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Jim tapped on the door. “Scarlett?”
“C’mon in.”
He slipped into the room and clicked the door behind him. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”
“Your brother’s a pretty rough character. Honestly, I figured I’d feel safer with you in here, anyway.”
“Dax? Yeah, he has his issues, but harassing women isn’t one of them.” Jim sat on the edge of the bed and fell back onto his side, his feet still planted on the floor.
“Whoa, mister.” She placed her hands on his back and gave him a shove.
“Change your mind already?”
“You’re not climbing into this bed wearing those jeans. They still smell like smoke.”
He got off the bed and, with his back turned to her, he yanked off his pants. He turned back the covers and slipped in beside her. “Good night, Scarlett.”
Poking his shoulder, she asked, “Are you going to find out what Dax is doing here? He didn’t exactly give you a straight answer.”
“Dax isn’t too good at straight answers, but I’ll get it out of him—one way or another. Good night.”
She turned her back to him and closed her eyes with a smile on her face. His body heat was warming up the bed already. The two of them could warm it up a lot faster, but his brother in the next room was saving her from making a big mistake.
Or keeping her from the time of her life.
* * *
THE NEXT MORNING, Scarlett peeled open one eye and followed a shaft of light beaming through a hitch in the blinds. She rolled toward Jim’s now-empty side of the bed and inhaled the scent he’d left behind—slightly smoky and woodsy.
Another smell floated through the air, replacing it. This one made her mouth water almost as much as the other—and she didn’t even eat bacon.
She scooted out of the bed and landed in front of Jim’s closet, where a row of T-shirts swayed on their hangers. She pulled another black T from the bunch and swapped it with the huge one Jim had picked out for her last night. Had he given her that one just so that it would fall off her?
A girl could hope.
“Hello?” She poked her head into the hallway. “Everyone decent?”
Dax yelled back. “I’m never decent, sweetheart.”
She tiptoed into the living room and raised her brows at Dax in the kitchen, spatula in one hand and oven mitt on the other. “You cook?”
“Nothing fancy. Went to the store and picked up some eggs and bacon, potatoes, bread.” He waved the spatula at the counter. “Dig in.”
“Where’s Jim?” She hunched over the counter and picked up a piece of toast.
“In the shower, I think.”
Scarlett bit into the toast and dropped it on a plate. She scooped some scrambled eggs onto her dish and added some potatoes. After several bites, she said, “Not bad. Where’d you learn how to cook?”
“From my mom. She taught me a few things before she ran off, and then I cooked for my dad and brother when she did. J.T. was just a little guy when Wendy, our mom abandoned us—maybe four, and I was thirteen.”
She wrinkled her nose as she did the calculations in her head. Jim’s mom must’ve left right before the kidnappings. When Jim had told his story of almost being snatched from his bed, he hadn’t mentioned his mother. She must’ve been gone by then.
“You really stepped up.” She crunched into her toast, her assessment of Dax Kennedy shifting by the minute.
“I thought you were a vegetarian.” Jim came up behind her, toweling off his dark hair, the muscles across his chest and shoulders bunching and flexing.
“I eat eggs.” She held up a forkful of scrambled egg.
“Yeah, but these potatoes?” He snatched one from her plate. “Cooked in bacon grease.”
“Oh.” She shoved the potatoes to the side of her plate. “Thanks for warning me.”
“You didn’t have to cook breakfast, Dax.” Jim took a plate from the stack and loaded it with everything.
“I figured I wouldn’t get anything to eat if I left it up to you, unless you learned how to cook in the army.” He jerked his thumb at Jim. “This guy never stepped one foot in the kitchen.”
