Lynette Eason - Agent Undercover

A grunt sounded. “Ouch! Stop!”

Tempted to run inside and grab her gun, she ignored the feeling. Instead, she pulled out her cell phone. “You have two seconds to show yourself or I’m calling the cops. I—”

“All right, all right.” The voice sounded frustrated. Then a head popped around the side of the bush. “Paige Worth?”

A young man in his mid-thirties with shaggy blond hair gradually revealed himself. He had a smile on his face that Paige immediately didn’t trust. He looked— oily was the word that popped into her head.

Dylan didn’t look like he was too happy to see the guy, either.

Paige narrowed her eyes and drilled him with a harsh glare. “Why are you hiding in my bushes?” she asked.

The trespasser rubbed his chin and studied her. She saw his eyes settle on the bandage around her head. “Aren’t you the one who saved the little boy yesterday?”

“Again, who are you and why were you in my bushes?” Paige responded without answering the question.

The man held out a hand. “I’m Simon Moore. A reporter for the Bryson City Journal.” Paige shook his hand and felt her insides cool.

His eyes zeroed in on Dylan, and Paige watched Dylan narrow his eyes at the man. “And you’re the doctor, right? The little boy’s dad?”

“Uncle,” Dylan replied.

A “gotcha” look appeared in the reporter’s eyes, and Paige grimaced at Dylan’s slip. He’d just confirmed that the reporter had the right people. “I’m sorry about the hiding thing. You didn’t want to talk in the hospital and I thought I could—”

“—convince me to talk to you by ambushing me outside my home?” Paige raised a brow in disbelief. The man didn’t even have the grace to look embarrassed.

“Look,” Dylan said before Mr. Moore could open his mouth again. “She’s still not feeling well and needs to get inside and rest. Why don’t you come back another time?”

“Actually, don’t bother. There’s not a story here, all right? Please.” Paige softened her tone. “I have a headache and want to lie down. Feel free to report what happened, just leave me out of it.”

“Why?” A calculating look crossed his face as he assessed Paige, then Dylan. “Do you two have something to hide?”

Paige drew in a pained breath. “No, Mr. Moore, we don’t have anything to hide. Will is a little boy who needs a little less excitement in his life. I simply …” She trailed off. “It doesn’t matter, does it? You’re just going to write what you want.” She gave a snort of disgust. “Happy reporting.”

She stepped inside, and Dylan followed after one last look at the reporter who stood sideways, speaking into his little voice-activated recorder before stomping toward the car Dylan just now noticed parked two houses down.

Once inside, Dylan shut the door behind him. “He looks familiar.”

Her eyes drilled into his and he raised a brow. She asked, “Where have you seen him before?”

“I think he was the guy standing outside your hospital room earlier.”

“What guy?”

Dylan thought she looked pale, and he wondered if it was from the pain in her head or the thought of the reporter. She definitely hadn’t been interested in any media attention at the hospital. He couldn’t help it that a small part of him wondered if maybe she did have something to hide. His gut twisted at the thought. “When I came to see if you needed a ride earlier, there was someone standing outside your door. I asked him if I could help him and he said he had the wrong room.”

She stood perfectly still, thinking hard about something. Dylan wondered what was going on inside her head.

“What did he look like?”

Shaking his head, Dylan squinted as he thought. “I’m not sure. He had on jeans and a green polo shirt. A ball cap covered his head and face. I didn’t get a good look at him.”

Paige’s eyes met his and he could tell she was processing this information. “That guy had on jeans and a green polo shirt but no ball cap. I’m willing to bet that’s not a coincidence.”

Dylan shook his head. “He was probably hoping to catch you alone in the hospital to try and get a story out of you.” Shrugging, he gave her a smile. “Anyway, I’m relieved you’re not interested in doing the story for that reporter.”

“It’s no problem. I’m not into that kind of thing.”

“You’re right about Will. He has been through enough.

He doesn’t need all the excitement a story and pictures in the newspaper would bring.”

She smiled. “Then I’m glad I told him no.”

Dylan pulled his gaze from the beautiful woman in front of him, put the reporter out of his mind and glanced around. They were in the family room. A breakfast nook and kitchen lay to the left. “Nice place. You haven’t decorated much, but it’s a very functional, open layout.”

She laughed. “No, I haven’t gotten to the decorating part yet, and I just thought the layout was cute.”

“Well, that too, but real men don’t use the word cute in reference to a house.”

Another laugh, followed by a wince. “Don’t. It hurts to be amused right now.” She settled on the couch and leaned her head back.

“You need to be resting and can’t do that if you’re hurting. Where are the pain pills the doctor prescribed? I’ll get them for you.”

“In my purse, but I can get them.”

“You just stay put, I’ll take care of it.” He grabbed her purse from the kitchen counter where it had landed after her careless toss. Walking over to the couch, he handed it to her.

“Thank you, darling.”

He jerked at the familiar term then caught the teasing glint in her eyes and the impish smile on her lips. Another flush worked its way up his neck, and he shook his head as he realized how his actions had come across. “Sorry, I don’t mean to act so …”

“Husbandly?” The word hung between them, then Paige groaned. He noted her red cheeks as she opened the purse. She said, “Okay, I obviously have brain damage. Or am in desperate need of some sleep. I’m going to take some medicine and get some rest.” He watched her cover her embarrassment by rising from the couch, and heading for the kitchen. She kicked off her shoes in the middle of the room and gave them a halfhearted shove as though to move them out of the way.

Dylan heard her rummaging in the refrigerator and thought about that word.

Husbandly.

Pain kicked him in the heart. He’d almost been a husband. And then he’d gotten custody of Will. Erica, his fiancée, had decided she didn’t want a package deal and dumped him the day Will came to live with him. The day after the fire.

He focused on Paige. “Do you need any help? Anything to eat?”

She came to the door of the kitchen looking incredibly cute—he felt fine using that word in reference to her—with her bare feet, hair around her shoulders and not a touch of makeup on. He finally noticed her height. She was about five inches shorter than his own six foot two. She offered him a water bottle and he took it.

“No, thanks. I’m not hungry right now. I’ll get something when I wake up.” Popping a little white pill in her mouth, she took a swig from her bottle and motioned him into the den area. As she headed that way, she stepped on one of her shoes and almost tripped.

Moving fast, Dylan caught her by the upper arm and pulled her against him. Water sloshed from the bottle and caught him on the chin. Wide, green eyes blinked up at him. “Oops. I’m so sorry!” She glanced at her shoes. “That’ll teach me not to pick up after myself.” A warm hand reached up and wiped the water from his chin.

Dylan swallowed hard as he found himself entranced, speechless and very aware of the warmth of her. His gaze dropped to her lips and, for a brief second, he considered seeing what she would do if he kissed her.