Page 31 of Second First Kiss

Kat spun around, ready to show him just how painful her purple Doc Martens could be, when she stopped. One look at him and everything inside her went still and she felt like she was going to crumple to the ground.

Nolan stood with a shoulder against the fender of the car, one ankle crossed over the other, his arm resting leisurely on the roof, looking like the poster child for badassery. He also looked warm and safe.

Gone was his uniform and armed-to-the-teeth persona—although she’d bet her best bottle of whiskey that he was still packing—and in its place was a dark gray beanie, a really warm-looking coat, and that sexy grin which always managed to make her stomach do these silly little flips. The man looked so at home in his own skin it pissed her off.

“You know me, always popping off,” Kat said, proud her voice gave off that unaffected tone she’d mastered over the years.

He pushed off the car and started for her, his boots clicking on the concrete in the empty lot, louder and louder the closer he came, not stopping until he was standing so close she was enveloped by the scent of lumberjack and fresh rain.

“Maybe you pop off because you’re not used to having backup,” he said quietly, repeating her words from earlier.

“Are you offering to be my backup, Ranger Carmichael?”

She’d said it as a joke, but he didn’t crack a smile, just studied her intently. Her chest tightened and she felt this urge to lean forward and disappear into his big, strong arms, just for a minute to know what it was like to have someone to break on. But she wasn’t sure if he’d hold her back and, she realized as a drop of rain spilled off her lashes, she was drenched.

“Would you accept if I were?”

What was she supposed to do now? How was she going to get Tessa to school in the morning, not to mention her job at the county. And if Kat managed not to get fired from Bigfoot’s, and that was a big if, she had an additional four shifts scheduled at the bar.

She pressed her fingers to her forehead. What a mess. How was anyone going to look at her and grant her custody?

Maybe she wasn’t out of tears after all, because her vision went suspiciously blurry, so she dropped her head to study her boots, telling herself it was just a raindrop spilling down her cheek.

“I’ve been solo for so long, I’m not sure I’d know how to accept help,” she admitted.

“Let’s start here,” he said with an unhurried patience that made a tiny crack in her fortress walls. Nothing visible, but she could feel the energy ever so slightly shift in her foundation and that scared her.

Before she knew what he was doing, he’d taken off his jacket and slid it over her shoulders. Gripping the tab, he zipped it up around her. It was still warm from his body heat and smelled like him—mysterious and manly as hell—and felt like a reassuring hug. The kind of hug her grandpa used to give her when things got hard.

Only the feelings his gesture invoked were as far from paternal as feelings could get. His touch was laced with fire and made her insides flutter.

And when she thought he was going to pull her into his arms, use the moment to try and turn the night into his favor—something she was used to men pulling—he took a respectful step back and shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Does it still hurt?” He tilted his chin toward her cheek, which was throbbing and likely still red.

“It is what it is.”

He gave a sad smile and she felt as if she’d disappointed him, so she looked away.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” When she didn’t answer, he squatted down to run his finger through the pile of sand, then looked up. “R. J.?”

“That’s my guess. But the lot was empty when I came out.”

“We have security cameras covering the entire lot. Let me go check.” He turned to leave and then stopped, letting out a string of words. “The cameras are damaged. I meant to clean them off today, but I ran out of time. I am so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“But it is. Keeping people safe is my job and I screwed up. Maybe there is still something visible on the recordings.”

“This isn’t on you.” Before she could stop herself, she put a hand on his bicep. It jumped and flexed beneath her touch. He froze, except for his eyes which locked on her hold, then back to her gaze.

A delicious sensation slid up her arm, down her torso, going between her breasts, and pooling between her thighs. It was a simple case of animal magnetism, she told herself. Chemistry. Sexual awareness. But her hormones were allergic to his specific brand of testosterone, end of story.

So while she wanted to catch that little prick R. J. red-handed, the last thing she needed was to be stuck in a small office reviewing security footage with a man who could make her toes curl with a single quirk of the lip.

She snatched her hand back and there went that quirk, followed by a toe curl. It had been a long time since a man had this kind of effect on her. And he knew it.

If it were any other man, she’d simply ask him if he wanted to go back to his place, burn off some steam, take a little spin around his bedroom. But this wasn’t any other man—this was the man who drove her nuts with his law-and-order vibe. And nothing about them was simple.

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