Chapter Fifteen

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

L et me help you with that.”

As Mayhem tossed the offer out into the breeze, he wanted to sound casual—when in reality, his fangs were tingling with aggression and he was surreptitiously checking that the gun he’d tucked at the small of his back was where he’d put it.

He’d slipped the weapon into his waistband and covered it with his fleece as soon as Mahrci had started putting on those red-and-gray ski pants and the matching parka.

“Really,” he prompted when he got no response. “I want to help.”

She looked up from the bag of livestock feed she was humping off the mudroom’s floor. “Oh, no, it’s okay. I’ve got it.”

And sure enough, she did. Even though it involved some grunting and straining, she managed to get the fifty-pound deadweight on her shoulder, buttressing it with a solid palm.

That landed like the slap on a bare ass.

Okay, that’s hot , he thought as he eyed her braced stance.

“I’ll let you open the door for me, though?” she said.

He was so distracted running his eyes down her body—and trying to pretend he wasn’t checking her out—that he didn’t realize she’d spoken. Then her expectant expression registered and he snapped to attention.

“Oh, yeah. Sure.” Pulling on his own parka, he hustled for the back door of the mudroom. “And sorry, I’m just . . . I’ve got PTSD from the bite marks on those ski pants, k?”

Mahrci glanced down at herself. “It’s just a couple of little pinpricks? They’re still good enough to use. Now, how about that door?”

“Right, yup.” He futzed around before the locks released. “Ladies first.”

As she passed by him, he shut his lids and breathed in. Her scent was a combination of fresh air and female spice, and for a split second, it was all he knew.

Then the cold hit him and he whipped back into action.

There was not going to be a repeat of last night. Nope, not on his watch—

Thump!

Mahrci dumped the bag in the snow, and reached for one of the sets of snowshoes that were hanging on pegs on the side porch. When she bent down to strap them on, he had to look elsewhere, otherwise he felt like a fucking letch—so he focused on the moon overhead. It was just a sliver, but it was super bright because of the clear night.

As he grabbed a set of the shoes, too, she glanced over from her crouch. “So you’re really coming with me?”

He let the tennis rackets fall to the snowy porch boards. “You mind? I’ve been cooped up all day. Need some fresh air.”

She straightened. “And you joining in has nothing to do with—”

“Your little furry forest friends? The ones with the matched sets of dental daggers?” He made a pshaw with his bare hand. “Naaaaah.”

Mahrci tilted her head as she stared up at him, in that way she did . . . and her dark blue eyes were so lovely in the moonlight, he briefly forgot his own name.

But stayed clear on his priorities.

“Please don’t argue with me.” He didn’t bother to hide the hard tone behind his words. “I’m not rolling any dice with your life, especially ones that come on four paws. That wolf? It’s still out there.”

And so was whoever had scared her so badly on the phone.

“All right,” she said roughly. “Thank you.”

As they just kept staring at each other, it was the oddest thing. He felt as though there were ties binding them together, physical ones, wrapping around and around their bodies.

“No problem,” he said.

Straightening, she cleared her throat and held up her forefinger. “I carry the bag, though.”

He saluted her as she hefted the weight up on her shoulder again. “Yes, ma’am.”

They set off as soon as he finished buckling in—and holy fuck. The snowshoes required coordination. As he pitched and Pisa’d, beat the air with his arms, and nearly ate the ground a couple of times, she waited for him and tried not to laugh.

“You’re doing great—oh!”

Catching himself a bush, he shoved himself back to level. “FYI, if this is your definition of ‘great,’ that word means something entirely different to me.”

“It takes some getting used to.” She blew a strand of hair out of her face. “But you’ll get the hang of it.”

“Yup. Absolute—fuck.” He clapped a hand over his mouth. “Sorry, fudge.”

Now she didn’t hide the giggle as she started off. “Please don’t edit yourself for my benefit.”

Well, that’s a relief , he thought as he followed after her. I’ve always sucked at that.

“I feel like one of those dogs with booties on their feet.”

Mahrci glanced back at him and smiled. “You kind of look like it, too.”

The mental sound of an old-fashioned camera shutter preceded what he knew to be a permanent memory: Her hair was tied at her nape again, and the ponytail was tangled in the high collar of the parka. Her cheeks were bright red from the cold and her eyes were such a resonant blue, they appeared to glow in the darkness.

She was so beautiful in the winter landscape, his chest ached.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she whispered.

Taking two bad clomps forward on the snow, he reached out and brushed that strand of hair out of her face. As he tucked it behind her ear, the end of it caught the breeze and curled around her lips.

He couldn’t help but stare at her mouth.

“I was just thinking,” he murmured, “that that grain bag really brings out the color of your eyes.”

Her laughter was loud and a little honky, and he found it so frickin’ endearing, he was the one who started walking again. Snowshoeing again? Whatever—he knew he had to get moving or he was going to do something too soon.

“So how long have you been working for the guy who owns this place?” he asked casually.

“All my life,” she muttered. “How about you and Apex?”

He wasn’t a fan of liars, but reminded himself that he was a stranger to her. She didn’t owe him shit about herself.

A stranger for now, at least.

“I’m an independent contractor. I work with Mr. Personality sometimes.”

“I noticed you guys screwed a lot over day.” As Mayhem fumbled his feet, she barked a laugh. “I mean, the cameras. You screwed in the—oh, forget it.”

“We got them all up, but the job’s only halfway done. I’ve got a lot of programming to do before we leave.”

And he was going to take his sweet goddamn time at it. Maybe even have to work through a couple of software “crashes.”

“No more secrets in the big house, huh,” she said as they entered the tree line.

“Nope.”

“Little much for a summer place that’s hardly used, don’t you think.”

“Those kinds of questions are way above my pay grade.”

With a hop and a grunt, she repositioned the grain bag. “And what do you do when you’re not screwing”—she glanced over with a smile—“ in cameras.”

“Oh, I’m a pretty simple male. I like long walks on the beach, rom-coms from the nineties, and pink cocktails.”

Her laughter was like a goal line he wanted to get to over and over. And then she looked at him and he found another motivation.

“How about you?” he asked as he stared at her lips.

“I’ve never been to the beach before, I’m not a big fan of pink or alcohol—but I did see a Sandra Bullock movie once and liked it. Does that count?”

“Depends on which movie. I mean they’re ancient now, but there were eras, if you know what I mean.”

“I can’t remember exactly. I think there was a guy in a coma and she falls for the brother—”

“ While You Were Sleeping .”

“—who’s a furniture maker?” She smiled again. “Is that the title? And there was the guy who liked her shoes?”

“Joe Junior.”

“That’s the one.”

“And that’s a classic, so yes, it counts.”

They both started laughing, and Mayhem thought back to the last time he’d been with a female who made him feel lighter in his spirit.

Never. Try never.

“What’s your favorite food?” he asked as they kept going, with him holding pine boughs out of her way.

And that was how it went. Back and forth, easy, but exciting. And when the platform came into view, Mayhem wished the damn thing was across the state.

“I just feel bad,” she said as she let the grain bag fall to the ground.

“Because you like mass-produced American chocolate? There’s no shame in M&M’s, you know.”

“No, the deer.” She looked around. “I’m leaving, and I worry that they won’t get enough to eat.”

“Where are you going?” he said softly.

There was a long silence. “I know, I know, they’ve been foraging for years through the wintertime, but I want to do something to help . . . someone.”

Out came a Swiss Army knife, and she made quick work of the top of the bag’s knitted fabric. With another grunt, she barrel hugged the weight up onto the platform and let the grain pour out. When things were empty, she shoved at the pile, flattening it.

“I think the birds get some. The squirrels.” Mahrci picked up the empty bag and rolled it into a ball. “I want them all to have a full belly—”

Off in the distance, a set of headlights flared through the trees and came down the lane. As Mahrci glanced at the strobing, her expression tightened with fear.

“Who do you worry’s in that car?” he asked grimly.