JOSS: A Standalone Romance (Gray Wolf Security) by Glenna Sinclair Page A

her eyes as she nodded.
    “Great.”
    I turned back around, my hand pressed to my forehead as a headache suddenly came on. “McKelty,” I said, “why don’t you head upstairs for your bath.”
    “But we haven’t had dinner yet!”
    “I know. But I need you to go upstairs right now. I’ll bring you a sandwich later.”
    Her lower lip immediately came out, her shoulders slumping as she slammed the ball into the grass and marched up the steps as if she was being sent to death row instead of a clean, warm bath. I watched her go, then turned back to Joss.
    “What does he mean Bazarov is planning a hit on my shipping company?”
    She shook her head. She didn’t know. I don’t know why I expected her to know. I crossed my arms over my chest and studied her, studied the tension in her shoulders and the frown line that had suddenly appeared between her eyes. She was worried. Whether it was the company we were expecting or the news he was bringing, I wasn’t sure. But she was worried and that worried me.
    I took her arm and led the way inside, feeling almost as if I was marching like McKelty had done. There was another closed-circuit television behind the bar. I walked over and lifted the roll away door that kept it hidden most of the time, watching as an older model Corvette pulled up to the gate.
    “I would guess that’s your friend.”
    Joss was out of the room before the words were fully out of my mouth. I followed after pushing the button that would open the gate. She had the door open and was about to step out when I grabbed her arm and pulled her back inside.
    “Tell me there’s nothing going on between the two of you.”
    She rose up on her tiptoes and kissed me on the corner of my mouth before shaking her head. She punctuated it with a movement of her hands, waving them outwards in a cutting gesture.
    “Nothing?”
    She made the movement again. Nothing .
    I cupped her jaw and lifted her mouth to mine, kissing her with more passion than her gentle kiss had offered. She responded warmly, moving into my body without a shred of doubt. It was that kiss more than her gestures that finally convinced me.
    I stepped back just as we heard his car slide to a stop in the driveway.
    Joss rushed out ahead of me, greeting our guest as he came around the front of the car.
    “Hey, je t’aime,” he said, a slight accent slipping with the French endearment. “How are you?”
    She nodded, a big smile on her face. He slid his arm around her shoulders and looked up at me, his eyes narrowing slightly as they approached.
    “Mr. Matthews,” he said, quite formally and without the charm he’d offered Joss.
    “I’m afraid I didn’t quite get your name the last time we met.”
    “Kirkland Parish.”
    “Parish. French?”
    “Yes.”
    He didn’t offer more, and I didn’t ask. I simply stepped out of the way and gestured for the two of them to come into my home. I walked behind them, watching as Kirkland whispered something in Joss’ ear. She didn’t seem to mind or object to whatever it was he was saying. And that annoyed the crap out of me. I wanted to separate them and shove my fist against his nose, but—of course—I didn’t do that.
    These people were here to help. I had to keep reminding myself of that fact.
    Joss gestured for Kirkland to speak once we were in the living room. She had moved away from his touch, and he didn’t seem to appreciate it, though he made no attempt to touch her again. She sat on the edge of the couch cushion, and he took a perch on the arm of a club chair. I stood just inside the archway, watching with my arms crossed over my chest as I leaned against the wall.
    “Ash spoke to Emily,” he said, glancing at me. “Emily Warren is our Los Angeles Police Department liaison.”
    I just nodded.
    “Emily overheard chatter that the cartel is going to hit Mr. Wonderful’s”—he was talking solely to Joss now—“shipping crates at the Port of Los Angeles sometime in the next few days.