Page 27 of Colton's Secret Weapon
“My spirits told me,” she replied, her tone purposefully serious as she kept a grin to herself. Sometimes being perceived as a little odd had its amusing moments.
And sometimes a woman had to grasp at every distraction she could in order to keep her head above water.
While the small bit of earth upon which she stood seemed to be crumbling beneath her.
He needed her to change out of the sexiest outfit he’d ever seen. The same one that had just appeared out there to him that morning. Flighty. Not funny how an incident on the tile floor of a public grocery store, with danger-induced adrenaline pounding through him, could completely reframe his perception of clothing choices.
Even less humorous was the way his mind seemed to be playing tricks on him where Dove St. James was concerned. Was she flighty? Or just playing with him?
While he’d have assumed the former two days before, he was leaning more toward the latter as he pulled into his three-car garage and saw her pull into the driveway behind him. He couldn’t spend the rest of Saturday afternoon and evening alone with her in his home.
As big and stately as the place was, it afforded far too much privacy. Laying groundwork for things to happen that no one would need to know about.
Activities between consenting adults that happened on a casual basis, leaving both parties able to walk away without looking back.
With her father missing, able to do nothing but wait for news, Dove needed activity. Just not the kind his body was suddenly fixating on.
Almost exclusively as he showed her to the guest suite downstairs, across the hall just inside the garage door.
Didn’t seem to matter to his libido that his bedroom was across the three-thousand-square-foot home and up a winding flight of stairs. He could carry her up, no problem. Hell, they could do it on the stairs for all he cared.
Problem was, of course, the rational part of him did care. And that part was boss.
Always.
As he set Dove’s suitcase and satchel in the middle of the floor of the room, he did a quick scan of the four-poster bed, nightstand, across to the couch and coffee table beneath the window, checking for security weaknesses.
Found none. Other than that, he’d like it better if the room was on the second floor. That window…there were security cameras, a state-of-the-art alarm system, steel window frames, bolting locks and the same kind of unbreakable glass found in high-rise hotel rooms.
“Do you really think that thing at the grocery store was on purpose?”
Dove’s words expressed a sense of vulnerability—at least the way he heard them—and Mitchell immediately turned to her and said, “Logic is telling me that it’s possible.” Everything else seemed to point to that certainty, but he wasn’t a man who allowed himself to dwell in places he couldn’t prove existed.
She’d implied that she’d listened to one of her promptings to seek him out in the first place and was taking all of his attempts to help her as proof that her guidance had been spot-on.
But what if, instead, her karma was just playing a bad joke on both of them?
He needed his time-out. The weekend he’d had planned—the time away he protected diligently—to keep himself levelheaded. So that he could serve all of those who relied on him without fail.
Dove wasn’t unpacking. She was just standing there, watching him. “To what end?” she asked. “How does someone benefit from trying to hurt me with a can attack in the grocery store?”
Relieved to finally be certain of a response, Mitchell replied immediately. “First, it’s another bout of bad luck in a space inwhich you feel safe. Which adds pressure to the fear someone is trying to build within you. Second, if you’re hurt, you’re less likely to get in the way. Right as your father goes missing. All of which could be designed to weaken you. To make you doubt everything you know. Feeling threatened, overcome by fear, you’d be more likely to entertain the idea of convincing your father to sell the business.”
“And if something’s happened to him, to sell it myself and leave town,” she said softly, her gaze clear as she stared at him. “You think my father’s dead?”
He couldn’t just put that one out there. He told her the less painful truth. “I don’t know.” Hedidn’tknow, but he did think the strong possibility was on the table.
Dove shook her head, her long amber waves falling over her shoulders in a confusing array. “It’s not like my father’s business is worth killing for,” she said. “It’s not a million-dollar outfit.”
“No, but it could be, if expanded upon and run properly.” According to what Eli had told him, Brad Fletcher had the funds to invest. He’d built a lodge at one of his marinas. An upscale place that attracted wealthy clientele. The same could be done in Shelby.
A look of fear crossed Dove’s face, but it was quickly gone. Replaced by an almost serene expression that seemed to bear a cloak of steel. “Which is why, as soon as he’s home, the three of us are going to get to work implementing your plans for the place,” she said and turned to lift her satchel onto the couch. “Which will also then ensure that you get ample compensation for your work.”
She had it all figured out. As though, just like that, she sees and it becomes. Shaking his head, Mitchell had no immediate response coming to him. He didn’t know what to do with her. How to interact.
With his own internal pressure building, he said, “Do you own jeans and hiking boots? If not, we can go buy some. I’ve got something to show you.”
He just wasn’t sure what it was yet.
