Page 31 of Unexpected Hero

Oh dear baby Jesus in the manger. If he says that again, I’ll be a puddle.

I gulp my water, trying to stop my mind from imagining him pushing me up against the wall, pressing his chest against my back, and grinding his erection into my ass.

I think all the years of denying my physical needs have finally caught up to me. Not only do I want to hand this man my V-card, but I want him to rip it to bits in front of me.

He’s older than me, but I don’t know how much so. Stella said older men have more experience pleasing a woman. I bet James would make it good. He’d take care of me. Sexually. Not like he’s taking care of my belly now.

Before fantasizing further, I blurt out the answer to the question he’s repeatedly asked. “My father died a few weeks ago, and I decided to leave Georgia. It felt like the right time to strike out on my own.”

“Why Clearwater? Did you come straight here or stop somewhere else?”

Interrogation much?

“I like the beach. I’m a water sign and was drawn here.”

Skepticism washes over his face. His brows raise and lips press tight. “Drawn here?”

“Yeah. Haven’t you ever been drawn to something before?”

His eyes narrow with more of that intense scrutiny. “Only recently.”

“Well, that’s what it was like for me. I’m a firm believer in trusting my gut. I don’t know how or why, but something tells me I’m supposed to be here. There’s nothing left for me back home.”

“What about your mother? Friends? Boyfriend?”

“Are you writing a report on me?” I hedge.

“Just curious about you.”

“Why?”

He taps one of his long fingers over his lips. He hasn’t touched his sandwich, which is a crime against cheese. If it sits too long, it won’t be all melty. With that thought, I grab mine and finish it in two bites. If he wants cold cheese in his sandwich, that’s on him.

To draw out an answer from him, I pin him with one of those serious expressions he’s been throwing at me for the last half hour.

“I see what you’re doing.”

Through a smirk, I toss, “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’re looking at me like I’m looking at you, trying to get me to open up. In the process, you’re avoiding answering about yourself.”

“Is it working?”

“A little bit.”

Damn. He’s so freaking cute. The uptight, slightly dorky thing he’s got going on is making me melt like the cheese on my sandwich.

I hold silent, waiting for him to talk.

He rolls his eyes. “I suppose I’m curious about you because I want to know why a woman drives to another state without a proper place to live, a job, or a savings account to support the trek.”

My nostrils flare. “Who said I don’t have a job or a proper place to stay?”

His face is impassive. “Do you, Lettie?”

“I don’t have a job.” I raise one finger. “Yet. But I do have lodging.”

We trade intense looks, both sharpening our focus on the other. It’s a stare down to see who breaks first.

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