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Now that the chaos is over and the truck is no longer burning, I try to process everything that happened. Whoever attacked last night must've known we were coming because it wasn't a random incident.
Colby chortles into her coffee cup. "Act of nature. I swear to God, I can't wait to get back to Charleston just to tell people these stories! No wonder you're trying to save up enough to move you and Aunt Trudy down."
My lungs deflate. "I know, but convincing Aunt Trudy to move has been surprisingly difficult. Her doctor's here, and then there's Duncan to consider."
Colby holds up a hand to stop me from continuing. "That dog has something wrong with it. His farts are lethal. I bet the neighborhood skunks don't even mess with Duncan."
I pinch the bridge of my nose. "I know. The three of us make quite the motley crew, but I'm working hard to get our next, better chapter of life underway. I never would've thought I'd be thirty-two, divorced, and living with my Aunt Trudy in the middle of"—I wave my hand around—"this."
Colby places a comforting hand on my shoulder. "You are pulling yourself and your life back together. You should be proud of yourself. Why do you think I came up here? I wanted to let you know your Charleston friends haven't forgotten you. We're cheering you on and want you back. But I do wonder if someone better just entered the picture, though."
My eyes lift toward Mack. He was incredible last night. The way he sprang into action was beyond impressive, it left me speechless. Sure, he barked orders at me like a general, but I realize now that every instruction that he gave me was to steer me away from danger.
Too bad I'm awful at following directions.
With his leather jacket long tossed aside, my gaze drinks in Mack's details in the amber rays of the sunrise. His corded forearms and biceps, smudged with soot and soil from the fire, are scratched and bruised, and his T-shirt, stained and torn, is unsalvageable.
I have the overwhelming urge to go to him and tend to his wounds. If only we were on better terms, I'd wrap my arms around him and tell him how sorry I am for his loss. He lost his truck to those assholes. Not only that, he lost a piece of his father.
My teeth clench, and my fist balls. Those damn Wellers! I know they had something to do with this. They're the ones always trying to sabotage the Brockers’ efforts to build and develop. Now they're stepping up their game by attacking people and destroying personal property. Those goons need a dose of their own medicine.
Without overthinking it, I march over to Mack, leaving Colby to fend for herself as her least favorite local cop approaches and starts reminiscing about his last trip to Charleston.
Mack looks over and our eyes connect, making my stomach flutter. A hint of a smile forms at the corner of his lips. The state police officer he's speaking to hands him a copy of the police report tips his hat to me and walks to the other side of the charred truck remains.
Mack slides his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and pierces me with his stunning green-gold eyes. All of the anger toward the Wellers and everything that I was going to say evaporates under his steady, warm gaze.
I shake my head, smiling. It's still hard for me to believe Mack's here, standing in front of me in the flesh after years of playing the handsome ghost of my past. I'm amazed at how attractive he looks after a sleepless night of anarchy, but it comes naturally to him with his razor-sharp jawline, perfectly messy dark-blond locks, and heavy-lidded bedroom eyes.
I remember spending more than our fair share of sleepless nights together while in college. He always looked hot as hell after our nights of sheet-scorching sex. Back then, Drake had been a mad man for me. He was constantly tugging down my jeans, pulling up my skirts, pushing aside the thin fabric of my panties to give me what I craved.
My cheeks start to warm as memories come flooding back and my core starts to pulse.
Mack pops a brow, and his lips curl into a sexy smile. He starts patting himself down. First his T-shirt, then the thighs of his jeans. "You're blushing. For a second I thought maybe the fire had burned a hole through my clothes over something that needed covering."
I laugh and twirl my finger in the air. "Spin around, and I'll make sure it didn't."
His eyes spark with excitement. "Oh yeah? Can we take turns?"
My lips twist in a playful smirk. "This is a friendly, clinical check, one hundred percent out of concern. You survived a fire."
He chuckles. "You mean I survived a night of keeping my ex from throwing herself bodily across my burning truck."
I shrug. "I hated seeing you lose your dad's truck."
His eyes soften. But he pushes past the topic, spreads his arms, bends them slightly at the elbows with his palms facing me, and slowly spins. "Go on, make sure I'm still in one piece and didn't get barbequed."
My gaze sweeps over his broad chest and the bulge of his pecs and biceps. I'm memorized by each ridge and dip of his six-pack under the close-fitting material. His torso narrows enticingly, settling on chiseled hips stacked on thick, muscular thighs that stir my imagination.
Mack slowly turns for me. His back is a thing of beauty. Muscles ripple under his shirt, and I want to trace the tops of his shoulders with kisses. Between the wide set of his shoulder blades, there's a single, thin vertical line of sweat, and it causes my womb to flutter. The masculine prowess he used to fight the fire and protect me is on full display. I usually despise sweat on men. Not with Mack, though. I have the strange desire to make him sweat even more.
His T-shirt pools slightly at the top of his jeans, and I'm grateful it doesn't block the view of his muscled, round, and squeezable ass that perfectly fills his jeans.
"So? How does it look? The shirt is shot, but how about the jeans?"
My mouth goes dry. "They're keepers."
Mack glances over his shoulder, and the curve of his sensuous lips causes my pulse to race. "Okay, I'll take your word for it." He winks. "You know how I hate parting with things that I love."
