Rebecca Zanetti - Provoked

Flattening her palms against his chest, she tilted her head to the side, a question pursing her lips.

The restaurant door burst open, and several men wearing faded flannels stomped out. They stopped. The one in the front, bushy beard covering his face, frowned. “Amber? You okay?”

Thoughts scattered across her face.

Realization slammed Kane, but before he could react, she shoved him back. Hard.

“Yes. I need to get inside,” she breathed. Pivoting, she hustled through the snow to the front door. “Have a good night, boys.” She darted inside the restaurant.

The men glared and then plodded toward their various rigs to take off.

Kane stood alone in the dark, snow cooling his face, his cock throbbing, his temper spiraling. Wait a minute. He didn’t have a temper. Damn it. Without question, he needed to get himself under control before yanking Amber back outside. His palms itched with the need to finish what they’d just started.

The phone in his back pocket buzzed. A quick glance confirmed the call came from headquarters. For once in his life, Kane ignored the king’s call. Shoving the phone away, he eyed the restaurant door. The phone buzzed again, somehow more insistently. Jesus. He flipped the lid open. “What?”

There was a pause before Dage spoke. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” Irritation had Kane’s voice emerging hoarse. “What’s wrong is that I’m on a mission and people keep fucking calling me. That’s what’s wrong.”

Silence reigned for a minute. “Well, I’m fucking calling you because we intercepted a communication—two demon scouts are heading for you right now. You have about an hour before they arrive.”

“Now that’s a good reason to call.” Kane rubbed his eyes. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

“I’ll send Talen for backup.”

Kane’s eyes flashed open. Talen had no finesse. “Keep Talen home. I’ve got this.” No way would Kane let one of his brothers manhandle Amber. Even as the thought zinged through his head, he acknowledged the irony. One kiss and he wanted to protect the woman. “I need to get a grip.”

“What was that?”

Shit. He’d said that out loud. What the hell was wrong with him? “I said, I have a good grip on her. I’ll be in touch.” He flipped the phone shut.

The stress of failing time after time to rescue Jase would cause anybody to lose control for a moment. Kane straightened his shirt, taking several deep breaths of the chilly air. Calm settled over him. He hadn’t slept in too long—an easily remedied situation, and one he’d take care of the second he delivered Amber to headquarters.

Squaring his shoulders, he swiveled around and reached the door in two strides. Tugging the thick oak open, he stepped inside. A cash register sat before him. The main area of the restaurant lay to the right, an alcove to the left. The scents of burnt bacon and scrambled eggs hit him as he viewed the mostly empty booths lining the window. Nobody sat at the stools lining the counter. Small and not even close to quaint, the restaurant didn’t do much business at three in the morning. An inebriated trio of women sat in the farthest booth—the women who’d ridden the saddles earlier. One wore a drink-riddled sash with the words FORTY AND FANTASTIC bedazzled across the middle.

She caught his eye, smiling widely as she teetered in the booth.

He gave a short nod and glanced around the room. Amber wasn’t in sight. Lifting his head, he inhaled. The scent of wild heather lingered under the bacon smell. Following the scent into the alcove, he stopped short in front of two restrooms, one labeled with the word HEIFERS, the other BULLS. And people thought he was clueless when it came to women. If someone called one of his sisters-in-law a heifer, they’d die. Painfully.

He rubbed his chin and frowned at the paneled walls. “Damno is totus ut abyssus.” Shaking his head, he shoved open the door for heifers. Empty. Yet her scent clung strongly to the room. Cursing his stupidity, he strode across damaged tiles to the half-opened window at the end of three stalls. He peered out and glared at her perfect boot-prints in the snow.

Yanking his overcoat closer, he stuck one leg over the sill, scooted under, and dropped to the ground. If his brothers could see him now, he’d never live it down. He’d lost one tiny human, and he’d just jumped out of a heifer bathroom. “Fuck.” No need to swear in Latin. His desire turned to extreme irritation. When he found Amber, and he would, they were going to get some damn things straight.

He followed the footsteps back to the bar and an empty parking spot. She’d borrowed the Suburban that had been parked next to the building all night. Snow flew as he stomped his boots clean. “I’m the smartest fucking person on the planet,” he muttered.

Glancing around the deserted parking lot as snow bombarded his overcoat, a smile rose from deep within him. Then laughter. Throwing back his head, he laughed until his ribs ached. Finally, he sobered and wiped his eyes.

Now wasn’t the time for laughing.

She’d impressed the hell out of him. Maybe he’d finally found the one person smarter than him—he’d never been outmaneuvered like this. Another chuckle escaped him as he turned to run after the most exasperating woman he’d ever met.

But man, could she kiss.

Amber tiptoed into the ancient farmhouse and paused as reality set in. Grandma Hilde was in the hospital. No need to be quiet. With a sigh, she stomped her boots free of snow on the threadbare rug and then sat on the polished wooden steps to yank off the boots.

A low meow echoed before Picard wound around her legs. The gray tomcat had lost an eye and was missing fur down the right side of his body from some tragedy that had occurred before he’d adopted her. She picked him up, rubbing her nose against his good side. “I know I left you enough food, so stop asking for more. You wouldn’t believe the night I had.”

Her lips still tingled.

She shook her head. The best kiss of her life had come from a nut job. A crazy, sexy-as-hell lunatic. Life was so not fair.

Picard purred against her for a moment and then struggled to get down. She released the finicky animal so he could dart into the kitchen.

A clock ticked in the quiet gathering room, and darkness cascaded from the kitchen. The only two rooms on the first floor were empty without Grandma around. Amber stood, peering out the window at the snow outside. So pure and fluffy—yet so dang cold. The sun would rise in about an hour, and she should try to get some sleep.

Glancing toward the living room, she gave a short laugh. “Kirk and Worf, get off the sofa.”

The two battered but now healthy black labs didn’t even stop snoring. She’d rescued the dogs from an abusive situation a year ago, and they’d quickly taken over the house.

“Whatever,” she muttered. There was no sense shoving them off as they’d just jump back on the second she went upstairs. “Do you want to go outside?”

They didn’t even open an eye.

She shrugged. Someone from their small community had probably let the dogs out earlier. “Fine. See you in the morning.”

An ache set up in her back that traveled to her neck as she climbed the stairs toward her bedroom. Two bedrooms shared the second floor with a bathroom between them. Old, clean, and comfortable, the house had been Amber’s home for nearly twenty years, since they’d settled in the eco-village.

But the farmhouse didn’t seem like a home without Grandma Hilde.

Amber trudged into her bedroom, flipping on the light. Papers spread over the wedding-band quilt Hilde had sewn for Amber from her old baby blankets. With a sigh, Amber sat and shoved the college admission papers to the side.