by Tawna Fenske
Grant blinked, but didn’t move. “But you screamed. And the gun—”
“A paintball gun,” Janelle said, toeing it with her bare foot. It had come to rest about three feet out of Bryce’s reach, which Anna thought was probably a good thing.
“It was Janelle screaming,” Anna said. “She doesn’t like guns, even paintball guns.”
Janelle folded her arms over her chest. “Not when they’re aimed at my sister.”
“It’s practice for a wedding,” Anna said. “A paintball wedding later this week. Bryce is the photographer, and he wanted to make sure—”
“A paintball wedding,” Grant repeated.
“Yes,” Anna said. She watched him process the information and couldn’t help noticing his eyes again. The hue was like no eye color she’d seen before. The gray was warm, almost taupe, which sounded ridiculous when she thought of it that way, but it looked great on him.
Grant looked down at Bryce, who still hadn’t spoken. “And you’re the photographer?”
The man tried to draw himself up into a sitting position, which was impossible with Grant’s elbow wedged into his chest. Grant shifted his weight, making it easier for Bryce to breathe, but not much else.
“I’m not the photographer anymore!” Bryce huffed. “They flew me out here to photograph all these ridiculous weddings, and it’s been one atrocity after another. First the bride and groom want me to shoot from the water where there are sharks—”
“It’s a river,” Anna pointed out. “There are no sharks.”
“—and then another pair of lunatics expects me to go traipsing through the jungle with poisonous snakes—”
“It’s Hawaii,” Anna said. “There are no snakes.”
“—and now I’ve been assaulted,” Bryce spat, glaring up at Grant. “I’ve had it with this place. I’m catching the first flight back to the mainland. You can find another damn photographer.”
He squirmed and struggled and flailed until Grant pressed a palm to his chest and held him still. Grant looked up at Anna. “You want me to let him go?”
Anna shrugged. “I can’t exactly hold him hostage and force him to take pictures.”
Grant looked back at him. “I could probably arrange for the hostage thing.”
She shook her head, though she didn’t doubt he was capable of it. “It’s fine, let him go.”
“You’re free, Bryce,” Grant said, releasing the indignant photographer from his grip. Grant stood and offered a hand up. “I’m very sorry about the misunderstanding.”
Bryce stared at the proffered hand like Grant had just blown his nose in it. He sputtered with disgust and struggled to his feet without assistance. Anna reached out and began dusting red dirt off his sleeves, but Bryce slapped her hand away.
She winced and drew back. Grant took a step toward Bryce, his eyes glittering with fury. Anna put her hand on Grant’s arm and shook her head. “It’s okay.”
“It is not okay,” Bryce snapped. “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer about this.”
He turned and stomped away.
They all watched him go, politely restraining their laughter when Bryce tripped on a vine and shrieked, “Snake!” before kicking it into the grass.
For a brief moment, Anna considered going after him. Three of her four wedding couples had requested Bryce out of all the photographers Anna worked with. She’d paid to fly him out here, and the couples had paid hefty deposits.
Before Anna could take a step forward, Bryce turned, flipped them off, and flung open the door to his rental car.
Anna sighed. “Have a safe trip,” she called.
“Bite me!” Bryce yelled and revved the engine.
The second his car was out of sight, Grant shook his head. He turned to Anna, looking like a dog that had just chewed up the newspaper. “I’m really very sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to ruin anyone’s wedding.”
“You didn’t ruin any weddings,” Anna assured him, though that remained to be seen. Now what was she going to do? But Grant looked guilty, so she added, “I can see why you might have assumed we needed help.”
“Though we’re unaccustomed to defining help as a chokehold,” Janelle added.
“I shouldn’t have been so rough,” Grant insisted.
“There’s a time and a place for roughness,” Anna assured him, flushing when she realized how that sounded. Grant looked like the sort of guy who knew all about a time and a place for roughness. “Your instincts were good, even if the situation didn’t call for that.”
Janelle grinned and gave Grant a nudge with her elbow. “So, tough guy—know any photographers we could get on short notice?”
Grant scratched his chin, considering. “Well, there’s Pete Nicholson over on the north shore but he usually books up months in advance. Probably the same with Katie Kurtail from Dream Images, or—”
“She’s talking about you,” Anna interrupted. “That was Janelle’s idea of a subtle hint.”
“Me?”
“I told her about the engagement photos you took for Mac and Kelli.”
Janelle nodded, eyeing Grant up and down, and Anna resisted the urge to yank her sister’s ponytail. “She said you’ve got a great eye.”
“He does have great eyes.” Anna coughed. “I mean a great eye. For photography. But I’m not sure this is a good idea.”
“Why not?” Janelle asked.
“Well, for starters, he’s not a wedding photographer.”
“But you said yourself he took the best engagement photos you’ve ever seen. Weren’t they even on a beach?”
“Yes, but besides that, we don’t even know he’s available or what his fees are like.”
Janelle rolled her eyes. “We could ask him instead of standing here talking about him like he doesn’t speak English.”
Grant shook his head. “Your sister’s right,” he told Janelle. “I’m not really a wedding photographer. That was just a one-time thing.”
“One-time things can sometimes turn into more,” Janelle argued.
“It was a photo shoot, Janelle, not a one-night stand in a romantic comedy,” Anna said. “Wedding photography is a very specialized art. We don’t even know if Grant has the skill do it.”
She didn’t mean for it to sound like a challenge, but the flash in Grant’s eyes told her he’d taken it as one. He folded his arms over his chest and leveled his gaze at her.
“I said I wasn’t a wedding photographer, not that I couldn’t do it,” he said. “I minored in photography in college, and I’ve kept my skills sharp shooting for friends and freelance gigs over the years. I’ve had several special assignments from the Department of Defense to photograph combat zones for military public affairs. I’m not exactly a photographic novice here.”
“With all due respect,” Anna said, “shooting pictures of hand grenades is a little different from shooting pictures of brides.”
“Both sound volatile, deadly, and likely to explode at a moment’s notice.”
“I can’t argue with that.” Anna bit her lip, considering her options. Finding a photographer on short notice on a small island would be next to impossible. She could try to talk Bryce into coming back, but she knew from experience that wasn’t likely. Besides being temperamental and moody, he was stubborn as hell. She sighed and considered the hulking Marine in front of her.
“Would you even want the assignment? You’d be paid, of course, but still.”
“I don’t need the money.”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “What would you do it for then?”
“Because I’m a nice guy.” He almost sounded glum about that.
“Do you have a portfolio?” she asked. “Something I could look at, maybe show to all the other couples so they can decide if they want to use you?”
“Nothing formal, but I could walk you through a few of the photo collections on my computer. How about tonight at my place?”
Anna felt her mouth go dry and she licked her lips. “Your
place?”
“Sure. I’ll even make dinner. Come over early, maybe five?”
“I—well, I—”
“She’d love to,” Janelle said, giving Anna a small shove. “Here, write your address down on this.”
Before Anna could protest, her sister was handing him a small notepad and pen. Anna just stood there like an idiot, trying to think of something to say that didn’t involve blurting out a desire to see him shirtless again. Grant took the notebook and flipped to a blank page. His writing was neat and clear, each number in perfect form even though the page didn’t have lines.
“Here you go,” he said, handing her the notepad. “See you at five.”
“Five it is.” Anna reached out to shake his hand, expecting a dry, professional grasp in return.
There wasn’t anything unprofessional in the way Grant took her hand, but something in his touch sent a jolt of electricity buzzing through Anna’s fingertips and all the way up her arm. His palm was huge and warm, and the strength in his fingers prompted several parts of her body to stand up and request site visits.
Part of her wanted to draw her hand back.
Most of her wanted to grab his other hand and put it on her butt.
Anna met his eyes and saw his expression was warm, but serious. His fingers gripped hers with a fierceness that surprised her.
“Just so you know,” he said, “I don’t generally condone violence.”
“Aren’t you a Marine?”
“I specialize in counterintelligence and human intelligence.”
“What does that mean?”
“I catch spies, or I get other people to catch spies. I don’t kill them. Much.”
“That’s reassuring.”
“Anyway, I really am sorry about Bryce.”
Anna nodded and bit the inside of her lip. “Thank you. I’m not sure I’m that sorry.”
“Me neither. I was being polite.”
“We try not to make that a habit around here,” Janelle said.
Grant smiled and drew Anna’s hand to his lips. She shivered as he planted a chaste kiss across her knuckles.
“See you tonight, Anna.”
She watched him go, her heart lodged thickly in her throat. Her hand was still tingling long after he was out of sight.
…
“So let me get this straight,” Mac said as he handed Grant a bottle of wine. “You’re making dinner for a woman you don’t know to land a photography job you don’t want for a paycheck you refuse to accept.”
Grant set the wine on the counter and got to work hunting for the meat mallet, ignoring his brother’s look of dismay. “I didn’t say I didn’t want the job. Just that wedding photography isn’t really my thing.”
“And neither is wine. You want a corkscrew for that, not a hammer.”
“What would I do without you, big brother?” Grant began unwrapping the butcher paper from two steaks he’d grabbed earlier at the grocery store. He laid them on the cutting board, arranging them carefully with their edges touching. He sprinkled each one with a healthy dusting of salt and pepper, doing his best to ignore Mac’s gaze following his every move. He wiped his hands on a paper towel, then picked up the mallet. “The photo shoot sounds interesting, and the girls need help,” he said. “I’m doing it as a favor.”
He could feel his brother studying him, but he refused to make eye contact. Instead, he focused on pounding the holy hell out of the steak. Mac was silent, watching. Grant drew his arm back and smacked the meat harder, the one-pound mallet solid in his hand.
“Are you tenderizing that meat or punishing it?”
Grant gave it one more whack and set the mallet down. He moved to the sink to wash his hands. “Don’t you ever feel like doing something for a stranger just to be nice?”
“No.”
“Well I do.”
“Clearly. I imagine it doesn’t hurt that Anna is quite attractive.”
Grant gave a grunt of acknowledgment, but refused to offer more. Instead, he yanked a knife out of the block and grabbed one of the russet potatoes he’d washed earlier. He pulled out a clean cutting board and set the potatoes in the middle. Drawing the knife back, he eyed his target. He stabbed a small, clean hole right in the center of the first potato. He studied it, then drew the knife back again. Only a hole or two was really necessary to keep it from exploding when he baked it, but a few more wouldn’t hurt.
Grant stabbed the potato a few more times, then reached for the second one.
“For a chronically nice guy, you have serious aggression issues in the kitchen,” Mac said, shaking his head in Grant’s peripheral vision. “So this photo gig—are you doing this to get laid, or because you can’t resist the urge to do favors for people?”
The knife slipped in midstab, and Grant nearly took his thumb off. Good thing for quick reflexes. He set the knife down and reached into the drawer beside him for the foil.
“I’m just trying to help out,” he said, maneuvering past his brother. “I’m the one who screwed things up, so I’m trying to make it right.”
“Are we still talking about tackling the wedding photographer?”
Grant felt his gut twist, but he ignored it and grabbed the first potato. “What the hell else would we be talking about?”
Grant didn’t answer, and Mac said nothing else. When he finally stole a look at his brother, Mac was watching him with his usual unreadable expression.
How much does he know?
Grant cleared his throat. “I need to grab the foil out of that cupboard.”
Mac stepped aside, folding his arms over his chest as he leaned against the fridge. “Don’t forget you’re going to need to come up with a best man toast for Sheri’s wedding.”
Grant groaned inwardly. “Yeah, about the best man thing. I’m really not sure I’m best man material.”
Mac gave a snort of disgust. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m sure there’s someone else more qualified—”
“Don’t give me that bullshit. You’re the best man to be the best man.”
“I don’t think—”
“You’re doing it. You’ll be the goddamn best man if I have to tie you up and drag you there myself.”
“That’ll look good in pictures.”
Grant knew it was futile to keep arguing, so he didn’t bother. He finished wrapping up the potatoes and walked outside to shove them in the coals on his grill. He poked them around a little, making sure they were situated just right.
When he came back in, Mac was still leaning against the fridge. “Thank you for grabbing the wine,” Grant said. “I didn’t have the first clue what went with steak. What do I owe you?”
“The promise that you’ll quit being a jackass about the best man gig. And stop maiming perfectly good groceries.”
Mac looked like such a hard-ass standing there with his arms crossed and his dark glasses shielding his eyes from the glare of the kitchen, and Grant started to laugh in spite of himself.
“Fine,” he said. “Now get out. Anna’s going to be here any minute.”
As if on cue, the doorbell chimed. Before Grant could run to answer it, Mac was striding to the front room. He got to the door first, yanking it open while Grant was still three paces behind.
“Anna,” Mac said, waving her inside like a perfect goddamn gentleman while Grant just stood there like an idiot staring at her. She wore a pale blue dress that brought out the subtle blue streaks nearly hidden in the bright strands of coppery hair. She tucked a swath of it behind her ear and smiled at him, and Grant felt his heart smack hard against his ribs.
“Hello,” was all he could manage.
“Hi,” she murmured, looking from him to Mac and back again.
“Good to see you again, Anna,” Mac said. “It appears you’ve finally met the nice Patton brother.”
Anna laughed and stepped inside, holding out a bottle of wine that looked a lot different than what Mac had brought. Did white wine
go with steak? Grant stepped forward to take the bottle, his hand brushing hers and sending a warm pulse of energy through his hand. Anna smiled again, then turned back to Mac.
“If Grant’s the nice brother, what does that make you?”
“I’ll leave it to my wife to answer that one,” Mac answered, “but I suspect she’d say I’m the scary brother.”
She cocked her head to the side and turned to study Grant, her eyes flashing over him so thoroughly he wondered if she could see right through his clothes. The thought made him a little dizzy, and also made him wonder what she was wearing under that flowery blue sundress. The straps were skinny, so she couldn’t be wearing a bra, could she? Her feet were bare, but he could see flip-flops poking out of the top of her purse. The feather tattoo on her ankle looked delicate and lovely, and Grant felt himself sigh inwardly.
“The scary brother, huh?” she said, raising an eyebrow at Mac before meeting Grant’s eyes again. “From what little I know of Grant, I’d say he has plenty of scary of his own. He just hides it better.”
Mac stared at her a few beats, then nodded. “An astute observation.” He turned and looked at Grant. “Now if you’ll excuse me, my wife is expecting me.”
“Give her a kiss for me,” Anna said.
“Preferably one without too much tongue,” Grant added.
Mac nodded to Anna, then Grant, then strode out the door and into the bright sunlight. Grant watched him move toward the drivers’ side door of his black Town Car, his dark hair gleaming in the sun. Grant shook his head, then shut the door and turned back to Anna.
He smiled, feeling a funny flutter in his gut at the prospect of being alone with her. “Welcome,” he said, hefting the wine. “Thank you for bringing this. Can I get you a glass?”
“I prefer to drink straight from the bottle.”
“In that case, I can wrap it up in a paper bag for you to keep things classy.”
She grinned. “I’ll have a glass of wine in a few minutes.” She set her tote bag on the floor and stepped into the middle of the living room, turning in a full circle to take in all angles of the little cottage. He tried to imagine how she saw it, all rustic wood furniture and pale turquoise paint with white trim. He’d worked hard to make it homey, the perfect retreat.
