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The average person has no idea that the Air Force has the most elite technical medical rescue team called Pararescue Jumpers. Usually on a mission, at least one PJ, as they’re called, is embedded in a seal team. So, Vanessa doling out that little nugget of information took me by surprise. It shouldn’t, however, because she always manages to keep me on my toes.
There’s a flicker of mischief in her eyes, rendering me frozen. Her hair is a mess, but she snatches the hair tie from her arm and wraps it into a ball on top of her head while several curly tendrils bounce around her face.
I walk to Jessie and give her a warm embrace, noticing Vanessa appears sad. “Jessie, I don’t remember you as an early bird. In fact, I think we used to wait on your ass all the time.”
“Oh, I left something when I was here last week,” Jessie says. “I needed to get my yearbook back to show Maverick.” She swipes it off the table and pulls it into her chest.
The look in their eyes when they’re up to no good hasn’t changed. The one thing that has changed is there’s no Mark urging them on. That fact squeezes my chest—I’ve lost too many friends.
“Hmm…I remember signing all of Mark’s yearbooks. Wonder what happened to them?” I ask.
Jessie hurries out of the house. “I gotta get to work. Bye. I’ll call you later.”
My former girlfriend and current client pads over to the front door, closing it behind Jessie. She turns the knob then sets the alarm. “Did I do it correctly, Mr. Landry?”
She rakes the silk robe from her shoulders, collecting it in one arm. Standing in the living room while still wearing my shirt. Fuck me. She slept in my shirt. All. Night. Long.
Vanessa brushes past me and her hardened nipple grazes my arm. “I’m taking a shower before work. Will you be here when I get out?”
She doesn’t look at me, just waltzes up the steps like a damn queen.
Under my breath, I answer her. “Yes.”
While she’s showering, I take the opportunity to mill around and make sure I didn’t miss anything last night. When she comes down the steps, her knee bends before her foot hits the floor and she takes my breath away. She’s wearing a pleated black skirt that hits mid-thigh and a see-through cream blouse with a black lace bra underneath.
My chest swells and she rewards me with a faint grin. “Let’s get to work.”
Work? Dressed like that?
Professional women may wear this outfit in the big city, but in Kissing Springs? No. To me, she’s dressed for a romantic evening where the man that loves her traces the outline of her bra through the sheer fabric, building up the anticipation of what is to come.
I’m screwed because I’m the man that loves her.
I follow her as she picks up her black, leather quilted briefcase. When she slings it onto her shoulder, the fabric of her shirt gapes. There’s ink on the top of her breast that wasn’t there when we were teens, but she twists away before I can make out the design.
She sets the alarm toawayand changes the code as I instruct. This time, there isn’t a smart retort. She crosses the pavement to her car and stops. “Do you ride with me? Or vice versa? Or do you follow me?”
There was a time when I would follow her anywhere.
I press the button to unlock my truck, and since she’s wearing a skirt, I grab her hand to help her into the truck. She looks down at me once she’s seated, and I stare into the shimmering green eyes I’ve dreamed of seeing every single day since we broke up. I love how the lighter greens burst from the pupil. I always have.
In the few minutes it takes to get to the distillery, we don’t speak. Is this as hard for her as it is for me? It occurs to me that I don’t know how she felt after that night. What had she wanted? Who had she wanted? Did she regret it? What happened after?
I have so many unanswered questions, and as a person that likes things squared away, nice and neat, being Vanessa Barron’s bodyguard brings way more questions than answers—ones I’m not ready to face.
We’re greeted with coffee from her secretary. “Mr. Landry? The construction manager is waiting for you in the cafeteria.”
“Construction?” Vanessa raises her eyebrow and shifts her weight.
“Thank you,” I say to Mrs. Potts, then I turn to Vanessa. “Let’s talk in your office.”
She walks through the door first, unloading her briefcase and purse. I lift the coffee to my mouth, waiting for her.
“Beau, you don’t have authority to do anything but act as my bodyguard. What are you constructing?”
“I have the authority, along with a budget, to keep you out of harm’s way.” I take a sip, swirling it in my mouth. Mrs. Potts put bourbon in it, like she knows I’m going to need it to get through the day due to my history with Vanessa.
I place it on the left corner of the desk and sit on the edge. “Your office isn’t safe. If someone came up the steps or out of the elevator, we wouldn’t have time to stop them.”
