me?”
“Hello,” Izzy said. “Didn’t you just spend the past hour flirting with him. Are you blind? He’s extremely into you.”
“Well, yeah,” she said. “I could tell, but…” She shook her head, a furrow between her brows. There were definitely some deep thoughts going on inside that head. Her mouth quirked into a rueful smile. “Who knew he’d grow up to look like…that.”
“He’s pretty hot, our Marky,” Izzy agreed. “Although he’s a little short for me. I like my men taller.”
She looked at him.
“Kidding,” Izzy said. “Don’t you ever read body language? I’ve been sending out an
I would sell my sainted grandmother’s soul to the devil just to do you once
message ever since I first laid eyes on you.”
“Really?” she whispered.
And okay. All that eye contact was making the kitchen just a little too warm. She should have been offended. And yet…
She definitely wasn’t.
She was thinking again. Looking at him, and thinking.
Izzy backed out of the room. “I better go check on Charlie.”
The dog bolted.
It must’ve heard Jenk coming, and it just took off.
“Don’t,” Lindsey said, but Jenk was already in motion, diving for the dog, about to scare the poor thing out of his wits—and maybe get bitten for his trouble.
So she did the only thing she could.
She blocked him.
Which meant that instead of grabbing Oz, Jenk hit her like a wrecking ball. She was strong but a lightweight, and she would’ve gone flying into a chain-link fence if he hadn’t grabbed on to her and brought her to the ground with him.
It was the old “six of one, half dozen of another” adage in play, because although Lindsey didn’t wind up with permanent chain-link marks on her forehead, she did find herself between the very hard ground and a very solid man.
“Jesus, I’m sorry,” Jenk said, trying to untangle himself from her and race off after Oz. “What are you doing? I coulda had him.”
Lindsey clutched at him and, ew. His T-shirt was cold and wet. Still, she hung on. “Let him go,” she wheezed, sounding like a dying mob boss.
The wind had been completely knocked out of her, and she struggled to breathe. “Get help,” she managed to gasp.
Her death rattle imitation was evidently even scarier for Jenk than it was for her, because he immediately got onto his phone. He tucked it between his ear and his shoulder. “Lopez! Where are you? I need a medic! Now!”
He was fumbling with her buttons, and he dropped his phone, to give her shirt his full attention. He was trying to loosen it, which was ridiculous, because it was already comfortably loose. But then Lindsey realized he was checking to see if he’d hit her windpipe, or damaged some other vital part of her breathing apparatus.
And as long as she couldn’t speak to correct him, it was fun to pretend that he was unbuttoning her shirt with such urgency for another reason entirely. She might’ve let him keep going if he weren’t so upset.
It took all the energy she should have been using to get air back into her lungs, but she managed a weak, “I’m okay.”
Jenk didn’t believe her. Or maybe he did, but he was just one of those people who had to see things for themselves. He touched her—her throat, her neck, her collarbone—as if he’d had some medical training. Which he surely had, being a SEAL. His hands were warm as he ran them across her, as if he would be able to tell just from touching that she was uninjured. And yet he hesitated, just slightly—which made it very different from a doctor or paramedic’s ultraconfident, impersonal touch.
It felt far more like that of a first-time lover.
Which was not at all helpful in the getting-her-breath-back department. Especially when he touched her neck and throat for the second time.
“God,” he breathed, more of an exhale than an actual word. For a half a second, time froze.
And Lindsey knew that she was doomed. If he kissed her, she was
“Hello,” Izzy said. “Didn’t you just spend the past hour flirting with him. Are you blind? He’s extremely into you.”
“Well, yeah,” she said. “I could tell, but…” She shook her head, a furrow between her brows. There were definitely some deep thoughts going on inside that head. Her mouth quirked into a rueful smile. “Who knew he’d grow up to look like…that.”
“He’s pretty hot, our Marky,” Izzy agreed. “Although he’s a little short for me. I like my men taller.”
She looked at him.
“Kidding,” Izzy said. “Don’t you ever read body language? I’ve been sending out an
I would sell my sainted grandmother’s soul to the devil just to do you once
message ever since I first laid eyes on you.”
“Really?” she whispered.
And okay. All that eye contact was making the kitchen just a little too warm. She should have been offended. And yet…
She definitely wasn’t.
She was thinking again. Looking at him, and thinking.
Izzy backed out of the room. “I better go check on Charlie.”
The dog bolted.
It must’ve heard Jenk coming, and it just took off.
“Don’t,” Lindsey said, but Jenk was already in motion, diving for the dog, about to scare the poor thing out of his wits—and maybe get bitten for his trouble.
So she did the only thing she could.
She blocked him.
Which meant that instead of grabbing Oz, Jenk hit her like a wrecking ball. She was strong but a lightweight, and she would’ve gone flying into a chain-link fence if he hadn’t grabbed on to her and brought her to the ground with him.
It was the old “six of one, half dozen of another” adage in play, because although Lindsey didn’t wind up with permanent chain-link marks on her forehead, she did find herself between the very hard ground and a very solid man.
“Jesus, I’m sorry,” Jenk said, trying to untangle himself from her and race off after Oz. “What are you doing? I coulda had him.”
Lindsey clutched at him and, ew. His T-shirt was cold and wet. Still, she hung on. “Let him go,” she wheezed, sounding like a dying mob boss.
The wind had been completely knocked out of her, and she struggled to breathe. “Get help,” she managed to gasp.
Her death rattle imitation was evidently even scarier for Jenk than it was for her, because he immediately got onto his phone. He tucked it between his ear and his shoulder. “Lopez! Where are you? I need a medic! Now!”
He was fumbling with her buttons, and he dropped his phone, to give her shirt his full attention. He was trying to loosen it, which was ridiculous, because it was already comfortably loose. But then Lindsey realized he was checking to see if he’d hit her windpipe, or damaged some other vital part of her breathing apparatus.
And as long as she couldn’t speak to correct him, it was fun to pretend that he was unbuttoning her shirt with such urgency for another reason entirely. She might’ve let him keep going if he weren’t so upset.
It took all the energy she should have been using to get air back into her lungs, but she managed a weak, “I’m okay.”
Jenk didn’t believe her. Or maybe he did, but he was just one of those people who had to see things for themselves. He touched her—her throat, her neck, her collarbone—as if he’d had some medical training. Which he surely had, being a SEAL. His hands were warm as he ran them across her, as if he would be able to tell just from touching that she was uninjured. And yet he hesitated, just slightly—which made it very different from a doctor or paramedic’s ultraconfident, impersonal touch.
It felt far more like that of a first-time lover.
Which was not at all helpful in the getting-her-breath-back department. Especially when he touched her neck and throat for the second time.
“God,” he breathed, more of an exhale than an actual word. For a half a second, time froze.
And Lindsey knew that she was doomed. If he kissed her, she was
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