Lori Foster - Men of Honour - Ready, Set, Jett / When You Dare / Trace of Fever / Savor the Danger / A Perfect Storm / What Chris Wants / Bare It All

While idly setting out the fresh groceries he’d bought, Chris considered that. “I take it she isn’t exactly the norm for that sort of thing?”

“Hell, no.”

Chris didn’t drink much coffee, which might have been why it took so long for him to get the process of making it right. He took out the orange juice and poured himself a tall glass. “It almost had to be somebody close to her—isn’t that what you always say?”

Dare shrugged. “I’m keeping an open mind, and I plan to cover all the bases.”

“A few questions come to mind.”

“I figured as much.” Dare set the half-empty cup aside and went to investigate Chris’s food purchases. Skinless chicken and fresh vegetables would be quick and easy to cook. “Let’s have it.”

“She hired you?”

Dare shrugged again. Molly’s offer to pay him for services rendered didn’t sit well with him. “I might do this one pro bono. But I haven’t told her that yet, so keep it to yourself.”

That set Chris back, so it was a few seconds before he asked, “How long is she staying here?”

“Don’t know yet.” And he didn’t want to think about it too much. He preferred to play it by ear, and take it one day at a time. He got out what he’d need to sauté the chicken and steam the vegetables. “Depends on how things go.”

“What does that mean?”

He looked up from his chore. “I’m going to take her back to her place, be with her when she sees family and then judge my next step.”

“So if things go well and you can wrap it up quick, maybe you won’t be bringing her back with you?”

“I didn’t say—”

Molly cleared her throat and both men looked up. She’d combed her wet hair straight back and dressed in one of the big shirts—with a bra beneath—and the jeans. Her bare feet poked out from under the denim.

Dare straightened.

Chris stepped around him and held out a chair at the long granite bar. “Coffee or juice?”

Glancing away from Dare’s penetrating stare, she said, “Juice would be great. Thank you.” She visually explored the island gourmet kitchen with stone countertops and lots of stainless steel. It opened into a family room and the morning room, where they ate breakfast. “Every room is more amazing than the next.”

Dare said nothing. The second she’d entered, he again felt her tension.

The dogs came to investigate, sniffed her feet and dropped down beside her. Hell, Dare thought, even they felt protective, so why would he expect himself to be any different?

Maybe because he knew it wasn’t just protectiveness that he felt.

“I’ll have food ready in twenty minutes.”

“Sounds great. What can I do to help?”

“You can tell me why your readers could be suspects. And then we’ll go from there.”

“READERS?” CHRIS DID a double take. What the hell did he mean by readers? Molly wrote? Like … what?

“She’s an author,” Dare told him as he began preparing the food. “One of her books is being made into a movie with Ryan Reynolds as the lead.”

Chris’s jaw loosened. Why did Dare just keep dropping bombshells on him? He’d already found her interesting, in part because Dare had brought her here, which was an aberration of the major kind.

But this was something altogether different.

“You’re shittin’ me.”

“Nice language, asshole.”

Chris waved that off. It wasn’t like Dare was any better. Hell, neither of them was used to having a female around the place—not counting Tai and Sargie, who didn’t care what language they heard as long as they got treats and plenty of attention.

As a genuine movie buff, Chris felt suitably impressed. But then, he’d already been impressed with her before that. Somehow, Molly didn’t fit his vision of the creative sort. She wasn’t … glamorous enough. And she seemed far too grounded, instead of artistic.

But hell, she’d just been rescued from kidnappers who had battered her pretty badly. Maybe under better circumstances she had more savoir faire.

As he considered it, he realized that Molly didn’t fit any stereotype familiar to him. Most people in her situation would be either demanding of attention or withdrawn and fearful. Not Molly. Perhaps she was different with Dare, in private.

But in his presence, she wasn’t intrusive, needy or whiney. In fact, she tried hard not to inconvenience them in any way.

Chris shook his head. He knew Dare expected him to resent female intrusion, and before Molly, he would have. He protected his position, and he always had Dare’s back.

With Molly, there was no threat—not of the type he’d always guarded against.

If anything, he fell in line with Dare, sharing the need to keep her safe and help her feel secure.

“Ryan is a possible lead,” Molly corrected. “We’re waiting for confirmation….” She looked oddly chagrined, then downcast. “Well, actually, it might have already been confirmed or denied, but I haven’t had access to a phone or computer or anything.”

“Soon,” Dare told her.

“God, this sucks. I have no idea what’s going on with my career. But I was so focused on …”

“Surviving?” Chris supplied.

“Well, yeah. I was surviving, and so caught up in … in just holding it together that I …” She trailed off with a groan.

“You’re a trouper,” Chris told her in a grand understatement.

“I hope my editor or agent hasn’t been trying to get hold of me. What would they think? We were right in the middle of negotiations on this thing before I … I …”

Chris set the juice before her and pulled up a chair. He took her hand, so small and female, and wished he could have helped Dare destroy the ones who had done this to her. “Getting snatched by thugs is so damned inconvenient, isn’t it?”

She choked on a laugh and nodded with exaggeration. “More so than I ever could have imagined.”

Dare shot him a look of warning, which almost made Chris roll his eyes. He had to be the least threatening guy Ms. Molly was likely to come into contact with.

Even if he wasn’t gay, he’d have no sexual interest in her. Dare had already staked a claim. End of story.

But was he supposed to ignore the fact that she was a famous writer? No, of course not. “How long did they have you, Molly?”

“Dare helped me to figure out that it was nine days.”

Good God. Nine days of unending fear, pain, despair … Nine days of hell.

Overwhelmed with emotions he’d seldom felt, Chris gently squeezed her hand. “Well, then, I take back my earlier thoughts. You actually look incredible, all things considered.”

She snorted at that and, pulling her hand away, smoothed her hair behind her ears in a female show of insecurity. “Yeah, if looking like death warmed over appeals to you.”

He helped her tuck away a wayward strand. “Actually, you only look wounded, which sometimes appeals to the big protective male.”

“Chris …”

He laughed at Dare. “What I really meant was that I thought there were two types of writers, the glamorous ones who donned feather boas and dripped diamonds, and the harried ones who lived in a fantasyland.”

“I’m far from glamorous, and I’m only harried when I’m in the middle of a book. And when that happens, I can forget I have hair, much less how to groom it.”

Before Chris could ask for more details, Dare said, “We’ll be going to your place soon. You can get updated on everything important then.”

“Soon as in … like, when?”

“Depends. Probably in a couple of days.” He put the thinly sliced chicken into a hot skillet with spices. “You said you live north of Cincinnati, right?”