Kristen Ashley: Raid

He disappeared.

Grams prompted, “Hanna. Fill me up and get yourself a cool drink.”

I jerked out of my daze, and lightning fast I filled her tea, filled Raiden’s glass and rushed to the kitchen in hopes I got my “cool drink” before Raiden got in with the last of the groceries.

This was foiled as he walked in while I was walking out with a bottle of diet root beer.

Therefore, since his huge frame filled the doorway, blocking my escape, I was stuck in the kitchen with him.

“Sweet ride,” he said, eyes on me.

I looked to his chest. “Sorry?”

He dumped the groceries on the counter. “The Z. Sweet.”

Oh God.

My car.

And I was wearing white jeans and a white, fitted, scoop-necked tee.

The last time, I matched my bike.

This time, I matched my car.

I matched my car!

Luckily, I had a slim black belt and a pair of black gladiator sandals on so at least that was something.

Seeing as his eyes were on me even as his hands were in the bag, I felt it necessary to respond.

“Yeah.”

Yes, that was all I could get out.

He looked down at the bags, muttering, “She drives a Z and all she can do is agree it’s sweet.”

“I got her because she’s pretty,” I informed him, sounding like an idiot, but also telling the truth.

It was just the idiotic truth.

Raiden pulled out the carton of ice cream and shot another smile my way. My legs went weak and he headed to the freezer, talking.

And, incidentally, rocking my world by calling me honey again.

“Honey, the wheels on her, I’d give you my Jeep just to drive on those wheels. Smart upgrade, the sports package.”

“Sorry?”

He shoved the ice cream in the freezer and turned to me. “You got the sports package.”

“I did?”

His head cocked to the side and again it was sexy as all blooming heck. His brows snapped together. They were as lush as his hair, which made the whole maneuver seriously sexy as all blooming heck.

“You didn’t know you got the sports package?”

“The sports package?”

“Yeah, on the Z. You didn’t know you had that upgrade?”

“Is that, um… more?” I asked.

“As in, more money?” he asked back.

“Yes,” I whispered, definitely feeling like an idiot.

Raiden wasn’t looking at me like I was an idiot.

He looked weirdly angry.

“Yeah, Hanna. It’s more money. Like, a fuckuva lot more money. The dealership didn’t tell you that?”

“No,” I told him, and his head jerked to straight again.

“Where’d you go?” he asked.

“Bob’s,” I answered.

“You go alone?” he pressed.

“As in, by myself,” I asked (yes, idiotically!).

“Yeah, a woman alone buyin’ a car. Did you go by yourself?”

“Yeah,” I told him.

His mouth got tight and he walked back to the bags, muttering, “Bob just got scratched on my to-do list.”

What did that mean?

Before I could ask, he spoke again.

“Any of this need to go in the fridge?”

“You can go back out, finish your tea. I’ll do it,” I said, and he turned his head to me.

“You do everything for her?”

“Everything?”

Yes, still being an idiot.

He flipped his hand out to the groceries. “Yeah, everything.”

“She still cooks but I, uh… get her groceries in every Thursday, then I clean her house. And I take her to church Sunday morning and we have breakfast together after. Oh, and I take her out to dinner every Tuesday night. And, of course, to mah jongg every Monday morning. But mostly, she does her own thing.”

Raiden turned to me. “Don’t you have a brother?”

“He lives in California.”

“Folks?” he pushed.

“They’re in Arizona,” I replied.

“They all left her with just you?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, no, but yeah,” I babbled. “What I’m saying is,” I carried on in an attempt to make sense (for once). “Mom and Dad wanted her to go to Arizona with them, but she refused to go. But Mom got in a really bad car accident about two years before they moved. It was snowy and she never really liked driving in snow. That just capped it. She became terrified. Dad got a transfer offer to Tucson and they wanted to take it, go down there, Dad working until retirement, Mom getting a part-time job. Kind of semi-retirement. Grams, well, she’s old, but she’s still good on her own. She’s busy. She has a lot of callers. Someone is by every day, not just me. And Grams and I are close so I’m good with, uh… popping by and seeing to things. So I talked them into going and Grams was right there with me. She didn’t want to delay their retirement preparations since she’s convinced she’s never going to die and daily proves that she’s right so, uh… they went.”

Raiden stared at me.

I inwardly squirmed.

Finally he again spoke.

“How ‘bout you give it a rest for today and let me deal with this shit?”

I blinked.

“You mean, put away the groceries?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he answered.

“You don’t know where anything goes,” I told him.

“I’ll find my way around.”

It struck me that if I let him do this I could quit talking to him and therefore quit acting like an idiot. So I decided to let him do this.

“Okay, but,” I started to warn, “if Spot shows, and he’s feeling less than lovable and attacks your ankles, just ignore him. He doesn’t have any claws and he doesn’t ever bite too hard.”

It was Raiden’s turn to blink.

Then he asked, “Are you talking about that fat cat?”

“Yes,” I replied, and a slow grin spread on his face.

Magnificent.

“Miss Mildred named her cat Spot?” he asked.

Oh boy.

I was going to have to show my idiocy again.

“Actually, she couldn’t come up with a name, so I named him Spot.”

His features shifted with the warm amusement that flowed through them.

I was wrong before.

That was magnificent.

“You named a fat cat Spot,” Raiden stated.

“Yes,” I whispered.

His amazing eyes dropped my mouth.

I forgot my name.

“He wasn’t a fat cat then,” I stupidly went on. “Seeing as, back then, he was just a little kitty.”

His eyes came back to mine.

“You name a dog Spot,” he informed me.

“Okay,” I agreed (again, stupidly).

“Unless you’re cute. Then you name a cat Spot.”

I had no reply to that, mostly because there wasn’t one, but partly because he kind of said I was cute, so I was having trouble breathing.

He jerked his head to the door. “Go. Take a load off. I’ll be out when I’m done with this.”

“Righty ho,” I muttered.

His grin came back, I decided to check online for a hairshirt so I could wear it and torture myself for my idiocy (I mean, “righty ho”?), and I scuttled out.

Grams was snoozing in the sun, but she came to when I threw myself in the cushioned Adirondack chair kitty-corner to her and across from the loveseat Raiden had been sitting in.

“Where’s our handsome company?” she asked, searching behind me with not a small amount of obvious excitement, looking for Raiden.

Seriously, I was so totally of her loins, except I wasn’t funny and interesting.

“Putting away the groceries,” I answered, and she gave me a big smile.

“Coulda knocked me over with a feather, the front bell went and I opened the door to that tall drink of cool water,” she remarked, settling back into her chair and closing her eyes. “Woke up and I knew it was a good day. Felt it in my bones. Opened the door to him, glad I was right.”

I wasn’t.

“Grew up good and strong, that one did,” Grams kept talking. “Coulda called it. You asked me thirty years ago, would Raiden Miller be a fine, tall, strong, handsome man? I woulda said, ‘You betcha. ’”