My Killer Vacation

“Holy shit, you’re alive,” Dante deadpans. “Good to know.”

Jude rolls his eyes. “Jesus, Dante. Save some drama for the movies.”

“We could have easily done this over the phone.”

My brother unlinks our arms and hobbles toward the fridge. “Could you please settle down and have a beer—”

“Why are you limping?” Dante’s golden brown skin loses some color. He turns to Myles who has just entered the house behind him. “How did Jude get hurt? Aren’t you supposed to be their bodyguard?”

Myles kicks the door shut to a flurry of camera flashes. “The hell I am.” He spears me with a warning look. “When were you two on the news?”

To someone who is just meeting the bounty hunter for the first time, his personality might come across as forceful. Or aggressive. But not to me. I recognize the line of worry between his eyebrows and the way he can’t seem to get a swallow down. We’ve made this man’s job infinitely harder and he’s rolled with the punches. He could have left us vulnerable. Sure, he shouts and curses and he doesn’t have a tactful bone in his body, but he’s…a wonderful sort of asshole. Isn’t he? He’s my asshole.

Oh God. I’m in trouble.

“I’m starting to wonder if this guy is the reason you’re limping,” Dante mutters, crossing his arms over his superhero chest.

And I don’t know what happens inside of me in that moment. I just sort of lose it.

Is that the second time in five minutes that someone has accused Myles of inflicting bodily harm on us? Yes. Yes, it is. A geyser of protectiveness plumes inside of me. Especially when I see Myles flinch over the casual accusation. He’s not made of stone. He’s a protector. A good man despite what he presents to the world. How many blows can his armor withstand?

Before I perceive my own intentions, I’m across the room like a whirlwind. I pick up Myles’s hand and intertwine our fingers, holding our joined hands close to my chest. “This man is very good at his job. Unfortunately, he cannot protect Jude from a jellyfish. That is why he’s limping—”

“I wasn’t seriously accusing him—” Dante starts, holding up a contrite hand.

“Well you did.” I squeeze in closer to Myles’s side. “You did. And he didn’t deserve it. Yes, he comes across like a massive jerk, but he’s got a soft center, you know?” I wait for Dante to nod. “He’d take a bullet between the eyes before he raised a hand to me. Those were his precise words earlier. And he feels the exact same way about Jude.”

“Not the exact same way, Taylor,” Myles mutters, shrugging at Jude. “Nothing personal.”

“Too bad.” Jude snaps the caps off two bottles of beer, uses them to gesture at the three of us. “I’ve seen that porn, too.”

“Jesus,” Dante sighs, but the corner of his lips are tugging. “You haven’t changed at all.”

Jude’s expression doesn’t change. “That makes one of us.”

The movie star’s smile drops. He and Jude go back to staring at each other and they don’t stop, even when Jude limps across the floor and hands his friend a beer. They’re like two alley cats waiting to see who will blink first.

“We should leave them to talk,” I say, looking up at Myles—and I’m surprised to find him already frowning down at me. Not angrily. More curious or surprised.

“Massive jerk, huh?”

“That’s the part you’re zeroing in on?”

“No,” he says quietly, cupping the side of my face. Watching in fascination as his thumb skims my cheekbone. “It’s not.”

“Oh?”

Grunt. “I’m waiting for the police to get back to me on Evergreen Corp. Could be an hour or so.” He shakes his head. “There are a lot of other leads I need to follow, but I just keep thinking about how you never got your ice cream.”

I don’t know if it’s possible to fall in love with a man in four days. But if it is, I think I’ve just soundly accomplished that feat with Myles Sumner. And there’s no more pretending I’m not heading for a very steep fall.





Chapter 18





Myles





* * *




I don’t take her back to downtown Falmouth for ice cream. There’s no chance of that. After doubling back three times to make sure we’re not being followed, I drive us to Wood’s Hole in Taylor’s Elantra. Where hopefully no one is trying to kill her.

When we walk into the ice cream shop, I barely resist the impulse to shout, “Everything. Give her one of everything.” I want to buy her a scoop of each flavor. Hell, I want to buy her the whole fucking shop and hang a sign on the front with her name on it. This does not bode well for my imminent departure. Not at all. By some insane twist of fate, I’ve gone from wrestling convicts to the ground, dodging gunfire and nursing injuries in motel rooms to holding this woman’s hand on an ice cream date. How in God’s name did I get here?

More importantly, how do I go back to thinking of me and Taylor as temporary?

Can’t seem to do it, no matter how much logic I shed on the situation.

Which is crazy when there are so many factors working against us. I live on the road. She’s in a stable routine in Connecticut. She wants a husband and kids.

And I definitely don’t want that.

Definitely not.

But while she’s leaning forward and smiling down at the heaping piles of ice cream on the other side of the glass, maybe…maybe I just let myself imagine it. Us walking into this place with a kid on my shoulders, their grimy fingers in my hair. Taylor with another bun in the oven.

Pregnant, because I got her that way.

It takes me a moment to move on from the images that brings to mind.

Okay. Way longer than a moment.

Would we make love as usual and just leave it to chance? Or would she…would we fuck with the express intent of getting her pregnant? Christ. That would be…

Don’t think about how satisfying it would be. Don’t think about looking her in the eye when I come and knowing it serves a purpose beyond physical pleasure. Don’t think of her wrapping her thighs tighter, tilting her hips and praising me for my healthy swimmers.

Unless they aren’t healthy.