She gave him a little, almost wobbly, smile. “You said gorgeous.”
He shook his head. “That's a newsflash, that you’re gorgeous?”
“It's news that you think so.”
“Bullshit,” he said, his voice gruffer than he'd intended.
“You changed your clothes too,” she commented, her eyes moving over him.
He'd gone home and changed into a pair of jeans and a simple black t-shirt. He still had boots on his feet, but he always had boots on his feet. Boots were prepared-for-anything footwear. He was always prepared-for-anything. But these weren’t his cop boots, these were his general kicking-around boots. Just like the gun he now carried was his personal firearm.
He nodded. “I'm technically off the clock.”
“But you're still over here checking on me? I'm not something that could wait until eight o'clock tomorrow morning?”
Again, he thought about how to answer that. He felt like being too transparent with all the things that were swirling through him since this woman had come to town would be dangerous for some reason. But he ended up nodding. “Yeah. You seem like you're a twenty-four-seven kind of issue.”
Her brow wrinkled between her eyebrows. “I don't really want to be an issue. But I guess that's one way to put it. I definitely need help and I don't know where else to go. I also don't really have the resources to go anywhere else. You saw me turn the lion over to the local wildlife expert so it seems like you are the most involved law enforcement officer.”
“I am. And I'm going to coordinate this. You don't have to worry.”
The smile she gave him was bright and beautiful, but it was the relief in it that really grabbed him in the chest.
Fuck. If she was playing him somehow, she was good.
She’d clearly convinced Brantley Anderson that she wanted to marry him. She’d convinced Zander that she was bold, lost and alone, and the sexiest woman he’d ever met as well.
But he had the craziest impression that she was, actually, all of the things she’d shown him today.
“Maybe you should put on some of the clothes I brought you,” he said, his eyes again drifting to her legs.
He was a professional. He was also grumpy, stoic about his emotions, and absolutely determined not to get sucked into any kind of heart-eyes-warm-fuzzy-feelings for her. But covering up as much of her skin as possible wasn't a bad idea.
“You brought me something?”
“Yep. And I think they’ll be the perfect fit.”
Dammit. Why had he said that? Why did his tone sound flirtatious? Why could he feel the corner of his mouth tipping up in a cocky smirk?
She returned his little teasing smile that was full of flashback to the bedroom where she’d stripped so he could, literally, size her up.
His cock reacted.
Worse, his chest got a little warmer and tighter too.
Fuck.
“Let’s find out.” She held out a hand.
He reached for the cloth tote of clothes. Charlotte “Charlie” Landry was his cousin and the closest in body type to Caroline. Charlie was shorter and a touch curvier, but Caroline was taller than all of the girls and had fuller breasts and hips than petite Jill and slim-built Jordan. Paige was probably a close second. She had great curves too, but was also shorter than Caroline’s five-seven or five-eight. He could have checked with Tori, Maddie, Juliet, or Kennedy too, but he’d known within a few seconds of seeing Caroline that Charlie was the best fit.
Yes, he was good at this. What could he say?
Though he’d kind of wished Jordan had been the best match, because the food at Jordan and Fletcher’s place was the best to “borrow” as well. Still, the sandwich he’d pilfered from Charlie and Griffin’s had been really good.
Caroline took the bag of clothes and something that looked a lot like mischief danced through her eyes.
Zander felt the resultant kick in his chest and tightening below his belt.
He didn't welcome mischief in his life. He wanted a lot less of it. At least in his head. But he did react to it.
He had caused and enjoyed plenty of mischief before he'd become a law enforcement officer, and the only reason he'd been called into this line of work was because his protective streak happened to be larger than his troublemaking streak.
He also believed that people who liked to cause trouble and were good at it were very good at recognizing other people who were the same.
And Caroline Holland was a troublemaker.
It just remained to be seen if it was good trouble or bad.
She dropped her heels from the porch railing and leaned over to set her drink on the porch floor, which caused one of the straps of her dress to slip off her shoulder.
Zander actually had to tighten his fist to keep from reaching over and sliding that strap back up. Slowly. While running his roughened fingertip over what was sure to be silky, smooth, pampered skin.
She looked up at him, then rose to her feet, unfolding gracefully like a cat.
She turned, presenting her back to him, and lifted her long hair with one hand. “Would you unzip me?”
Would he? Fuck yes.
Fuck no. Keep your damned hands to yourself.
“You get into that dress yourself?” he asked, cursing the rough note in his voice.
She looked over her shoulder. “I did. But I’ve only got one hand now.” She wiggled the tote bag.
“Caroline,” Zander said.
“Yeah?”
“You’re pushing me again.”
She grinned. “Just teasing.”
“Testing.”
She regarded him for a long moment. Then she dropped her hair and turned to face him, her smile gone. “Yeah.”
“Why?”
“It’s…instinct. It’s what I do with men. Well, probably all people, but especially men.”
“You flirt and tease them?”
“I try all kinds of things. You called me on it before,” she said. “I try to figure out what will work best.”
“To wrap them around your finger.”
She seemed to think about his words for a long moment. “To get them to let me as close as possible. Sometimes the flirting is best, yes. But sometimes it’s playing the damsel in distress. Sometimes it’s playing the dumb blonde. Sometimes it’s just trying to blend into the woodwork.”
“Why?”
“So they say and do things around me that I can use against them.”
He hadn’t expected that, honestly. “You’re trying to find things to use against me?”
She shook her head. “No. Like I said, it’s instinct. I try different things to try to get a read on people when I first get to know them.”
He gave her a long, steady look. Then said firmly, “Stop it.”
She pressed her lips together, but nodded.
“I want to know that the things you say and do with me are honest. Or I won’t be able to help you.” He added that last sentence for himself as much as for her. He really just wanted to know that what she said and did, how she acted and reacted, were all genuine because he wanted to know her. He wanted to read her too. He wanted to be close to her and know that he affected her as much as she did him.
And that was dangerous as hell.
He needed to concentrate on the helping her part.