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Yeah.
He and Mia had chemistry.
He and M.J.? Not so much.
“Get in there and fight for your man,” Ellie bellowed from the car.
“Sorry.” M.J. made a face. “I brought Grandma Ellie. Her aide had the afternoon off and I can’t leave her by herself.”
No. She couldn’t. The last time she’d left her grandmother alone, Ellie Damiano had hot-wired the car and taken it to the store to stock up on picnic supplies for a romantic evening out with a beau. Tag still wasn’t sure whether or not the boyfriend was imaginary—and he did not want to know since said picnic supplies included a tube of flavored lube and a disposable bullet vibrator—but M.J.’s grandmother had driven the car off the road and into the ocean. Fortunately, the water hadn’t been deep, but she’d wrecked the undercarriage. Tag had waded in, calmed her down, carried her to shore...and been stuck with her ever since.
He really needed to choose his rescues more carefully.
Ellie rolled the BMW’s window all the way down. “I’m doing you a favor, boy. It’s a Robin Hood thing. You saved my life. Now I get to stick by your side until I’ve saved yours. M.J. downloaded it on Netflix for me so I could see.”
Moving to a technology-free community suddenly seemed a whole lot more attractive. Was it too late to become Amish?
“You don’t owe me anything, Mrs. Damiano.”
Let alone your granddaughter. Please.
He looked over at M.J., who had the decency to look embarrassed. “I don’t suppose you have those child-safety lock things?”
M.J. shook her head and then smiled. “You buy this house and I’ll upgrade the car.”
M.J. was more like her grandmother than he’d realized.
Ellie leaned out the car window. Another few inches and he’d be looking at rescue number two. “She’s pretty. You’re pretty. I’ll have the best-looking grandkids on the island.”
There was no possible response, so he stayed silent.
“You take your time,” Ellie hollered back. “Check out the bedrooms. I’ll just be here taking a little nap and picking out baby names.”
Was Mia enjoying the show? He was pretty sure she was, because she wasn’t the object of crazy granny’s matchmaking schemes. But since she really deserved an explanation—if only because she’d managed to keep a straight face during all this—he gave her one. “I rescued Mrs. Damiano. Now she wants to pay me back.”
* * *
“IN FLESH,” MUTTERED M.J., sounding disgruntled. Apparently, the other woman wasn’t a fan of the barter system after all. “Are you two dating? A girlfriend would certainly shut her up.”
Mia had no idea how to explain her relationship with Tag. Apparently, she didn’t need to, however, because Tag beat her to the punch.
“You bet,” he said, and then his mouth met her neck again in a move guaranteed to make her melt. Which was wrong. She didn’t melt. She was frozen and distant. Closed off. Whatever. Her ex had tossed plenty of adjectives her way when she’d returned, and some of them were even true. Letting people get too close was a mistake when you were playing in the sandbox. People died. They didn’t come back. On Monday, six of you sat down to argue hockey scores or compare fantasy teams and eat. On Tuesday, you could be five. “Mia and I are absolutely dating. In fact, we’re engaged. I’m completely off the market, and you can tell your grandmother so.”
Tag’s voice came out all low and husky. He also wrapped his arms around her waist and squeezed. She had no idea why he’d just announced their engagement, but parts of him were clearly ready to skip straight to the honeymoon. She wriggled a little against the thick ridge pushing against her butt because he deserved to suffer, too.
“A little help here? Mrs. Damiano is a force of nature.” He muttered a rough plea against her ear. Then he nipped. The bright spark of pleasure was one good reason to humor him. Plus, having Tag at her mercy was a fantasy she particularly enjoyed.
“Baby,” she cooed, taking the Siamese from him. “I thought this was our little secret?”
Tag floundering had to be the cutest thing ever. Her big, gruff sailor was afraid of what she’d say next. So what the hell? He needed her help, and she was supposed to be practicing her new normal, right? She’d wanted a man and a family, a regular job and the mortgage and white picket fence to go with it.
She handed the kitten to the Realtor, stood up on tiptoe, flinging her arms around his neck and whispering, “You didn’t tell me this was in the job description.”
