Chapter Three

Everlee tapped her fingertips on the keyboard, not hard enough to enter anything into Mr. Stewart's calendar for the day, just needing to do something. She'd been stuck on boring desk duty for five weeks now, and it was killing her. Killing, with a capital K. Guess one too many near misses wasn't looked upon kindly here at TEAM HQ. First near miss: spraining her ankle by falling up three measly steps on her way into TEAM HQ on her first day of work. Second: the ruckus she'd unintentionally caused when she'd taken down Webster Finch, the jerk. Alex ended up paying that farmer for damages she'd ‘allegedly' caused his dusty, old field. Yeah, right. Lastly, and this was the most embarrassing, she'd recently tripped up those same damned steps and sprained her other ankle!

Alex said she was an accident waiting to happen. His sidekick, the handsome, debonair, and, okay, so he was married, too, Mark Houston, called her a gorgeous klutz. Of course, he'd chuckled with that deep baritone of his, which all by itself was enough to melt a girl's panties.

Well, duh. Newsflash! Accidents were what happened when people lived fast and hard. They took risks, and because they did, sometimes they messed up. Get over it, guys!

A person had to actually ‘do something' to make mistakes. It sure as hell wasn't the know-it-all, big-mouthed do-nothings quarter-backing from their comfy, padded, Laz-Z-Boy recliners in the middle of their safe living rooms. No, it was the bloodied, wounded players on the actual field, the guys and gals being criticized and called names for fumbling the ball those arm-chair quarterbacks couldn't catch on a good day. Everlee was that man in the ring from President Theodore Roosevelt's speech, damn it. She was the guy in the arena. The one whose face was marred with dirt and blood and plenty of sweat, damn it. Of course she fell down a lot. She was the person actually running the race, wasn't she?

Everlee had long ago committed Roosevelt's comments to memory. Okay, so she was a bit of a klutz. No one ever said that man in the ring had to be an athlete. But honestly, there was something wrong with those three steps leading into TEAM HQ's entrance. Too bad no one believed her.

Her ride-or-die race-car driving father had always said life wouldn't be easy. But the only way to live it was head-on, straight into traffic, and without apology. And as much as she hated him now for what he'd done, the little girl inside of her still followed that sage advice. It was people like her who weren't afraid to stand up and take risks. They were the ones who made a difference in the world. Not some mama's boy who still lived in his parent's basement. Of course, there was another reason she was a klutz, a good reason, one she'd kept hidden for years and would never reveal until she was forced to. Ha, like anyone could make her do something she didn't want to do. But one of these days she'd have to tell Alex about her ADHD. Just not today.

"Jiminy Christmas, grow the hell up, why don'tcha," she grouched at all the big-mouthed, do-nothing idiots in the world.

It was crazy weird that she and her teammates who'd moved from Seattle—the bustling, enterprising, and beautiful Emerald City of the great Pacific Northwest—had ended up in the middle of Hicksville, Nowhere, Virginia. The change of pace, or total lack of pace, was stifling to the city girl she'd become. Utterly boring. And driving Everlee crazy bonkers. For a woman of her intense drive to be all she could be—not to mention her penchant for getting things done in too big of a hurry—country life in western Virginia was as slow as molasses in the dead of an arctic winter. Worse, there was no Starbucks within driving distance in any direction! WTF?

That had to change. She would've written to whoever the pretentious CEO of Starbucks was—she still had to look him or her up—but Alex, in his all-wise and all-knowing way, had already installed the most divine little gourmet coffee kiosk right in TEAM headquarters lobby. That by itself proved he was a genius. Who wasn't enamored by the scent of coffee? Or the scent of him?

Everlee rolled her eyes at the thought of possibly encountering her dream man again today. No wonder he'd recently been voted most successful entrepreneur on the Eastern Seaboard for the year. Again. Everlee would've voted for him herself if she could have, just based on the fragrance of whatever body wash he showered with or men's cologne he wore.

Yum!

Speaking of Alex… Unbeknownst to him or anyone else, he'd become Everlee's major crush. Yes, she'd liked a few of her Air Force buddies in the past, and she adored Mark Houston. But none compared to the man she would eagerly give her heart, body, and soul to—if he would only ask. And if he weren't already married to his pretty wife Kelsey, who Everlee also adored, just not in the same way. Sigh.

Her heart skipped a silly beat at her foolish infatuation with her boss. She loved Ed Sheeran, too, more so when she imagined herself dancing with Alex. They'd make such a good couple, him with his older way of leading a younger woman onto the dance floor. Her with her eyes aglow on him and nobody else. He had to have dance moves, didn't he? A man as tall, debonair, and sexy as Alex Stewart? She'd bet her last dollar on it, err, him.

But Everlee knew damned well better. The man might be a total knock-out, true. But he'd never, not even once, semi-flirted with any of the women he worked with, strayed from his marriage vows, or hinted he was anything more than just everyone's boss. She'd honestly tried not to gawk at him whenever he showed up, which wasn't very often now that construction was finally done on this complex of TEAM HQ buildings. But gah! That man was a rockstar. He was so handsome that he turned women's heads, all of them, not just hers. And he didn't even know it.

Of course he was happily married, and it showed. But that was part of the allure of the guy. He truly loved his wife, and Kelsey might as well work here, as often as she brought breakfast treats or other homemade goodies into TEAM HQ. It was the fact that he was an honest, loving, and faithful husband that made Alex all the more attractive. It was his rock-solid personality, his drive to succeed, and his written-in-stone moral compass that made him desirable.

Too bad it also made him off-limits. Everlee wasn't that kind of dumb. She would never do anything to come between Alex and Kelsey. But a girl could dream, and when Everlee dreamed, it was always Alex she dreamed of.

She took a quick sip of her first piping hot Caffè Vanilla Frappuccino for the day and—

"Excuse me, ma'am—"

Everlee spat a volcanic stream of liquid at the silent intruder who'd effectively destroyed her idyllic, if imaginary, moment with her unattainable boss. "Who the hell are you and what the hell do you want?" she spewed along with her coffee.

The moment those unkind words flew out of her mouth, it registered where her Caffè Vanilla Frappuccino had landed. All over the shirt and tie of the very tall but unfortunate man standing on the other side of the TEAM's customer service counter.

Hurriedly, she followed that snarky question up with a sincere, "Oh, shit! I spit my coffee on you! I'm sorry! Stay right here. I'll grab some napkins."

Did he just glare at me? She wasn't sure. The big guy had yet to say anything else.

Shit, shit, shit! Jumping into action, she hobbled her ass around the customer service desk as fast as her big, black orthopedic boot allowed. Damned thing made her sound like a peg-legged pirate all the way across the lobby to the coffee kiosk. Jerking a handful of napkins out of the holder, she whirled on her rubber-soled, plastic boot heel and— Whoa there, big guy— ran smack into a solid, manly chest that— oh, my gosh —had to be made of pure granite. Or marble. It was that hard and solid—and warm. So warm. Quite lovely in fact.

Even as he gripped her biceps to keep her from falling backward, which was also really nice, Everlee couldn't help but sigh as the fingers on her napkin-less hand flattened over the eye-popping pecs beneath this guy's damp shirt. They enjoyed every bit of what they were feeling. Oh, did they ever. At the same time, they assessed the perfect rib structure and sturdy musculature beneath what had once been a crisply ironed, white business shirt. She'd spit coffee on his black silk tie, too. Damn, damn, damn. What a lousy first impression. For him and for her.

"I'm so, so sorry," she said again, contritely, as if repeating herself could make time rewind and let her start over again. Suck back that scalding Frappuccino. Take back those bitchy words. And let this nice man make the impression he'd obviously dressed for.

But those muscles. That chest. Everlee could barely breathe as her eyes traced the placard of this stranger's shirt all the way to his square-as-a-brick chin, which was already sporting the beginning of a heavy five o'clock shadow. This guy was no boy, uh-uh. He was all man. Every last bit of him, from the way he now controlled her body to the dark piercing glare that came along with his brooding personality. His current close proximity set her girly parts buzzing.

Oh, my hell. Her fingertips itched to fondle that stern chin, just to feel the roughness of it abrading her skin. Just to make this magnificent male specimen smile.

His dark hair, she couldn't decide if it was dark brown or black, was too long for military, but perfect for the brooding attitude he had going. The ends of it curled at his neckline, just above his collar, while the rest was combed neatly over his skull. His sideburns were precisely trimmed. Judging by his stiff, proper stance, his posture, and his obvious athletic condition, this man was most certainly former military.

His Adam's apple bobbed as he glowered down at her. Everlee didn't mind—or take the hint that he might not appreciate her scrutiny. Man, those midnight eyes of his were positively dangerous, like the dark blue shade under the curl of a killer wave off Hanauma Bay. Everlee was standing so close she could see tiny glints of green that reminded her of sea-glass flaring out from pupils so black that a girl could fall into them.

Yikes. A shiver raced up her spine at the magnetic connection she felt with this guy. The space between them crackled with electricity. Her throat worked just to swallow. Did he feel it too?

Oh, Jiminy Christmas, will you look at those lips. They were firm and right then pinched into two flat lines that declared utter disdain and disapproval. He hadn't yet offered one word to lessen her acute embarrassment. Not one. But her nostrils still flared at the old-fashioned scents of starch and spicy, masculine deodorant, mixed with a heady hint of cigarette smoke, wind, and what she was pretty sure was whiskey, coming off this guy.

Drinking already? So early? Meh. Who cares.

"H-how may I assist you?" she asked, her voice as hoarse and breathy as if this guy, whose name she didn't yet know, had just blessed her with an orgasm instead of a deathly glower. Even the manly disapproval on his face radiated enough sexual attraction to make her knees weak. Not what she needed, considering her well-deserved rep as a fall hazard. Which made her sound old and feeble, which Everlee most definitely was not. She'd just had a string of bad luck and that was over. Bad things came in threes. She'd filled the cosmically defined quota, damn it. In spades.

Clearing her throat and intending to sound stern, certainly more professional, Everlee's mouth ended up asking, "Whatz up?" as if he were just one of the TEAM guys. Which he wasn't. Them, she knew.

"I'm here for a job interview," he answered as he released her, his deep voice flat and emotionless. Sticking two thick, long fingers behind the Windsor knot at his throat, he loosened his coffee-spattered tie and ripped it from his collar. The thing snapped like a tiny whip, which only served to heighten the crazy, inappropriate sexual attraction Everlee was feeling.

Taking her wandering fingers back, she covered her mouth and coughed, then handed over the napkins and let this guy wipe the mess off himself. She could act just as bored as he was. To prove it, she turned her back and hobbled to her temporary workstation. "Your name?" she tossed indifferently over her shoulder.

He growled a throaty, "Shane Hayes."

"Hmm. You're not on Mr. Stewart's calendar this morning." At least she'd thoroughly scrutinized that before this disastrous meeting.

"I was told Senior Agent Mark Houston handled employment interviews."

"Mark. Right. He does," was all Everlee's steamy, scattered brain could come up with, as she settled her butt into the chair behind the customer service desk again. Damn Mondays. Of course Mark handled interviews. Everyone knew that. "Let me check Mark's calendar. Your name?"

This guy had followed her and was right then standing in her frag zone—or maybe she was in his. Thick, masculine brows lifted over those gorgeous eyes, creating a corresponding set of manly wrinkles across his forehead that only added to the caveman sex appeal he had going. He cleared his throat. "Already told you, ma'am. Shane. Hayes," he repeated extra slowly, like she was a dolt.

But oh, yeah. He had said that, hadn't he? By then, Mr. Hayes was standing nearly at attention on his side of her counter. He'd taken his suit jacket off. It draped over his left arm and his tie was wound around his right fist. That magnificent stubbled chin of his dipped low to his clavicles while he patted the Caffè Vanilla Frappuccino stains on his chest and down his centerline and…

Oh. My. Hell. He wasn't wearing a t-shirt. Everlee's throat went bone dry at the sight of two dusky, flat nipples revealed through the wet, white shirt . Dayam.

Embarrassed she was openly ogling this stranger, she squeezed her eyes shut to break the connection that had no business sizzling between them. Not like he'd felt it, because if he had, he wouldn't be acting like such a prick. She had no idea why she'd considered this guy handsome in the first place, not as stuffy as he was. Man, she needed to get laid.

Everlee forced her eyes back open and pulled up Mark's Monday To-Do-List on the computer without glancing even one more time at Mr. Stuffy Hayes. "I really am sorry, but you startled me. You're early. Mark hasn't come in yet."

"I'll wait."

Still avoiding eye contact, Everlee nodded toward the corner of the coffee kiosk and the adjoining sitting area of comfy chairs around a coffee table scattered with shooting magazines. This guy had as much personality as a post. "Please take a seat, Mr. Hayes. I'll let Mark know you're here the minute he arrives. And please let me pay to have your shirt and tie dry cleaned. It's the least I can do."

He glared out the front entry as if watching for somebody. Man, this guy was as tense as a post, too. Downright rigid. Didn't he know he'd score higher if he relaxed before job interviews?

"Never mind. I'll take care of it myself."

Of course you will.

"At least let me get coffee for you while you wait, okay?" Everlee poured sincerity into the question. Alex was right. She was an accident waiting to happen, and apparently, she'd happened all over this poor man right before an important interview. She'd ruined his first impression.

But what a sight. Tall, dark, and incredibly handsome, this man moved with the smooth grace of a lethal predator. Those dark blue eyes of his parsed the front lobby as if he were judging it on sight and finding everything in it insignificant. He acted like he owned the place. As if he ruled The TEAM, and Alex was merely an interloper keeping his seat warm until he showed up.

From this safe distance, Everlee could better appreciate the bespoke suit of gunmetal gray Shane Hayes was wearing. His shirt was more silver than just plain white, and she wouldn't be surprised if its buttons weren't stamped with Winchester or Remington. Whoever this guy was, he was thickly muscled, built like a boxer, thin hipped, long legged, but arms and hands loose at his sides. He was light on his feet, considering the bulk of his neck and shoulders and…

Man, that chest. Heat unspooled at Everlee's core, and she was pretty sure she was drooling. She ran her fingers over her lips just in case. This guy's biceps strained the sleeves of the jacket he'd just put back on, and damned if hiding that chest under a jacket wasn't a crime. Shane Hayes was simply thicker and taller than Alex. Where Alex had an elegant, gentlemanly build, this man was built like a brick wall. Not even his expensive suit could hide that.

Hayes shook his head when two gorgeous Springer Spaniels appeared at the front door, their long, pink tongues hanging out, their entire bodies waggling like they thought he'd be thrilled to see them.

"Are those your dogs? They're beauti—"

"Yes, damn it," he hissed, cutting her off. "I'll be right back."