Three Little Words (Fool's Gold #12)

Ford stood by the sink, his expression wounded. “You locked the back door.”


“Yes,” she told him. “On purpose. I wanted privacy.”

He glanced around the bathroom. “Why? What could you be doing that I couldn’t watch? It’s not like you’re waxing or something.”

She shoved the brush back in the bottle. “It’s not like you asked before you burst in.”

“Good point. So, what are you doing?”

She waved the bottle of nail polish. “I would think it was obvious.”

He glanced at her toes. “I could do that.”

“Paint my toes? I don’t think so.”

“Why not? I’m good with my hands.”

“This is different and the polish on my left foot is still wet. So go away.”

He flashed her a grin. “Right. Because telling me that always works.”

He moved closer. She tried to duck away, but there was nowhere to go. He reached down, picked her up. She yelped.

“Inside voice,” he told her as he carried her into the kitchen, where he put her on a chair.

He pulled up a second chair and sat down, then grabbed her unpolished foot and set it on his hard thigh.

“Bottle,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Fine.” She sighed. “Don’t use a lot of polish. I do a second coat.”

“Then topcoat?”

She stared at him. “You know about topcoat?”

“I have three sisters. I know everything.”

“You are a constant surprise,” she murmured.

“One of my best qualities.”

He painted her nails with slow precision. She watched his steady hand and realized that she was in more trouble than she’d first thought. Walking away from Ford could very well break her heart.

When he was done, he applied the topcoat, then screwed both bottles shut. She leaned back in her chair, both her feet on his thighs, thinking that this was one of the best views in town. She would remember this should her heart end up smashed.

“Why don’t you talk about the war?” she asked.

He raised his eyebrows. “There’s a change in subject.”

“There’s an avoidance of the question.”

He pressed his thumbs into the arch of her left foot and found a sore spot she hadn’t known she had.

“There’s nothing to say.” He rotated his thumbs and pressed harder.

She held in a moan.

“I did things, saw things,” he continued. “They’re ugly and I don’t want you to think about that stuff.”

“You’re protecting me?”

He gave her a slow smile. “Something I’m really good at.”

“I don’t need protecting. We’re friends. You can talk to me.”

“Not gonna happen.”

“Do you talk to anyone?”

“I was debriefed, I saw a navy shrink because it was required. I’m done.”

“I don’t believe that. You can’t ignore what happened.”

“Why not? It’s the monster under the stairs. Eventually it starves to death.”

She wasn’t sure it was that simple.

He shifted his hands to her other foot and massaged her arch. “There are times when it gets bad,” he admitted, “but not many. I was lucky. I didn’t have it like Gideon or even Angel.”

He raised his head. “Do you know a woman named Taryn? She’s tall, with dark hair. Great dresser. Hot.”

Isabel stared at him for a second, then carefully pulled her feet free. “Excuse me?”

He grinned. “Not for me. Angel noticed her the other day. It was like watching a leopard separate an animal from the herd. I wondered if she was up to the chase.”

“I don’t know her well enough to be sure, but if I had to guess, I would say if anyone can handle our leopard friend, it’s her.”

“Good. I hope he does something. I doubt Angel’s been with anyone since...”

Isabel waited. “Since what?”

“Nothing. It’s his thing. I shouldn’t talk about it.”

“You’re so annoying.”

His grin turned knowing. “Want to spank me? I remember you’re into that.”

“They were shape-wear and you know it.”

“I do.”

He grabbed her wrists, and before she knew what had happened, he pulled her out of her chair and onto his lap. She sat straddling him, her arms on his shoulders, her face close to his.

“We always seem to end up here,” she murmured, right before she kissed him.

“It’s because you’re demanding. I can barely keep up.”

She wiggled against his obvious erection. “You seem to be keeping up just fine.”

“That’s because I can’t resist you.”

As Isabel lowered her mouth to his, she wished his words were true and that this was much more than a game they played for fun.

* * *

“IT’S ME,” ISABEL CALLED as she opened her sister’s front door.

Maeve appeared in the living room, her hair mussed, her clothes stained. There were shadows under her eyes.

“Thanks for coming,” she said, sounding exhausted. “It’s been a hell of a night.”

Maeve had called a couple of hours ago and asked if Isabel could stop by the store to pick up a few things. Three of her four kids had gotten food poisoning. They’d been up all night and Maeve had been awake with them. With Leonard out of town, everything had fallen to her.