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“I also need a cat rescued.” She wasn’t sure she was ready to take on a house and a family of five. She and kitty definitely needed to at least date first.
The woman on the other end of the line hesitated. Thinking things through, Mia hoped. “Discovery Island has a rescue team,” she said finally.
“Good. Send them over.” Mia repeated the address and hung up to wait.
Waiting wasn’t her first choice. She’d done enough sitting around in the desert sandbox where she and her unit had been deployed. She was, however, good at it. She also knew a half-dozen different ways to get inside the house without the key, but she was turning over a new leaf. Pretending to be civilized and blessedly normal. Normal people definitely waited for the Realtor to come and let them in. Besides, on the off chance she wanted to put in a bid for the place, she didn’t need to add one more item to the repair list.
* * *
TAG PARKED HIS truck in front of the run-down cottage. His Monday plans had not included getting called out to rescue a litter of kittens. On the other hand, since the search-and-rescue business was slow at the moment, there was no reason not to come. It was always good to be needed, and Mary Beth, the receptionist at the real estate agency, had sounded slightly frazzled. Plus, she’d promised him a cup of coffee for his efforts, so she had herself a double win right there.
“I can be had for two bucks worth of Joe,” he said to Ben Franklin, who was riding shotgun. The dog barked happily in agreement as Tag got out of the truck and slammed the door. Since there were kittens to be recovered, the boxer needed to stay put for the moment. Afterward, Tag would make some introductions and test the possibilities.
And...triple win. The cottage also came with Mia. Two days ago he’d offered her a job, and she’d thrown his offer back in his face. Shortly thereafter, she’d treated him to the best morning sex of his life and then organized a rapid departure for Sweet Moon’s and some space of her own. He’d had to talk fast—and kiss plenty—to convince her to stay put with him. She didn’t look now as if she had any regrets, either, although twenty-four hours probably wasn’t enough time for her to entertain any regrets. Not that he wanted to find her starving in a ditch or beating her breast, but she looked perfectly happy. And impossibly sexy.
Jesus. He needed to get over this insane attraction he had to her. She wasn’t his type, no matter how hot her running apparel was or how erotic his dreams last night had been. He’d bet she did yoga, too, because she stretched her leg on the porch railing, bending over in a way that did spectacular things for her butt in those skimpy shorts. She was definitely flexible. She had on one of those bra tops that managed to hold everything in place in a feat of engineering he thoroughly applauded. Sweat beaded her skin, slicked the sun-kissed valley between her breasts. He wanted to devour her from head to foot. No. He was here on a job.
“You’re in so much trouble here, soldier,” he muttered to himself, and then he deliberately brought his boot down hard on the path. She was jumpy as hell; he didn’t need to scare her.
Her head shot up, and she twisted around, glaring at him. An orange tabby cat wreathed around her ankles, and he’d bet the damned thing was purring. He would be if she let him close. She frowned and opened her mouth.
“Search and rescue,” he said, before she could say anything. “I’m here in my official capacity.”
“They sent you?” To his eternal disappointment, she dropped her leg. He’d been admiring the view.
“Discovery Island doesn’t have Animal Control,” he said lightly. “I’m the best they’ve got.”
She exhaled, blowing her hair off her face. “Right. And sending a Navy search-and-rescue swimmer didn’t seem like overkill for six felines?”
Something else he didn’t bother answering. Instead, he looked down at the cat marking her leg possessively. Again, an urge he completely understood. “That’s one. Where are cats two through six?”
She smiled slowly. Yeah. He was in trouble. “Under the porch,” she said and pointed, while Ben Franklin barked encouragement from the truck.
This was why he preferred water. Sure, the ocean was well-stocked with predators and a good storm surge could beat the hell out of a swimmer, but those waters were also spiderless. And he had a mask and a wetsuit.
“Damn,” he sighed.
“Have at it,” she said, sounding amused. Apparently, her help didn’t extend past making a phone call for a rescue assist, because she dropped down onto the step to watch him work. He made a quick detour back to his truck and grabbed a pet carrier and a can of tuna fish from the bed. He wasn’t above bribery.
