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Why a distributor for farm equipment and parts needed so much security she couldn’t quite figure out. One thing was for sure: She was going to have to make him understand it was his cost, not Crossfield-Dawson’s. Even if they would acquire the system once Tessalon left the lease. Tessalon had agreed to the terms; he could live with them.
Jack had just thrown his leg over the Harley when Poppy stepped from her back door that evening. Juggling a slim leather briefcase, her purse, and her keys, she locked the door, then turned and quickly made her way down the steps to the cement walk leading to the alley parking area.
It was all Jack could do to keep his jaw from dropping and to force himself to breathe.
How the hell she managed to tame all those fiery curls into a sleek, shining, straight ribbon of hair that fell below her shoulders, he had no clue. But she’d done just that. She’d also dressed in a killer soft green, figure-hugging dress that left her shoulders bare, showed a hint of cleavage, and ended just above her knees, while matching heels encased her delicate feet.
She looked like a million bucks, distracted as she talked into the Bluetooth connection at her ear, and apologizing ever so sweetly for being late but adding that she was on her way.
Son of a bitch. Poppy had a date?
Crossing his arms over his chest, he glared at her as she made her way toward her vehicle, certain his head was about to explode at the thought. He’d been trying to catch her home for three fucking days to invite her to a barbecue party outside of town, and couldn’t seem to do it.
She’d reached the end of the walk before disconnecting the call and looking up, only to come to a hard stop when she caught sight of him.
What the hell was that expression that flashed across her face? Regret. Anger. Now that just didn’t make sense.
“Got a date?” he asked, ensuring his tone didn’t hold the pure animalistic growl that wanted to escape. He even managed a fucking smile. Kinda.
Guilt flickered in her gaze. “I’m late,” she muttered, just loud enough for him to hear the words. “Goodbye, Jack.”
Now, didn’t that sound final enough?
She hurried to the SUV, climbed in, and started the motor. Within seconds she was pulling away and heading to the main street. And she didn’t even look back.
“Oh, sugar girl,” he sighed, shaking his head as he watched the SUV disappear around the corner. “That shit just ain’t gonna work with me.”
Pulling up the GPS device attached to her SUV on his smartphone, he waited, watching closely for a good ten minutes before she pulled into one of the nicer restaurants in Huntington. Upscale, pricey. Oh yeah, his Poppy thought she had a date.
Starting the Harley, he revved the engine, then pulled out and followed her.
He had no idea what she thought she was doing, but it was a mistake on her part. He’d seen the look on her face—whatever was going through her mind, she obviously believed he had no hold on her.
He’d had a claim on her since he was fourteen years old, and he guessed it was high time he made that clear to her. For damned sure, it was time to make certain there were no more dates with other men for the foreseeable future. Or forever.
Jack knew he wasn’t exactly a good person. His personal code wasn’t always agreeable with society’s image of who and what a man should be. No doubt it wasn’t Poppy’s idea of who he was. But he’d thought they could make it work without any undue difficulties.
When his woman thought she could go out with another man, though, there were undue difficulties, ones that needed addressing quickly.
A relationship with her wasn’t just imperative to the mission he was on, but to him. He hadn’t taken the mission because of the threat to national security or any other pie-in-the-sky fucking reason. He’d taken it because of her. Because she would have expected him to, and because she was no doubt in danger herself. That he couldn’t allow, any more than he was going to allow this date.
His men were due to report in at midnight. Before that meeting occurred, this had to be taken care of. He was either going to let Ian know she was no longer the key into Crossfield and Dawson’s little group, or he was going to report the mission was good to go as planned.
Until then, he had to break this little date up, get Poppy back to her house, figure out what the hell had happened, and ensure it didn’t happen again. All before midnight and despite the pure male outrage burning inside him.
Damn that woman.
“As you can see in the floor plans, the house has all the amenities you were looking for plus quite a few extras.” Poppy sat back in the upholstered chair after dinner and stared across the table from the potential new client, Steven Armstrong. “It’s located in Hurricane, a halfway point between Barboursville and Charleston. It has its own private airfield, indoor-outdoor heated pool, a large ballroom, and balconies on each of the six upstairs bedrooms. I think you’ll find that it’s more than suited to fit your needs.”
The Storing House was extravagance at its finest, hidden in the mountains in a lush valley filled with prime hunting and fishing.
“It looks incredible,” Armstrong murmured as he went through the pictures she’d brought.
“The Realtor can meet you whenever you’re ready to go through it, and should you decide it’s what you’re looking for, we can meet again to go over the lease.” She gave him her best business smile, then gave the waiter a shake of her head as he paused at the table with a wine bottle to refill their glasses.
Dinner had been exceptional, the wine smooth and the dessert rich and luscious, but she was ready to go home now.
Steven Armstrong was nodding slowly as he went over one of the four reports she’d brought on the house.
