Page 74 of Fiona and the Fixer

My eyes widened. “You watch cooking shows?”

“Only when recovering from surgery,” she replied.

Shit. The brain tumor. I was supposed to be pissed at her but then I was reminded she almost died, and not from a bullet. But no, tumor or not, she was wildly impulsive and reckless, and I couldn’t let that slide.

“You were supposed to call me. That was the plan,” I snapped, teeth clenched.

“Your plan,” she countered.

“My plan? What wasyourplan?”

“To use the Highcliffs as a diversion.”

My mouth opened and closed.

“Diversion?So you could do what?” I had a pretty good idea, since I had photo proof.

“Check out the pickle containers in the back. You were right, nobody would suspect the Highcliffs of doing anything shady. Which means I couldn’t rely on them.”

“You used them.”

“Your plan used them, too. Mine just got results.”

I stepped up to her, took her arm and pulled her toward a display of stuffed animals with tentacles beside a shelf of what I learned the other day was called tentacle porn.

“Results? Are you crazy?” I hissed. My gaze roved over her face. Was she always this way or did the brain tumor mess with her? I’d heard people took on different personalities after such a diagnosis.

Had she always been this fucking fearless? The photo was taken of Fiona when she’d been snooping. She’d gone in just as she said through the back door off the alley.

She blinked up at me. “Why do you keep asking me that?”

I didn’t squeeze her arm. Or strangle her. Or shake some sense into her.

Instead, I spun us around and hauled her–barely willingly–toward the back of the store.

“You,” I said, using my free hand to point at a woman holding three books.

The woman’s head whipped around, and she stared at me, wide eyed. “Y…yes?”

“You know anything about romance books?” I asked.

Her eyes lit up and she smiled. “Of course. My favorite is second chance, but I’ve been really into motorcycle club–”

I held up my hand. “You’re running the shop.”

Her mouth fell open. “What? Me? I don’t know–”

I continued to the office in the back and hollered overmy shoulder. “You know more about it than I do. You’ll do great.”

Pushing Fiona into the office, I entered behind her, then shut the door, cutting off the woman’s sputtering. Then turned the lock on the knob.

“Dax, what–”

I was on her in a flash, cupping her cheeks and kissing the hell out of her. Surprise stalled her for a second, but then she was kissing me right back.

Tongues, hands. I walked her backward to Hannah’s desk, bumping it and making everything clatter. Something fell to the floor.

All I could see, feel, taste, smell was Fiona. I had so much…feelingfor her it needed an outlet. I didn’t touch a woman in anger.

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