Page 21 of Trapped with the Covert Ops Soldier

“I haven’t blown anything up.”

“Yet.”

She looked at him with narrow eyes. “Explain to me how you got here. How did the mayor even know we knew each other? And take this next right.”

“Last month...” He guided the Jeep around the turn, then continued, “I called your dad.”

Anger chased the half-amused half-terrified mood right out of her body and brain. “You...what?”

“I called—”

“I heard what you said, I just can’t believe you’d be that stupid.”

“Hey, no using the S word.”

“Why did you call my father?”

“Remember the day we landed at the airport in Missoula?”

Her answer was cautious. “Yeah.” She remembered far too much about that day. Hours of airsickness, a moment of terror, and the best kiss she’d ever had in her life. With the man sitting next to her.

“Well, so do I.” He stopped talking.

She waited for him to finish, but he remained silent. Finally, she said, “It’s the last house on the right.”

He parked the Jeep, turned off the engine, but didn’t otherwise move. Finally, he turned his head to regard her with a sombre gaze. “You’re suffering from PTSD. I think blowing shit up is your coping mechanism.”

“I don’t blow shit up. I might scare some of the fish, but I’m not hurting anyone or anything.”

“The law of averages says you will. Eventually, you will.”

“Well, Abby’s fourth law says that how cranky a woman is, is inversely proportional to the amount of food in her stomach.”

“I’ll take that as a hint.” He opened his door, then paused. “Wait for me to get you.”

“I’m not an invalid.”

Suddenly he was in her personal space, his teeth bared. “Just this once, let someone else take care of you.” She was about to argue when he added that irritatingly polite word again, “Please.”

She settled back into her seat and crossed her arms over her chest. “Fine.”

He came around the vehicle, opened the door, and scooped her out of her seat. He hip-checked the door closed and moved toward the house. “Keys?”

“The backdoor is unlocked.”

“You’re blowing me away with your impressive security system.”

“I’ve got nothing anyone would steal.”

“No electronics, jewellery, or cash?”

“My laptop is in a locked closet, I’m not a jewellery person, and aside from some pocket change on the side table in my bedroom, my cash is in the bank.”

They got to the backdoor and she twisted around so she could open it. She had to get away from him before she buried her head against his shoulder so she could wallow some more in his smell.

Damn, one whiff and she was an addict.

The inside of her house was cool, the sunlight filtered through the curtains to lay lace over the walls and floor. The furnishings were a comfortable mixture of old and new, some belonged to her grandmother, others were pieces she’d added after moving in.

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