Page 2 of Summer with a Ranger

Except maybe that golden hair that reminded me of California.

In one fell swoop I was home sick.

Setting my teeth, I flexed both arms, tucking them behind my head and closed my eyes. I couldn't work out what was hotter: her gaze, or the sun.

"I've got a deadline, and I need protection from this." Her tone bordered on derisive. I kept my eyes closed but imagined her waving a hand at the remainder of the population on the beach. "You’ll stop them from hitting on me."

"What makes you think anyone wants to hit on you?" I was glad my eyes stayed shut. After that snappy little repartee, I fully expected a slap in the face.

Sand flicked on my stomach, and I managed not to flinch. Just.

"Asshole," she said idly. “What’s your name?”

“Hudson. Whittington.” I managed around a thick tongue that didn't’ feel like it belonged in my mouth, and cracked an eye open.

“Skye Gallagher.” She held out a hand, complete with callouses, and short, French polished tips.

The best of both worlds. A Queen, if rough at a few hidden edges. I liked what I saw already, though I knew she’d be a ballbuster. Knowing she worked with her hands sometimes, even if it was sport or around the yard, lit something inside me. I wanted to see her sweat. I wanted to see her get filthy and lick her clean.

Where they fuck did that come from?

I had a job to do, for fuck’s sake. But still, a little eye candy and a summer fantasy could be fun to indulge in. Plus, her proposition fit my cover. Yeah. That works.

I pulled my head out of my cock and bullshit long enough to respond to her.

“That’s apt.”

“How’s that?” She stared at me imperiously through narrowed, slitted eyes.

“Gallagher. It means stranger. Or warrior. Depends which side of the internet you believe.”

“How do you know that?”

“I grew up living next door to some Gallaghers. Good neighbours.”

“Funny, that.” Her eyes softened, the tiniest bit, or maybe I imagined it. “Now stay, Huddy boy, and look pretty."

Who said I was staying?

But we both knew I would. I kept the wince off my face at the shitty nickname all the same.

"Yes, ma’am."

After that she stayed silent while my mind wandered. I was halfway through a damn fine daydream about toned thighs and a blue bikini that matched her blue eyes when a finger poked me in the ribs.

"Wake up, baby oil boy. You're turning lobster red."

"I am?" I cracked open an eye and looked down at my chest, spotting nothing but a bronzed plateau that matched hers, albeit with less curves. "I don't see what you're seeing."

"Clearly not." That smirk was back in her voice.

"So, I'm your bodyguard.” I mean, who was I to say no to a pretty woman? Besides, my job was to stay low. Look like an overgrown kid out for fun and sun and maybe a few drugs. The thought of her believing that story hit me square in the guts, and I pushed it aside. “Who says we're staying the same length of time?"

“I’m here for a few days. Not sure.” Skye shifted beside me as I raised up onto my elbows, cracking my neck. She winced. “Ouch.”

"Yeah, that wasn't the best." I rubbed the back of my neck. "Where are you staying?" She rattled off the name of the quaint little beach cottage Archer booked for me, a word I hadn't been able to pronounce since I arrived. "Oh, good. We’re staying in the same place," I said dryly.

The tiny little cottage had eight rooms, each seemingly smaller than the last, but it was cute, across the road from the beach, and it was two doors up from my new bestie, Tag the mini drug lord.

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