strands that’d fallen loose or take the whole mass down and run my fingers through it.
The second time, though, her bun was neat. Tidy. Nurse-like, since no one wanted loose hairs wrapped up in their bandaged wounds. But that didn’t stop me from once again wanting to run my fingers through it.
And now, as she walked toward me with her hair curling in thick waves over her shoulders, I had to clench my hand at my side just to keep from reaching toward her.
What is wrong with me?
What kind of creep imagined getting his hands tangled up in the hair of a perfect stranger? That was the kind of thing stalkers and serial killers probably thought about while hunting theirnext victim. While I wasn’t holding my breath for a Boy Scout badge anytime soon, I wasn’t a danger to womankind.
No, I wasn’t that creepy. We could call the hair thing a minor fixation. Nothing to worry about. Unless you were me, because as Dakota reached my spot beneath the nostalgic clock tower in town square, it was only then that I realized who she was walking with.
Somehow, I’d managed to let thatminor fixationon Dakota’s hair distract me from noticing that Hope Calhoun—the target of my investigation, the entire reason I was even in this town—was walking right toward me.
Over my shoulder, Austin let out a peel of laughter. I turned to find Colt rubbing the side of his head with the football at his feet, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out that Hope’s approach had distracted him just in time to take a football to the dome.
“Well, if it isn’t Tucker Black,” Dakota said when she reached me.
Now I was the one hit in the head—and it wasn’t by a football, but by the way my name sounded on those perfect lips.
Once again, what iswrongwith me?
I scowled, monumentally unsettled. This wasn’t how I handled myself around women. In fact, before this woman had entered my world, I would’ve considered myself to be perfectly immune to a woman’s charms.
I could be interested, sure.
Attracted? Often.
But…charmed?Not on your life.
“I knew you were tall, but this is just wild,” she mused, not all bothered by the surly expression that I made a point to aim her way. “How tall are you, anyway? Six-four?”
“Six-five,” I muttered.
Hope whistled. “Yep. That’s tall.”
I had to play this cool. How would I handle this situation if my sole purpose for being here wasn’t to investigate one of the two women before me?
But I didn’t get a chance to play it cool because Dakota opened that perfect mouth again. “So, Hope and I were just curious about what you were doin’ sneakin’ around her property when you got yourself shot in the rear.”
I blinked down at her. Her hands were on her hips, which were cocked to the side to show me that she meant business, and her eyes were just as bright as her smile. It was awful. Way too bright. Worth squinting, for sure.
“That was your house, huh?” I asked, playing dumb as I turned to Hope.
“Yep. Her house,” Dakota answered for her. “And before you ask, no, she doesn’t have a rifle strapped to a tree like aHome-Alone-style boobytrap against intruders. I asked, so I figured I’d clear that one up for ya right off the bat.”
I wanted to laugh, but I couldn’t. Colt had been right earlier. It would’ve been way easier if Hope had been the one to shoot me—whether with her finger on the trigger or with a boobytrap. She was the reason we were hired to do this job, and if the client who hired us was right, she had about 1.2 million reasons to shoot at us for being on her property. Easy peasy. Case closed.
But that wild card he spoke of? It wasn’t whoever actually shot me. We’d figure that out, just like we always did. Then, we’d be off on our merry way.
No,mywild card was Dakota Cole, and I had no idea what having her here would change for me.
But before I could decide just how big of a problem that would be, a loud pop sounded behind her, and I was forced into action.
4?/?
dakota
One second, I was standing on the sidewalk, having the time of my life, watching as the scarily sexy stranger tried and failed to keep scowling at me. Clearly, he wanted to. He wanted to be utterly annoyed, but I could see the glimmer of amusement in his eyes. And they were gorgeous, those eyes. The color reminded me of dark nights with hot coffee and the smoke from a Friday night bonfire. Dark in the middle, with sparks of gold throughout the black coffee color of his irises.
