About That Kiss

by Jill Shalvis

  my hand.”

  “That’s good,” she murmured, clearly trying to hide the horror in her voice as she looked around at the decayed buildings and dirty streets that symbolized his very ugly past. “Maybe . . . maybe it wasn’t so rough back then, when you were a kid?” she asked with sweet hope.

  He gazed out the windshield, trying to see the neighborhood from her point of view. “This is cleaned up. It was far rougher back then.”

  She squeezed his hand. Comforting him, he realized, and felt something in his chest tighten.

  “Where did you live?” she asked softly.

  “Right down that street.” He gestured with a jerk of his chin rather than take his hand from hers. “This used to be a navy base. In and around all the gangbangers’ hideouts and graffiti are old Victorian homes that once upon a time were captains’ or generals’ homes.”

  She nodded. “I love the architecture of the time,” she said. “All the ornate woodworkings on the bevels and crown moldings, and the attention to detail. Would’ve liked to see it back then in its height of glory.”

  Trust her to imagine the forgotten beauty in a place like this.

  “You should be proud,” she said. “You came from here and made something of yourself.”

  His chest tightened again. Emotion, he realized, which he couldn’t afford. Not now, not ever. But still, in spite of himself, he turned his hand over and entwined their fingers.

  She gave him a small smile with those dark lips he wanted wrapped around his—

  “So what do we do now?” she asked.

  Definitely not act out the X-rated porno playing in my mind. “Watch a little bit longer and get a feel for things.”

  She nodded her agreement, but not ten minutes in she began to squirm.

  He slid a questioning look her way, making her grimace. “It turns out that stakeouts are kind of boring,” she said.

  “I like boring. It means nothing has gone fubar.”

  Yet.

  “I’m just wondering about you,” she said. “You’ve got a lot of secrets.”

  “So do you.”

  “Me?” she asked. “I’m an open book.”

  He had to laugh. “If that’s true, then why don’t you tell me what this scavenger hunt is really about? Why does that carving mean so much to you?”

  She looked out the window and didn’t speak for a while. “I’m guessing you don’t usually get a lot of quiet time like this on the job,” she finally said.

  “No.” He didn’t call her out on the change of subject. She wanted her secrets? Fine. That would keep his own safe as well.

  “Your job can be pretty dangerous,” she said.

  “Only if I get stupid.”

  She looked at him. “I can’t imagine you doing anything stupid on the job. You’re sharp and focused, and the very best at what you do.”

  He was pretty sure the words weren’t supposed to turn him on. “And you know this how?” he asked.

  “Archer speaks highly of you. So does Spence. A lot of people talk about you, actually. Like Molly.”

  “Molly’s my sister. She’s not going to talk shit.”

  “Oh, she talks shit,” Kylie said on a laugh. “Just not about your work skills.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “And what shit might that be?”

  She smiled and bit her lower lip, looking away.

  Oh hell no. Leaning in, he cupped her jaw and turned her face back to his. As he studied her, he realized she was blushing again. “Okay,” he said. “I definitely want to hear this story.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Try me,” he said.

  “It was last week. Girls’ night out. We were going to the pub, but we had to go for a walk first because half of us needed money from the ATM down the street. We were laughing because Haley didn’t want her receipt. She said that sometimes you have to hit no on getting a receipt because you don’t need that kind of negativity in your life.”

  Joe laughed. “Let me guess. At which both Elle and Molly had heart failure.”

  “Yes.” Kylie smiled in memory. “Anyway, once we got back to the pub and had a few drinks, Haley said that if she didn’t bat for the other team, she’d want to ride you like a bronco all night long and that though she’s never really been sure if she believes in monogamy or not, she’d want to keep you.”

  Not much surprised Joe, but he felt his brows vanish into the hair falling over his forehead.

  “Yeah,” Kylie said. “And then Molly said that Haley would have to get in line for the bronco riding part because you usually had women on the line. But as for the keeping you part, many have tried, yet none of have succeeded.”

  Joe snorted.

  “So it’s true,” she said.

  “She’s talking about my feral early years,” he said. “But I’m an old man now. I’ve slowed down some.”

  “You think thirty is old?” she asked.

  “Not for normal people, but I put a lot of living in my first thirty years, so yeah, sometimes I feel ancient.”

  He’d meant it as a joke but her gaze was serious, her tone quiet. “I knew you grew up rough even before you brought me here,” she said.

  “How? And if you say another girls’ night, I might have to muzzle my sister.”

  She laughed softly. “Not a girls’ night, no. But a couple of months ago, a few of us went with Molly to your mom’s grave site and left some flowers.” She broke the eye contact and looked down at her hands. “Molly told us how she died when you were young and how your dad suffers from PTSD so badly that there were long stretches of time when he couldn’t work. She said that you took care of the both of them.”

  Joe shook his head. “Molly did plenty of taking care of me too,” he said and paused. “I wasn’t easy.”

  “Well, that’s a shock.”

  He met her gaze across the dark interior of the car. Clearly she was trying to lighten the mood for him. Her mouth was curved but her eyes were still serious. “Your life might have been ugly and hard, Joe,” she said, “but from the outside looking in, you had all the important things.”

  “Such as?”

  “Acceptance,” she said. “Love.”

  There were few people who could wade through the bullshit that life had to offer and find the small, necessary kernels of truth. Kylie had been through her own sort of hell, far different than his but hell nevertheless, and yet she was still the optimist to his cynic.

  The light to his dark, he realized with not a little shock.

  He reached for her hand, entwining their fingers to bring them up to his mouth. He brushed a kiss over her knuckles, then got out of the car and had to clench his jaw in order to not let out a litany of warnings as Kylie got out as well.

  “I can take care of myself,” she said reminded him quietly.

  Yeah, and that’s exactly what Molly said all those years ago, right before the nightmare that had followed. He looked into Kylie’s fierce, adventure-seeking face and swore to himself. Maybe she could take care of herself, but he still wasn’t going to take that chance. “Stick close.”

  “Of course,” she said with a bright smile in spite of the fact that he’d practically growled the two words at her. “I’ll do whatever you say.”

  And with that, she pierced his fierce concentration, making him laugh. “If only that was really true,” he said and had the pleasure of seeing her blush again.

  Chapter 9

  #LoveTheSmellOfNapalmInTheMorning

  Kylie put on a good face for Joe, but she was no fool. The neighborhood around them was clearly a rough one, the streets dark and dank and not exactly welcoming.

  So stick close? No problem.

  There was a storm coming and the wind kicked up dust and debris, further masking their surroundings. It was like being in her own personal horror flick. She reached out and put a hand on Joe, fisting her fingers in the back of his shirt. “Close enough?” she murmured.

  He stilled at the touch and
she felt him turn to look down at her in surprise. Whatever he saw, he laughed at. Quietly, but his amusement was genuine and deep as he bowed his head, shoulders shaking.

  “What?”

  “Your . . .” He swiveled a finger at her head and she put a hand on it.

  Her wig was crooked. “Dammit.”

  “Give up on the wig, Kylie,” he said, still grinning. “It’s not a disguise.”

  “It’s not?”

  “No. I’d know you anywhere.”

  She tried really hard not to think about why that gave her a tingle. Leaving the wig in place, she demanded, “Are we doing this or not?”

  His eyes darkened.

  Oh boy. “You know what I mean!” She started walking toward one end of the warehouse only to be caught up by the back of her shirt.

  “This way, Slick,” he said, redirecting her to the other end of the warehouse.

  “Right,” she said, but then hesitated at all the shadows.

  “Just wait in the car with Vinnie,” he said. “I’ll lock it and—”

  “No. I’m fine with you.” And wasn’t that just the shocking truth. She was more than fine with him. With him, she felt like Wonder Woman.

  When they got close, she eyed the gate surrounding the building. “Locked,” she whispered, looking it over. “And no simple lock either. This one’s keyless.”

  “With a side bolt,” he agreed and pulled a tool from his pocket to tackle the bolt first.

  “Nice,” she whispered as he opened it. “I wouldn’t mind learning a skill like that. Maybe you’ll teach me sometime.”

  “Sure.” He cocked an ear to the lock, spinning the dial before cursing to himself.

  “Problem?” she asked.

  “More like problem-esque.” He ran a finger over her wig.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered.

  “I’m having a hard time concentrating. You look so different and yet the same.”

  Because his voice combined with his touch was turning her on, she waved her finger in front of her face. “I’m really hot in this thing.”

  “You’re right on that.”

  She huffed out a laugh. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously,” he murmured, voice an octave lower now and sexy as hell, as was the heated look in his eyes.

  And she realized that there was something incredibly liberating about wearing a costume or disguise and pretending to be someone else. It allowed her to be more . . . free than she’d be otherwise. And even the knowledge that she was acting like her mom wasn’t enough to stop her. “You really think I’m hot in this wig?”

  “Actually, I think you’re hot in anything,” he said as he went at the lock. “Your work aprons, the kick-ass steel-toed boots, the ripped jeans, the dark hair, your own hair . . . it’s all hot to me.”

  She shook her head. “Men are weird.”

  He stopped working and stepped in to her, nudging their bodies together, lining them up. “You telling me you don’t think it’s kinda hot to pretend to be someone else?”

  She bit her lower lip and he laughed. “You do,” he said in naughty accusation and made her laugh too.

  But then he suddenly froze before turning around, using an arm to keep her behind him as a guy strode down the dark street their way. Though at first they’d appeared to be alone, Kylie could see more than a few shadows behind him. The shadows stayed back as the guy came forward, his hands out of his pockets and loose at his sides.

  “Don’t shoot, jefe,” he said to Joe.

  If she hadn’t known Joe, she’d say he appeared to be perfectly relaxed. But she did know him and knew he wasn’t relaxed at all, but . . . ready. He didn’t speak.

  “Been a long time,” the stranger said, coming to a stop in front of them while his shadows remained back.

  Joe still didn’t move or say a word.

  The guy smiled without showing his teeth. “Been so long that maybe you forgot how to greet an old friend.”

  Kylie’s knees got a little wobbly and her palms began to sweat.

  “I’ve forgotten nothing,” Joe said.

  “Good.” The man paused, slid a gaze over Kylie, then concentrated on Joe again. “So you know I owe you more than I can ever repay. You’re safe here.”

  Joe smiled then, also without showing his teeth. “And I should believe you, why?”

  “Because you’re not the only one who can make changes.”

  The two men, both lean and tough and built in a way that said a fight might be terrifyingly equal, stared at each other and then suddenly they were doing some complicated male handshake.

  Kylie sucked in some badly needed air as the guy stepped back and nodded. “You’re safe here,” he repeated and then vanished into the dark, his shadows on his heels.

  Joe took Kylie’s hand. He’d gotten the locks open. “This way,” he said, taking her around to the back of the warehouse, where they could peek in the dark windows.

  Kylie was still processing the conversation she’d just heard. Joe had done something to help that guy. Something so big that he’d risk himself to help keep her and Joe safe. Whatever Joe had done had stuck, and she wondered what it might have been.

  But he wasn’t much for talking, which of course made him very different from anyone else she’d ever met. Especially her own mother, who liked to make sure everyone knew her positive attributes at all times.

  But not Joe. He was trying to do something good. His job wasn’t just a paycheck to him. It was so much more. “Why does that guy owe you?”

  “Five minutes,” he said.

  “What?”

  “You’ve been trying not to ask me that question for five whole minutes. I’m impressed.”

  She rolled her eyes and waited.

  He said nothing.

  “So . . . ?” she pressed.

  “It was a lifetime ago.” He flashed a penlight through the dark warehouse windows. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

  The clearly handmade, high-end furniture was beautiful, but not in the same style as her grandpa’s, not even close. Nothing here even remotely resembled the table in the pic she’d received, the one she had thirteen days left to authenticate or lose her grandpa’s penguin forever. “I don’t think it’s them,” she whispered.

  “I don’t either,” he said. “But not because of the warehouse. They also have places in Los Angeles, New York, and London.”

  “They must be doing well then.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “And they’ve carefully cultivated a reputation, one they’re proud of. They do their own work, they pride themselves on that work being 100 percent green, and they give back a percentage of every dollar they make.”