"Does that usually work?"
"What?"
"That quiet, teacher-to-student voice," he said, one corner of his mouth tilting into a smile that nearly curled Kim's toes. "Do the men you date actually go for that? Just roll over and do what you want?"
"I don't—"
"Know?"
"Date," she corrected.
"Never?"
Kim stopped and stared up at him. They were in between streetlights, so his face was mostly in shadows. But why did she know he was smiling again?
"That really isn't any of your business."
"Call it curiosity."
"Call it intrusive."
"Big word."
"Need a dictionary?"
He laughed and the deep, rolling sound of it washed over her. Stunned, Kim just looked at him. Normally her sarcasm put people off. Or scared them off. Apparently, Zack Sheridan was different.
But she'd known that right from the start, hadn't she?
"You've got a hell of a mouth on you." She blew out a breath. "I tend to say whatever I happen to be thinking at the time."
He shook his head. "I wasn't talking about what you said. I was talking about your mouth."
Her breath lodged in her throat. "What?"
He reached out and rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip. "Wide smile, great snarl and lush, full lips."
She pulled her head back. Too late to stop the jolt of electricity ricocheting around her blood stream, but quick enough to keep her from asking him to touch her some more.
Oh, wow. Where had that come from?
Too much alone time, Kim thought. Just way too much. She should get out more. Join a bowling league. Take line-dancing lessons. Something. Then she wouldn't be bowled over by a man who probably had a string of women trailing in his wake.
That image straightened her up.
"I really have to go," she said and started walking again.
Wind off the river brushed past her, the cold damp of it sliding into her bones and wiping away the lingering heat Zack's touch had ignited. Good. That was good.
The houses they passed were dark but for the occasional glimpses of lamplight pooling behind curtains. Ordinarily, on her late-night walks, she indulged herself with wondering what was going on behind those curtains. What kind of people lived in the well-tended old homes. Were they laughing, crying? Wondering how to pay the bills or planning a vacation?
She told herself she didn't mind always being on the outside looking in, but once in a while, when she heard a baby's cry or a child's laughter, she would wish that there was someone at home waiting for her. Someone she could talk to, turn to in the night. Someone to worry about. Someone to love.
Tonight, someone was with her. For all the wrong reasons. Indulging in flights of fancy was impossible, too. How could she wonder about strangers when she had her very own personal stranger walking right beside her, ruining her routine?
"Do this often?" he asked.
"Hmm?"
"Stroll around in the dead of night all by yourself?"
She slid him a glance. "I'm a big girl."
"I noticed," he pointed out, then let his gaze drift across the darkened street. "Most other red-blooded guys would notice, too."
That had never really been her problem, but he didn't have to know that. "Darn. I forgot my stick."
"What stick?"
"The one I use to beat all the men off me."
"That's real cute, honey. But the point is, a woman walking alone at night is looking for trouble."
"Excuse me?" Kim stopped again, this time directly under a streetlight, with a three storied, gingerbread covered Victorian beauty behind her. Tipping her head back, she told herself to pay no attention to the way the light and shadow fell on his features, making him look both unreasonably attractive and dangerous. "Because I'm taking a walk at night it would be my fault if I get attacked?"
"Not your fault, but you do present a window of opportunity."
"Right. Well, I can take care of myself."
"I remember." He rubbed one hand over his stomach again.
"Oh, please. I didn't hurt you."
"True. Surprised me, though."
"I grew up with four brothers. You learn a thing or two."
"They taught you that instep move?"
"Among other things." She let her gaze slip down to his groin briefly.
He grinned. "Now that would hurt."
"Supposed to."
He gave her an approving nod. "Your brothers were thorough."
Not to mention the self-defense courses she'd taken. But Kim didn't think he needed to know that. She wasn't an idiot. She knew how important it was for a woman to be able to protect herself. Especially a woman who up until today had lived alone.
"I told you, I don't need a bodyguard."
"Uh-huh. But I'm willing to bet a Navy SEAL knows a few more things about defense than you do."
Yes, but could a Navy SEAL tell her how to protect herself against a Navy SEAL? That was the real question. And one she didn't think she could ask Zack.
"Fine." She threw up her hands in surrender. "Let's just go, all right?"
"We're making progress," he said, falling into step beside her again. "At least you admit you're not going to shake me."
"For now." But she had hopes, Kim told herself. In the morning, she'd call her father again. Try to talk to him about this rationally, calmly. And if that didn't work, she'd call Uncle Harold and whine. And if that didn't work … well, a person could only have so many plans at once.
* * *
She walked along the river's edge, moonlight glinting off the darkness of her hair and the creamy coolness of her skin. She seemed to notice everything—from the trash she picked up as she walked, to the stray cat hiding in the oat grass near the water's edge.
She ignored him for the most part and that was all right with him. He didn't need to get to know her. She was just an assignment and after thirty days, he'd be moving on. But he couldn't help noticing things about her. Hell, he was a trained observer.
Her hands were small, fine-boned and delicate looking. Her legs were long and looked damn good in those dark jeans. Her sneakers were battered and her jacket was new, but had two missing buttons and a torn pocket. She was a contrast, he thought. A woman who came from more money than he'd likely see in a lifetime, but who spent her nights picking up litter and wandering a riverbank alone.
Why wasn't she out on a date with some good-looking, fast-talking guy with a bank balance higher than his IQ? Why wasn't she at a party in some sleek black dress with diamonds at her throat?
Why did he care?
He didn't.
Zack shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and kept a step or two behind her. A cold, damp wind rustled in off the water and tugged at her hair, teasing a few long strands free of the knot at the nape of her neck to swirl about her face. She stared out at the river as if looking well beyond the dark water into the distance. When she took a deep breath and blew it out, he nearly felt her distraction.
Hell, he sympathized. He didn't like anyone hanging around cramping his free time, either—when he had some. But sometimes, life just smacked you in the face and you had to deal with it.
His sharp gaze moved across the area for the hundredth time in the last half hour. He was a man used to trouble and he liked to be ready and waiting when it came knocking.
But this small slice of Savannah was quiet and nearly deserted. One or two couples wandered along the river walk, hand in hand, stopping now and then for a kiss that made Zack think wistfully about things other than baby-sitting a beautiful nerd. But then the couples moved on and it was just the two of them in the darkness.
Wrought-iron grillwork lined the river walk, with low-lying shrubs and now-dormant flowering plants crowded close together at the base of the trees. In another month or two, the flowers would be blooming and the night air would already be starting to steam up in anticipation of summer. Moonlight glittere
d on the surface of the river, and the sound of the water rushing past was almost like a whisper in a quiet room.
Kim swiveled her head, looking first up the river and then down again.
Zack moved in closer.
"Are you looking for something?"
"No."
"So why come down here?"
She turned her face to his. She looked cool and remote and somehow incredibly appealing. "I like the water."
It made sense. Why be a fish geek if you preferred dry land?
"Me, too," he said and briefly studied the surface of the dark, swiftly moving river. "Give me an ocean and I'm a happy man."
"Makes sense for a Navy SEAL."
He glanced back at her. "Or a marine biologist. So what's a woman who studies ocean life doing down at a river in the middle of the night?"
She turned her face back toward the water and Zack caught the far-off look in her eyes. As if she was, at least mentally, a long way from Savannah.
"The ocean's eighteen miles away. I don't like driving at night."
"You don't mind walking for miles."
She smiled. Just a slight lift of her lips and it was gone again but for that one instant, Zack felt the slam of that smile hit him low and hard. He knew the signs of attraction. He just hadn't expected to feel them for a fish geek.
"Walking's different." She shrugged. "Relaxing. Driving, I'd be all tense and gripping the steering wheel."
"You do this often?"
"Every night."
"A routine?"
She looked at him again. "I guess. Why?"
He shrugged, but the movement belied his suddenly more alert status. "Routines can be dangerous. Anyone watching you would know in a couple of days of surveillance that he could find you here. Alone. At night."
Her shoulders hunched and she stuffed her hands into her coat pockets and drew the fabric tight across her middle. "Nobody's watching me."
"Can't be sure."
"I'd know."
"So you're a psychic fish doctor?"
"I'm not a fish doctor."
"But you are psychic?"
"No. Are you always this annoying?"
"Yes. So you don't know if somebody's watching you."
She paused, her gaze narrowed on the river and her mouth worked as if she wanted to argue with him. Eventually though, she sighed. "I guess not."
He admired her independence and her willingness to fight to protect her own space and way of life. But damned if he didn't also admire her for being willing to admit when she was wrong. In his experience, not many people were big enough to handle that. "Wasn't so hard, was it?"
"What?"
Her gaze was turned up to him again and he noticed that even in the dark, her eyes were a clear and startling green. Made a man wish he could just let himself fall into their depths and sink. That thought brought Zack up short. "Admitting you might need help."
"I didn't actually admit that," she corrected primly. "What I said was, I don't know if someone's watching me. But I'm betting, no."
"Willing to bet your life on that?"
"You're here, aren't you?"
"So I am."
"Look," she said, "my father's worried, that's why I'm letting you stay. There is no danger to me."
"Not as long as I'm here," he said, one corner of his mouth tilting up in a crooked smile.
She frowned. "I like taking care of myself."
"Me, too," he admitted and reached out to tug the collar of her jacket up higher around her neck. The backs of his fingers brushed along her throat and she shivered. Before that shiver could slide into him, Zack let her go again and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "We have something in common."
"Maybe," she conceded.
"Maybe'll do for a start." He took a step back, not sure why exactly, just knowing that a little distance wouldn't be a bad thing. But as he looked into her eyes, he felt himself wanting to look even deeper. Over the next thirty days, he was probably going to require a hell of a lot more distance than a couple of feet.
* * *
Four
« ^ »
The next day, their first battle was fought over breakfast.
Early-morning sunlight streamed in through the kitchen window, lying across the blue-and-gray linoleum, the blue granite counter and then glinting off the sparkling, stainless-steel refrigerator. A trio of small clay pots lined the windowsill and boasted tiny herb seedlings. Through that same window came the sounds of birds singing, kids laughing and, from a distance, a lawnmower growling.
Life in the neighborhood was ordinary, normal. Life in Kim's house was anything but.
Bent over double, head in the refrigerator, Zack asked, "Where's the bacon?"
"There isn't any." Kim stirred honey into her herbal tea, then lifted it for a sip.
"Eggs?" His voice was muffled, hopeful.
"Nope," she said, then offered, "There's a carton of egg substitute on the top shelf."
He straightened up, still holding the fridge door open and looked at her, cleanly appalled. "Does that come complete with taste substitute?"
She ignored that. "I have some whole wheat bagels and low-fat cream cheese."
He shuddered and closed the refrigerator. "That's what you eat?"
"It's healthy."
"So's grazing in a field," he pointed out. "And just about as tasty."
She smiled. If he was less than comfortable at her place, maybe he'd leave. "You're cranky in the mornings, aren't you?"
He reached up and pushed both hands along the sides of his skull, skimming his palms over his short, neat hair. Kim's gaze drifted briefly to his broad chest hidden beneath a clean white T-shirt. Even through the fabric, she could see the play of his muscles, shifting, flexing.
Heat rushed through her, so she took another sip of tea in an attempt to cool herself down. Oh, yeah. That made sense.
When Zack's hands dropped to his sides again, he gave her a disgusted look before shifting his gaze. He took in the kitchen, with her tidy countertop, the toaster, the blender and the microwave. Finally, he shifted that steady gaze to her. "Where's the coffee pot?"
"I don't have one. I don't drink coffee."
His eyes bugged out. "No coffee?"
"There's tea."
He considered that for a minute or two. "Is it caffeinated?"
"No. Herbal."
"Good God, woman," he muttered, crossing the tiny, galley-style kitchen to sit at the small, round table opposite her. "How can you get going in the morning without a shot of caffeine?"
"Wake up, get up, get dressed and go."
"That's not human."
"Jolting your system with caffeine is crazy."
"Bet you don't drink beer, either, do you?"
"For breakfast?" She smiled.
He shook his head, scowled darkly and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. "You're a hard woman."
Not at the moment, she thought as she felt his gaze lock on her. In fact, everything inside her was soft and squishy and sort of like a marshmallow toasted over an open fire.
Kim watched him and wondered how she was going to get through the next month. The house was too small. Too confined. And with Zack Sheridan in residence, it felt downright Lilliputian. He not only took up a lot of room—being as big as he was—but there were the constant reminders of his presence.
For instance, having to stand in the hall and listen to him shower.
Fine, she could have gone into the living room where the rush of water would have been more subtle. But once her mind had drawn the image of Zack, naked, under a stream of hot water, steam rising all around him, she'd been caught. Mesmerized by her own imagination.
Which was really ridiculous.
He wasn't even her type.
But then, she didn't have a type, did she?
Most men walked right past her as if she weren't there. Or, if they did stop to talk to her, it only meant that they'd discovered her last name was Danfor
th. They never looked at her and saw Kim. They took one look and saw a bank account.
Frowning, she stopped that train of thought and lifted her tea for another sip. Over the rim of the fragile china cup, she watched the man now drumming his fingers on the table top.
He looked like a chained tiger. Energy coursed around him in an aura that was practically vibrating with the need to move.
"Okay, I'm willing to put up with a lot. But I'm gonna need coffee in the mornings."
"There's a D&D coffee bar on the next block."
"Thank God." Then he looked at her thoughtfully. "D&D . Doesn't your family own those places?"
Here it comes, she thought and she willed away the tiny twinge of disappointment. The speculation. The mental addition all men did when they tried to work out just how much she might be worth. She'd be able to see it in his eyes, she knew. He'd wonder, consider and try to decide if the money was worth hitting on her.
A long moment ticked past.
Her fingers tightened on her teacup.
"You own coffee bars and don't drink the stuff."
"I don't have anything to do with the shops."
"Not even as a customer."
"No."
"Weird." He pushed up from the table and looked down at her. "If my family owned those joints, they'd have a hell of a time getting rid of me. I'd be drinking the profits all day."
He walked around her and snagged his heavy sweatshirt out of the hall closet. Yanking it on, he zipped it up and she saw the faded white capital lettering spelling out NAVY. He slapped one hand to his back pocket as if checking for his wallet, then turned and headed for the front door.
Stunned, Kim watched him. He wasn't going to say anything? No caustic jokes about her being rich? No teasing proposal of marriage? No half-joking pleas for an all-expense paid trip to the Bahamas?
"That's it?" she asked. Now that he hadn't said anything that she'd assumed he would, she was too intrigued to let it go. "That's all you have to say?"
He stopped with his hand on the doorknob and turned to look at her. "What were you expecting?"
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