more than willing to let her call the shots for a while.
Remaining silent, he watched Jillian clutch the rolls, chips, and the can of dip to her chest like protective armor, and walk over to the opposite end of the counter. She carefully laid everything out, got a knife from the drawer in front of her, then moved silently to the fridge, reaching into its darkened depths and retrieving several bundles wrapped in white deli paper.
She’d made two sandwiches and was starting on the third when she finally broke the tense silence. “So, Mr. Braedon, just what is it you do?” She turned to look at him. “When you’re not battling gators and rescuing reluctant damsels in distress?”
There was that pluck again.
Funny, it didn’t bother him so much this time. So what if her tension breakers were better than his? He let his hands relax, unaware until that moment that he’d had them tightly clenched.
“Private security. My partner and I own a business down in the Keys.”
Her eyes widened. “They evacuated already down there, didn’t they?”
“Yep.”
She went back to making sandwiches. “I guess you must think I’m really ungrateful. I’m sure you must have better things to worry about right now than running around evacuating other people.”
Before Reese could comment, she looked at him.
“Just what brought you all the way up the Gulf Coast? Are you a volunteer with some organized national rescue effort?” She waved a mustard-covered knife in front of her. “I mean, did you have to come up here? You and your family must be worried about your property and all.” She laid the knife down, real concern on her face. “And now they have to worry about you too. I’m really sorry, Reese. I never intended to let my decision to stay affect others.”
Reese wished she would shut up. “No worries.” His voice wasn’t as casual as he’d have liked. “There is no family. Just Cole, my partner. And he knows I understood the risks when I took the job.”
She took several steps toward him. When she laid her small hand over his, he realized he’d just lied again.
“Well, I still feel responsible. When this is over, if I can do anything to help …” Her wordsdrifted away when he flipped his hand over and tucked his fingers between hers.
“Let’s get through the next couple of hours first.” He gave her fingers a light squeeze, then drew his hand away. “You got paper plates?” He hoped like hell they were on the other side of the room.
“Yes. In the pantry, second shelf on the right.” He hopped once, and she put out her hand. “What am I doing? You sit. I’ll get the plates.”
He shrugged off her hand and hopped across the room. “Got a spare broom handle?” He braced one hand on the doorframe, but didn’t look back.
“Behind the door on the rack.”
The instructions were delivered in short, clipped words. He’d insulted her. Too damn bad. He yanked down a sponge mop and flipped it over. A little short but it would do. He lifted the flashlight from the shelf. She’d apparently forgotten it after …
His body tightened. She’d barely known what to do during those all-too-brief moments they’d held each other. It hadn’t even been much of a hug. There was next to nothing to hold. Yet she’d fitted against him perfectly.
And damn if it hadn’t felt good. Like something he’d like to try again.
He flicked the switch on, erasing the shadows from the small room. And his brain.
Reese swallowed the last bite of his second sandwich, then drained the last of his soda. He tried not to shudder as the sweet lemon-lime drink slid down his throat.
“Sorry about the beer being warm. I thought it was better to use the room in the fridge for water.”
“And soda.”
She smiled. It was sort of shy and sweet. He balled up his napkin.
“I ranked space in order of priority. Soda ranks just under water and perishables.”
He fought the urge to let the corners of his mouth twitch upward.
Remaining silent, he watched Jillian clutch the rolls, chips, and the can of dip to her chest like protective armor, and walk over to the opposite end of the counter. She carefully laid everything out, got a knife from the drawer in front of her, then moved silently to the fridge, reaching into its darkened depths and retrieving several bundles wrapped in white deli paper.
She’d made two sandwiches and was starting on the third when she finally broke the tense silence. “So, Mr. Braedon, just what is it you do?” She turned to look at him. “When you’re not battling gators and rescuing reluctant damsels in distress?”
There was that pluck again.
Funny, it didn’t bother him so much this time. So what if her tension breakers were better than his? He let his hands relax, unaware until that moment that he’d had them tightly clenched.
“Private security. My partner and I own a business down in the Keys.”
Her eyes widened. “They evacuated already down there, didn’t they?”
“Yep.”
She went back to making sandwiches. “I guess you must think I’m really ungrateful. I’m sure you must have better things to worry about right now than running around evacuating other people.”
Before Reese could comment, she looked at him.
“Just what brought you all the way up the Gulf Coast? Are you a volunteer with some organized national rescue effort?” She waved a mustard-covered knife in front of her. “I mean, did you have to come up here? You and your family must be worried about your property and all.” She laid the knife down, real concern on her face. “And now they have to worry about you too. I’m really sorry, Reese. I never intended to let my decision to stay affect others.”
Reese wished she would shut up. “No worries.” His voice wasn’t as casual as he’d have liked. “There is no family. Just Cole, my partner. And he knows I understood the risks when I took the job.”
She took several steps toward him. When she laid her small hand over his, he realized he’d just lied again.
“Well, I still feel responsible. When this is over, if I can do anything to help …” Her wordsdrifted away when he flipped his hand over and tucked his fingers between hers.
“Let’s get through the next couple of hours first.” He gave her fingers a light squeeze, then drew his hand away. “You got paper plates?” He hoped like hell they were on the other side of the room.
“Yes. In the pantry, second shelf on the right.” He hopped once, and she put out her hand. “What am I doing? You sit. I’ll get the plates.”
He shrugged off her hand and hopped across the room. “Got a spare broom handle?” He braced one hand on the doorframe, but didn’t look back.
“Behind the door on the rack.”
The instructions were delivered in short, clipped words. He’d insulted her. Too damn bad. He yanked down a sponge mop and flipped it over. A little short but it would do. He lifted the flashlight from the shelf. She’d apparently forgotten it after …
His body tightened. She’d barely known what to do during those all-too-brief moments they’d held each other. It hadn’t even been much of a hug. There was next to nothing to hold. Yet she’d fitted against him perfectly.
And damn if it hadn’t felt good. Like something he’d like to try again.
He flicked the switch on, erasing the shadows from the small room. And his brain.
Reese swallowed the last bite of his second sandwich, then drained the last of his soda. He tried not to shudder as the sweet lemon-lime drink slid down his throat.
“Sorry about the beer being warm. I thought it was better to use the room in the fridge for water.”
“And soda.”
She smiled. It was sort of shy and sweet. He balled up his napkin.
“I ranked space in order of priority. Soda ranks just under water and perishables.”
He fought the urge to let the corners of his mouth twitch upward.
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