“He’ll probably be glad to hear that.”
Well…ouch. “So if he’s a cop and doesn’t mind strangers and is into fixing things and will be glad I’m not sticking around, why would he think I’m a problem?” Caroline asked.
“Because he looked at you the way he looked at his new fishing rod his grandpa got him for Christmas.”
Caroline just stared at Heather. She had no idea what that meant.
“And you looked right back at him. And he noticed.”
“How did I look at him? I’ve never been fishing in my life.”
“No, you looked at him like…he was a plate of my shrimp and crab mac-n-cheese.”
That made no sense either. “I've never had your shrimp and crab mac-n-cheese,” Caroline pointed out.
“Oh, you're right, I'm getting things out of order.” Heather laughed. “We’ll talk about how you looked at Zander after you’ve eaten dinner.”
“And we’re having…”
Heather grinned at her. “Shrimp and crab mac-n-cheese. And cinnamon crumb cake for dessert.”
She knew she’d smelled cinnamon. Caroline laughed and her stomach growled at the same moment. She realized that Heather might just have a way of reading people. Because not only was she hungry, but she wouldn't be surprised at all to find out that she was looking at Zander Landry as if he was something very tempting that she'd like to put in her mouth.
She almost blushed at that thought.
Almost.
But she was too busy thinking about Zander putting his hands all over his new fishing rod.
5
Zander walked around the edge of the bed and breakfast to find Caroline on the back porch just as Heather had said she’d be.
But Heather hadn’t warned him what he was going to find exactly. And some warning would have been really fucking nice.
Caroline Camille Holland was sitting in a rocking chair with her bare feet propped on the wooden railing that ran the length of the porch that wrapped around two sides of the enormous main house. She was sipping a tall glass of sweet tea with a bright green bendy straw and she looked the very epitome of laid back and relaxed.
But nothing was quite as straightforward and boring as that. Which was usual for Caroline, as he’d already learned in the short time he’d known her.
The cherry red evening gown she wore was slit on the side up to her hip and, because of the way she had her heels up and ankles crossed, the silky material had fallen away from two very long, smooth, toned legs, leaving them completely bare. Right up to where her panties would show. If she was wearing any.
There was no way she was wearing any.
She also had that damned tiara on her head.
It was sitting askew on her blond waves that fell loose and free around her face and shoulders. She looked a little…tousled. And sexy as fuck.
Torn between amusement, desire, and exasperation—because really, how hard was it to stay inside and just look normal?—Zander schooled his features and approached as if nothing was out of the ordinary at all.
“Evening, Ms. Holland.”
She rolled her head to look at him and gave him a slow smile. “Well, she was right.”
He climbed the back steps. “Who's that?”
“Heather. She said you'd be back.”
“Did you doubt that?”
“Yes.”
A simple answer to a simple question.
“I told you I’d be back.”
“Did you?”
“I at least implied it.”
She lifted a shoulder. “Well, a lot of people tell me a lot of things. And insinuate a lot of things. And suggest a lot of things. And most of it’s bullshit.”
He believed her. He knew the people who spent time close to her father. He didn’t know how close she was to any of them. But he intended to find out. “Fair enough.”
Zander knew that getting closer to this woman—physically or intellectually—was dangerous. But he didn’t have a choice.
Steeling himself against his mind and body’s tendency to respond to Caroline with things like look at the way the sunlight makes her hair turn a burnished gold—what the fuck did that even mean?—and his body basically just getting hard and hot, Zander dropped into the matching rocking chair to her left.
He didn't quite keep his eyes from scanning up and down the length of her long, bare leg, but he did pull his gaze from the smooth skin to look into her eyes.
Which was no less impactful. Damn, was it the color? He just couldn't figure out what it was about looking this woman in the eye that always made him feel like he'd taken a shot of his grandpa’s moonshine. The heat shot through his chest and burned all the way into his gut and made his head felt fuzzy instantly. No other booze did that fuzzy-head thing so fast. Leo’s moonshine though? Definitely. No other woman did this to him either. But Caroline Holland? She mixed him up. He didn’t like it.
“Did you look into my story about the endangered animals being bought and sold?” she asked.
“I looked into you,” he told her truthfully.
“What did you find?” She actually smirked slightly as she took a draw on the green straw.
She knew he hadn’t found anything. “That you’re Charles Holland’s only daughter. That you were engaged to be married to Brantley Anderson. That there’s an APB out on you because you’re transporting a stolen lion cub through the state of Louisiana with the intent to sell it.”
Her feet dropped from the porch railing and she sat up straight, nearly spilling her tea. “What? I did not steal that cub! And I turned him over to a wildlife sanctuary! Brantley gave me that lion! He was a gift. So he’s mine. And I, of course, don’t want to own him. People should never own big cats! I had him in my possession exactly the amount of time it took me to get from the hotel to your grandma’s bar!”
He waited for her to take a breath. When she finally did, and looked over at him, he said, “So that’s how you ended up with him.”
She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. And glared at him. “You could have just asked.” She sat back in the chair. Then, watching him, she lifted her feet back to the porch railing, letting the red silk slide over her leg and drop to the floor, baring a whole lot of smooth, creamy skin all over again.
Dammit. Zander tore his eyes away. “This was more fun.”
“So there’s no arrest warrant.”
“No.”
“Do you believe me? About how I got the lion?”
He thought about that. “I don’t have a reason not to believe you. Yet.”
She nodded, as if that answer didn’t surprise her. “You think I might be trouble for your town, or the people here.”
He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs and studied her. He wondered how much he should tell her. Then he decided what the hell? There were plenty of guys that he’d said flat out, “Don't fuck with me or my people” to. Caroline might look like a refined, sophisticated woman, but he still wasn't going to let her mess with anybody. Including him.
“You're not going to be trouble for this town or anybody in it,” he told her. “I won’t let you be.”