Julie Miller - Necessary Action

Interesting that that should be the first personal question she’d asked him. “Like it needed to be done.”

“I can’t tell you how often I wished I could...” Her fingers paused for a moment and he thought he glimpsed the dent of a dimple, indicating a brief smile before she went back to work. “I’m surprised he didn’t pull the knife sooner. He hates to lose. Let me see your hands.”

“They could use a little TLC. But I’ll live.”

After cleaning his hands and putting a bandage on one finger, she touched the boot-sized bruise on his flank. Duff sucked in a sharp breath as her fingers brushed across his skin. “Sorry.” She’d thought she’d hurt him, but that eager response was all on him and the years he’d gone without a woman’s tender touch. She prodded the skin all around the bruise, and Duff gritted his teeth at the exploration. “I’ll get an ice pack. If it starts to swell, or you feel like you’re struggling to breathe...”

She suddenly drew back her fingers. Had she maintained contact more than was medically necessary? Duff hadn’t noticed. Or minded. Instead, he’d been thinking that the space between them smelled of the summer heat coming off her skin. And beneath the tinge of perspiration and antiseptic that lingered in the air, he detected a soft scent reminiscent of baby oil. That was her. The curvy tomboy with the plain features and wild auburn hair smelled like that. Sweet and down-to-earth, yet sexy—like she’d be soft to the touch if he reached out and brushed his fingertips across her skin. He hoped she wasn’t one of the bad guys here. Because he was seriously tempted—

“I don’t have an X-ray machine to check for internal injuries.”

Now he was the one swallowing hard to regain his equilibrium. “I know what a cracked rib feels like. I’m breathing fine. This is just a bruise.”

She pulled a tray of ice from the minifridge and wrapped the ice in a thin towel, placing it gently against his aching side. “You’ve been in a lot of fights?”

“A few.”

“I’m sorry.” She took his hand and placed it over the ice pack to hold it in place so that she could set up a tray with sutures. “That you’ve been hurt, I mean. I’m not sorry that somebody was able to put Silas in his place for once.” She tilted her eyes up to his. “Does that make me a bad person? That I feel like I should thank you?”

Maybe the woman was more bluff than any real experience with men. Since she wasn’t attached to anyone here, he could take advantage of her apparent interest in him. She seemed to be at odds with Henry Fiske, but she was part of his family. And, clearly, she had some kind of history with Danvers. She’d know everyone here and have access to most, if not all, of the facilities. And this conversation was giving him the feeling that he could get close to her, after all.

For a split second, Shayla Ortiz’s face superimposed itself over Melanie’s. He’d used her, too, to get close to her drug-dealing brother. And that had turned into the worst sort of disaster an undercover cop could face. He’d lost his focus on the case when he’d fallen in love. Shayla had betrayed him and blown his cover to protect herself, and he hadn’t seen it coming until it was too late.

But Duff was a decade older and wiser now. He didn’t have to trust Melanie Fiske—he just had to make her think he did. He had to make her believe he cared about her. He didn’t have the suave charm of his youngest brother to draw on, but how sophisticated could a woman who’d grown up in the boonies of Missouri be? She just needed somebody to be nicer to her than Danvers had been, and that wouldn’t be much of a challenge. If he paid attention to a few details, he could figure out what was important to her and pretend those things were important to him, too.

Melanie tucked a damp tendril behind her ear and held it there as her freckled cheeks colored with a rosy blush. “I guess that makes me a hypocrite—trying to stop the violence, yet wishing I could have done it myself.”

Duff realized he’d been staring long enough to make her uncomfortable—just the opposite of what he needed to be doing if he was going to woo her into becoming an ally. He ignored the stab of guilt that tried to warn him away from involving her in his investigation. “Has Danvers given you trouble before? Do you know how to fight?”

“So far I’ve relied on outwitting him. It isn’t that hard.”

Duff wanted to grin at her sarcasm, but the fact that the man who’d cut his arm open had threatened her, as well, didn’t sit well with him. “I could give you a few pointers on defending yourself.”

“You’d teach me to fight.” Now that was a skeptical look. “Like you were doing out there with Silas?”

Realistically, he doubted she could take Silas down the same way he had. But there were ways. “You just have to be smarter than your opponent, do the unexpected and be fierce about committing to the attack. I could show you escape maneuvers—and you probably already know some of the key targets if you want to incapacitate a man.”

Her gaze dropped down to the zipper of his jeans and up to the column of his throat.

“I see you already know a couple of vulnerable spots.” He really should feel guilty about saying things that triggered that graphic response on her skin. Instead, he was wondering what else he could say or do to make her skin color like that.

She quickly averted her face. “I’d appreciate that. If you have the time.”

Her hip brushed against his thigh as she inserted the first stitch. Duff turned his nose to the crown of her hair, inhaling the scents of baby shampoo and damp summer heat. “I’ll make the time for you.”

“You don’t even know your work schedule...” Before she made the next stitch, she tipped her face to his. Her breath caught with an audible startle at how close he was to her, but Duff made no effort to retreat.

Her eyes weren’t ordinary at all. Their cool brown color, spiked with flecks of amber, reminded him of the fine Irish whiskey he and his brothers liked to sip on special occasions. With her sweet scent and eyes like that, he wouldn’t have to pretend that this woman had some pretty about her, after all.

“When I say I’m going to do a thing, I do it.”

He lowered his gaze to the quiver of her lips and felt a twist of hunger low in his belly. He could kiss her right now if he wanted to. Maybe the bold move would shock her into kissing him back. Or she might just slap his face for doing without asking.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” Her hands were suddenly very busy with the cut on his shoulder.

“I don’t.”

Yep. Busy, busy. She didn’t know what to do about her interest in him. She didn’t know how to hide it, either. As long as he didn’t spook her, he could give her a few lessons about how to indulge that awareness she was feeling. And, damn it, he was going to take advantage of that attraction. Because the mission required it.

But that meant ignoring his conscience and his errant libido, and taking it slow so he wouldn’t frighten her off before he had the chance to solidify a connection between them. So he dialed back his own curiosity about what her lips might taste like and thought about the vanishing man who’d shot his grandfather and the reason he was here in the first place. Duff set the ice pack on the bed beside him and captured a strand of Melanie’s auburn hair, pulling it away from the damp spot on her left breast. The kinky tendril was thick and soft as he rubbed it between his thumb and fingers, stirring up the scents he’d noticed earlier. She must use baby products for all her personal toiletries. If he needed any further testament to her innocence...

Melanie pulled away at the same moment he forgot that touching her was supposed to be an act.