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Authors: Anne Marsh

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BOOK: Burning Up
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He sighed. “Which is why you hightailed it on back to Strong, then, Lily? Because things were working out so well for you in San Francisco?”
“I'm not responsible for those fires.” Jack had said so himself, and she knew it was true. No matter how many regrets, how many coulda-woulda-shouldas ran through her head at night, she knew this.
“No.” Rio unslung a messenger bag from over his shoulder, dropping it onto her porch. “Those fires weren't your fault. Doesn't mean, however, that it's not your problem. If someone is gunning for you, Lily, you need to take a little action. You can't just sit here waiting for this creep to come at you. Jack here knows what he's doing, and so do I.”
“I didn't ask for your help.”
“You didn't ask for anyone's help, baby.” Jack's sexy drawl behind her made her think of a sleeping tiger. “That's your problem, right there. If you'd asked for a little helping hand, you'd have been able to pick your savior. Now, you're stuck with us. Take it up with Nonna and Ben, but I'm thinking you're not going to change their minds.”
Flipping open the bag, Rio began pulling out bits and pieces of electronics. There was enough surveillance equipment to start another Cold War. “Because Jack's right, and we all know it.”
She wet her lips. “I didn't think he'd find me here.”
Rio just looked at her and shook his head. The electronic gear he was pulling out of his bag made his thoughts about that clear. “24/7 surveillance,” he said. “Whatever happens down here in Lavender Creek, we'll see it up in the base camp. You won't be alone.”
“You're putting me in a fishbowl.” Her skin prickled, flushed at the thought of the Donovan brothers watching her. The intimacy felt shocking, although it wasn't—she admitted the truth to herself—anything like the violation of knowing her stalker was out there, too. Waiting to hurt her.
Jack and his brothers wanted to keep her safe. Wanted to
help
. All she had to do was let them. But then she'd have to tell them everything, and there were parts of that last night in San Francisco that were too raw, too ugly to be shared. She didn't think she could face Jack Donovan looking at her and knowing that truth.
“Give me your cell.” Jack held a big palm out, gesturing with his fingertips. “I'll program our numbers into it. You see anything down here, you call us.”
“Never heard that pickup line before,” she said sweetly. Damned if she was going to roll over for him. If he wanted puppy-dog obedience, he could go chase Rio's blonde.
He shot her a look. “Go get it, Lily, or I'll go myself. You won't like that.”
“Don't you dare.” She meant it, too. She didn't understand why she had this urge to push him, to challenge him, but she wasn't going to let him give her orders. Not now. Not ever.
He didn't say anything, just looked at her and went on back inside the house. Then she remembered the cardinal rule of the Donovan brothers. They'd never backed down from a dare. Ever.
“That was a mistake,” Rio observed cheerfully. He was putting a little camera up beneath an eave.
Right.
Leaving Rio to assemble the surveillance arsenal on his own, she stormed back inside and found Jack with his hands on her purse. She reached for the white leather in a panic—there were things in there she'd
really
rather he didn't see—but he'd already upended her bag onto the table.
The bag was a disorganized disaster. Makeup and an old comb, hair ties, wads of Kleenex and paper towel. Two paperback romance novels, because she didn't like waiting, and a good book always made the time pass quickly. Sample soaps from Lavender Creek's line.
“You might want to think about a little spring cleaning.” He nodded, sifting through the rest of her purse's contents. He shoved a quantity of stuff back inside the bag, but then he found the little pocket-rocket vibrator. God, she prayed he wouldn't recognize that for what it was. That was a whole different kind of fantasy right there.
The knowing grin tugging the side of his mouth warned her Jack knew precisely what he had his hands on. She could feel that damned blush spreading across her face again as he looked over at her.
“Girl like you shouldn't need this.” He put down the small toy and scored her cell from the remaining mess. Flipping it open, he programmed in a handful of numbers. As far as she could tell, her ICE number was going to ring straight to base camp. “You've got us all,” he said, turning the cell around so she could see the screen. “Me, Rio, and Evan. The base camp.” He hesitated but plowed on. “And a couple more of the team members. You need anything, you call—you hear me, Lily? Don't keep this to yourself.”
She wondered who was on his jump team this summer—and how many of them had been drafted into working overtime as her new security detail. She didn't kid herself. Anyone Jack trusted was going to be big and mean and determined. She wasn't going to shake them off, not easily.
Jack reached the bottom of her purse and, sure enough, palmed the little hand-piece she kept there in a specially designed holster. She'd had time to think, on the drive from San Francisco to Strong, and she'd made some adjustments. The small handgun was one of them.
“See, this right here?” He nodded grimly. “This tells me you know
precisely
what we're concerned about, Lily.”
She didn't want to talk about it. “Woman alone, Jack,” she said lightly. “I've got a permit for concealed-carry.”
“You're not alone,” he answered, his voice tight as he ran his fingers over the Beretta, examining it expertly. The gun was a nice little piece, and she knew how to handle it.
“I'm licensed,” she pointed out. “I'm allowed to carry.”
He looked up. “You know how to fire this? Have you thought about what happens if you don't have your purse handy?”
“Yes,” she said tightly. “To both your questions.” The look on Jack's face warned her he didn't think this conversation was over. Not by a long shot. Which was too damned bad. She'd had about as much Donovan as she could stomach for the morning. She left him to it and went back out onto the porch, almost running over Rio's blonde arm piece in the process.
The woman looked at her and shook her head. “You have the look of a woman who's had one too many run-ins with a Donovan.”
Lily stopped, because, honestly, she didn't know where she was headed anyhow. Just away. Away from Jack. Away from the complications she didn't think she could deal with right now. “Jack,” she said tightly, “doesn't know when to quit.”
“None of them do.” The woman smiled. “They didn't introduce us, did they? You were a couple of years ahead of me in school, and then I lit out for a couple of years.” She held her hand out. The nails were polished but short. “I came back when Ma's landed in my lap.” With a wry twist of her lips, she added, “Not that running a bar was quite the way I imagined my future.”
“You're Ma?”
There was no mistaking the mischief in the other woman's eyes. “That's me. If it's any consolation, I didn't pick the name. I inherited it. It's one of the risks of a family-run business. Most folks call me Mimi. It avoids unfortunate Oedipal moments.”
“You're seeing Rio?” She had no business asking questions, but this whole morning was headed toward surreal. Besides, she figured the eyeful Mimi had gotten from the back of the Harley justified her curiosity somewhat.
Mimi shrugged. “He's a good man,” she said quietly. “Once you get past the playboy-pretty of that face. That kind of man doesn't grow on trees, not even around here. Strong's a decent place, but it's low on excitement. The Donovan brothers—well, they know how to heat things up.” Her gaze slid from Lily to somewhere behind her.
Jack.
“You know how they are. I wasn't going to say no. Rio's not the sort to ask twice. And he's only back in town for the summer.” She made a little face. “So I don't have time to waste.”
Rio was playful, but he only played with women who'd agreed to those terms. If he'd hooked up with Mimi, he believed she understood the score. Right now, he was closing up shop, sliding the last bits and pieces into his bag. Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he threw a leg over the waiting Harley and turned to look at the two of them.
“That's my cue,” Mimi said regretfully. “Beer truck's coming in a half hour anyhow. Come on down for a drink sometime, and we'll catch up. Or share war stories.” She walked over to the bike, all long legs and sexy saunter. Sometimes, Lily decided, watching Mimi slide behind Rio and wrap her arms around his waist, life just wasn't fair.
What would it be like to not worry about anything but the moment? Mimi had decided she wanted Rio Donovan, and she was taking him. When it was over, it would be over. No worries. No regrets.
Maybe she needed to take Jack the same way.
 
By the time Jack had finished up with Rio's equipment and hit the porch, his temper had cooled, and he was ready to manage Lily. By God, she'd stay safe on his watch—whether she liked it or not. Based on her reaction earlier, he was betting she'd make this difficult. Turned out, Lily had grown a stubborn streak while he'd been away. Or maybe, he admitted wryly, closing the screen door behind him, that stubborn side had always been there, but she'd had him so wrapped into knots, he hadn't noticed.
Lily was already surrounded by buckets of water half-filled with lavender stalks. By noon, those buckets would be chock-full of fresh-cut lavender. His Lilybell cut like a madwoman. Setting down his coffee cup, he fingered a handful of purple and white flowers. She'd cut the lavender long, preserving a tall, flowering spike of color.
“You take all the leaves off?” Flowers were, he decided, pure mystery. These smelled fine, but the bottoms of the long stems were just bare wood. Why take half the plant off?
“Florists don't care about the leaves.” She shrugged. “They'll strip all the leaves off the lower ends anyhow, to make up their own arrangements. It's the color that matters most. The color and the length of the bud. The longer, the better.”
“Length.” His slow, heated grin let her know exactly where his thoughts had gone. “I could be on board with that, baby.” She elbowed him, and he grinned right back at the mock indignation on her face.
Her skin was sun-kissed, a creamy gold except when she bent over and he caught a glimpse of a paler area beneath the waistband of her shorts, where a minuscule scrap of a bikini had—barely—covered her. That pale hint of hidden skin was unfamiliar. Exotic. She seemed to glory in the heat. Tipped her head back to soak in the sunshine beneath her battered canvas hat with its whimsical ribbons. He'd have fantasies about what she must look like in that bikini, dream about wicked little scraps of white crochet that came apart in a man's hands.
“How does this work?” Lily's porch had a perfect view of the fields surrounding her little farmhouse. Lavender on three sides, with a woody upslope on the fourth. The outbuildings were close together, which posed a problem. Anyone could wait there, park his ass in the shadows. Lily wouldn't see an attack until it was well launched. “You can actually make a living growing lavender?”
“Not a huge one,” she admitted, and he wanted to lean down and kiss that look of chagrin right off her face. Lily, he was discovering, didn't do failure. She just kept on going until she succeeded. “So far,” she continued, “it's paid the bills. I do mail-order, and I have an online store. People seem to want lavender buds and bundles clean across the country, so I cut and ship. And I sell lavender soaps. All my lavender comes fresh from these fields,” she said proudly. “I've sent my flowers for photo shoots and weddings. All sorts of places.”
“But you're not open to the public.” He made her nervous, he realized. Ten years ago, she'd been nervous, too, but he'd thought time and distance would erase that sweet awareness. “Promise me you're not open to the public, Lily. I don't want to hear that you put out that kind of welcome mat for whoever's after your ass.”
“No.” She licked her lips. “I'm not open for tours. I've been thinking about it, but it's not a step I'm ready for yet. Maybe next year I'll do it.”
So no public access. That was good. The fewer defensive angles he had to work, the better. “How many people work here?”
“Two, sometimes three.” She twisted a tie around the base of the bundle. “The farm foreman and two seasonal hands. They won't really get started for another couple of weeks, but I've got them doing odd jobs now and then.”
“How long have they been with you?”
“Since I started, Jack.” Her huff of exasperation warned him she was done with this conversation. “They're good men. Good men who can probably prove they've never been to San Francisco.” Deliberately, she changed the subject. “You got plans for today?” she asked, for all the world as if they were some old, married couple parked on a porch they'd picked out together. Surprisingly, that cozy little domestic picture didn't have him headed for the hills or dreaming of the next fire call. “This conversation is over, Jack.”
BOOK: Burning Up
10.32Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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