Page 28 of Garrison's Creed

“Look at it this way: I still need time to cool down. You don’t want me to pop your buddy, do you?”

“You’re calm, Cash. Cool-collected-Cash. It took you about fifteen seconds to power down to lazy cowboy.”

“Lazy?” Nothing about this morning had been lazy.

She laughed and tossed her hair over her shoulder. It looked as soft as he remembered. Her laugh warmed him from the inside, as if they were sitting fireside under the covers.

“You know what I mean. Chilled out, nothing’s ever wrong,” she said. “But seriously, we need to head back soon.”

“Relax, Nic. Dude will be there when we get back, and if we’re running late, well, they can’t leave without us.”

Fifteen minutes later, they pulled up at the Galleria. It was everything he wanted, though he didn’t know why he cared. Signing up for a shopping trip would be classified as out of character. Hell, maybe he did know why. Taking care of her wasn’t out of character, even if he was years out of practice. It once topped his list of favorite activities, and what a list that was…

She parked and waltzed in, not noticing anyone noticing her. She rocked his sweatpants and gym shirt, making them the sexiest things he’d ever seen. Even barefoot with a limp, the woman carried her head high, walking straight into the hoity-toity store.

Catching the raised eyebrows of sales clerks as he followed Nicola in, Cash gave them I-see-you-watching-me waves of his hand. No doubt, he was a sight to see. Black eyes. Swollen lip. Gun holstered on his hip. Sure as Kathy Lee and Hoda were about their Wednesday wine selections, he knew they flavored the water cooler gossip with a shot of, “oh my god, did you see that?”

Nicola bee-lined it for the shoe department, and he trailed behind, watching the tsunami effect of her presence. Nicola grabbed a pair of overstuffed, pink bunny slippers, walked over to the clerk and said, “I need these now. I’ll be back for different shoes in a minute.” She looked over her shoulder, pointed, and smiled. “And that beauty of a man over there plans on paying.”

That he did. He smiled his split lip. It stung as the fresh scab ripped open. She could have called him a lot worse than a beauty.

***

Decent shoes and a well-fitting outfit did more for Nicola’s mental state than she cared to admit. Cash glancing sideways a couple times to check her out was even more of a boost. Problem was, giggling like a school girl didn’t fit the persona she’d created at the CIA. Nope. Those who knew Nicola thought she was married to the job and needed to get out more. At least she assumed that’s what they thought.

Leaving the mall and heading to the airport was easy. Overthinking what Cash and Roman would say and do—that was a headache.

Not a lot of women did the whole intel operative routine, and fewer did it out in the field. Men assumed she played the game for a rush and that they’d swoop in to save the day just like Cash did, though, true enough, she had needed a hand in the Main Street rumble. Barroom brawls, even in broad daylight, weren’t her forte. She might be tall and strong, but she wasn’t oblivious to her physical limitations. There was a difference between knowing what might bring you down and being strong enough to say, “Fuck it. Let’s try anyway.”

Cash wasn’t keen on her doing field work. She could tell. He hadn’t said it word for word, but she got the gist. Every time his eyebrows hit his hair line, she translated it to, “Nicola, go home and watchJeopardy!” Roman would be even worse. He didn’t like her to take out the trash at night. Well, ten years ago, he didn’t.

They breezed onto the private airstrip, sidled up to the plane, then Cash gave her a look. She foresaw an intervention in her future.

Nicola made a point to walk up the staircase in front of Cash. Roman and Rocco were already on board with Bonnie and Clyde. She wanted them to see her first, to show her extraction team that she wasn’t hiding behind a man. To show Roman that this was her job too. All good reasons, but she’d be lying to herself if the thought of Cash behind her in these ten-out-of-ten fitting jeans hadn’t crossed her mind.

God, no. She needed to erase him from her thoughts. The giddy school girl routine was going to get her into trouble.

Two steps before she passed through the door, Cash snagged her belt loop. He pulled her to a quick stop, his hard body catching right behind hers. A shiver licked down her back and tingled where he pressed against her. Her body vibrated, needing to push back against him. Mind over body, she only managed to freeze.

“Nic. One sec,” he whispered in her ear. He was way too close, and it felt familiarly amazing. His breath warmed a spot behind her ear and rippled down her neck. The thump, thump of her pulse might have been loud enough for him to hear.

She shifted to look at him, balancing on her good foot, more than aware that her insides were spinning. “What’s up?”

His hand stayed at the base of her back, the heat of his touch warm through her shirt. “Goddamn, you’re gorgeous. Just thought you should know what I’d be looking at on the flight home.” Then he patted her bottom, scooting her up the last two stairs and into the cabin.

Good thing he did because telling her legs to work—right and then left, repeat—would’ve been a chore. Her fuzzy mind spun, trying to let autopilot take over. His touch seared from her ass and spun out of control to the tips of her fingers and toes.

Somehow, she rounded the corner and slammed into Roman. Great. Autopilot disengaged. He eyed her, doing a quick assessment, then stared at Cash. “You okay, Nicola? You’re looking… sick.”

Sick? Try flush with flippin’ pheromones. So much for her grand plan to act big, bad, and in charge. “I’m good, Roman. You need to chill out.”

Roman’s eyes bounced to Cash. “Everything kosher?”

“Everything’s as you like it.” Cash pushed past both of them, pulled the brim of his hat over his eyes, and sat down next to Rocco.

Nicola saw Bonnie and Clyde cuffed and secured in place. Roman gave her another overprotective glance, then gave a thumbs up to the pilot. They were airborne by the time she got comfortable in her seat. Bonnie’s angry face said she was going to raise all kinds of hell once they got to Langley and figured out this headache. Clyde—AKA David, AKA the butler—was a blank canvas. Anything she tried to read on his bruised expression was a figment of her intel-seeking imagination. The guy gave her nothing. Damn CIA training.

Whatever. If they were both in on it, she was coming up aces. If it was just the butler, then she owed Miss Bonnie a sorry-I-almost-shot-you card and a fruit basket carved up like a flower bouquet. Or maybe just a gift certificate to Guns R Us, because Nicola was sure Rocco wasn’t handing Bonnie her piece back.

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