Page 92 of Renard's Deliverance

Ned was an older guy who struggled with technology but needed it to keep in touch with his son and grandchildren who lived in Wisconsin.

“Of course! Come in.”

Renard raised his eyebrows at her but stepped aside.

“Go on in, Ned.” She turned to Renard once Ned was out of earshot. “Be nice. I often help him with this stuff. He doesn’t have any family here.”

Renard looked thoughtful, then nodded. “Gonna go out. Get the groceries.” He moved into the living room. “Ned, Opal’s hurt her back. Can you keep an eye on her until I get back?”

What the heck? Like she couldn’t take care of herself?

But as she walked into the living room, she saw Ned puffing up with importance and it made more sense.

Hmm.

Yes, there was definitely a softness under all that hard.

17

Opal moaned as she ate the steak sandwich.

Sure, it was just a sandwich, but it also wasn’t. It was made with a thick piece of juicy steak, caramelised onions, some sort of relish that was divine, pickles, cheese and on toasted sourdough bread.

It. Was. Divine.

It was late afternoon. A bit late for lunch and early for dinner. But she hadn’t eaten much today.

“Good, baby?” he murmured.

“Good? This is fucking divine. How are women not beating down your door, trying to get into your pants, so you’ll make them this?” she asked.

He snorted. “Some people would say it’s due to my personality.”

She scowled. “Who says that? I like your personality.”

He grinned and crouched down next to her.

“Aren’t you eating?”

Reaching up, he wiped at the corner of her mouth. Great. She was a mess.

“I’ve got to get going, Gem. Still rather you came with me, though.”

“No. Not happening.”

He glared at her.

She glared back. “I’ll be much more comfortable here. I won’t be able to rest there.”

“Fine,” he snapped.

Was he really upset? Sometimes it was hard to tell.

“But I want you to eat all of that and rest.”

“Yes, Chef!” she cried, giving him a salute.

“That’s Sir. Or Renard, to you,” he told her in a husky voice.

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