Undercover Refuge. Melinda Di Lorenzo

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      Startled by the sensation, she jerked her head up, which earned her the first full view of the truck driver’s face. He was no less attractive up close, either. And there was something about his appearance that perfectly matched his scent.

      In the somewhat muted light—filtered and cooled by the trees overhead—she could see that his eyes were deep, deep brown. The color of freshly brewed coffee. Alessandra’s favorite indulgence. A steaming cup on a cool morning. They were just as warm and inviting, too. She’d also been right about his age. In spite of the sweep of gray across his temple and the matching smattering of white in his beard, he definitely wasn’t much over thirty, if at all.

      Alessandra’s stare fell to the slash of pink that cut through his thick stubble. His lips. Not excessively full, but somehow appealing. She could easily picture them curling up in a smile. Parting as he laughed at some piece of dry wit. And—in a surprising turn of her mind—she could imagine the feel of them, too. Soft but firm. Warm like his skin under her fingers.

      Embarrassed, Alessandra jerked her eyes away from his mouth. But when her gaze found his eyes again, she saw that the warmth she’d spied before was gone. In its place was careful neutrality.

      A mask, she thought, even though she had no reason to assume a single thing about the stranger’s state of mind. Or maybe a shield.

      But when he spoke, it was with just enough antagonism that she suspected she was right.

      “Why in God’s name didn’t you warn me?” he growled.

      “I did scream,” she reminded him, at last able to drop her hand from his wrist.

      “Yeah. In a way that made me think you’d been attacked. Not in a way that made me think, ‘Hey, I fell into a hole, so be careful.’ Which might’ve been more prudent.”

      “Prudence wasn’t foremost on my mind.”

      “No?”

      “No. I was a little preoccupied with not wanting to get shot.”

      “Is there some reason why someone you’ve never met might want to shoot you?”

      Try as she might, Alessandra couldn’t stop her mind from slipping to the note and to everything that she’d experienced since finding it. And it made the question strike a nerve.

      “Is there a reason why you might pull a gun on someone you’ve never met?” she countered.

      He didn’t react, except to divert the conversation from the question by tipping his face toward the opening above them and muttering, “I need to get out of here.”

      “I think you mean we need to get out of here,” Alessandra corrected, inching back so she could push herself to her feet and look up. “Because it’s definitely going to take two of us.”

      He grunted an acknowledgment, then stood up as well. And even though the opposite should’ve been true, it made the space between them smaller. Or maybe it was just an illusion, created by the fact that now, instead of sitting across from him, she was standing nearly flush against him. They weren’t touching, but she could still feel his strength. He was compact but solid. Probably just barely topping six feet—not that much taller than her own five-foot-nine height. But his body had a palpable denseness. Like every bit of him packed a muscle-bound punch. It was impossible not to be aware of it.

      Alessandra tried anyway. She stared up for a second more, and a solution popped to mind. What she needed was a good old-fashioned boost. Of course, getting one would involve deliberately being in physical contact with the gruff stranger. Being near enough to know just how deep that woodsy scent of his ran, and to confirm that he was as solid as she presumed him to be. But it was still the easiest and most logical answer. So she cleared her throat, preparing to suggest it.

      But when she spoke, something entirely unplanned came out instead. “I feel like I need to tell you something. In the name of transparency. Because it’s my fault you’re down here. And if I don’t say something, then I feel like I’m doing you a disservice.”

      His brown eyes were unreadable when he looked down at her, but he was near enough that she could feel the slight increase in tension in his body.

      “All right,” he said evenly. “Tell me.”

      “It was kind of a lie,” Alessandra replied.

      “What was?”

      “I’ve never met a ginger who minded being called Red.”

      He stared at her. “Why’d you lie about it?”

      She drew in a breath. “I was trying to make a personal connection.”

      “I’m afraid you’re going to have to back it up and explain that.”

      “You know...so you’d have to ask my name. And if you asked my name, then you might feel less inclined to...uh...kill me.”

      “Kill you?”

      “If you happened to be some kind of hired killer.”

      His eyebrows lifted marginally, and she swore his lips twitched with a hint of amusement. “If I was a hired killer, and I was hired to kill you, wouldn’t I already know your name?”

      Alessandra sagged a little. “I didn’t say I thought it through very well.”

      Now one of his eyebrows went even higher, and his response was flat. “Unless I was hired to kill someone else, and you’re a witness. And therefore collateral damage.”

      She stood up straighter, her mouth going dry as her eyes dropped to his weapon once more. Why hadn’t that occurred to her?

       Maybe because everything you think you know about killers is based on questionable late-night crime dramas on TV?

      “Thinking about trying to wrestle it away from me?” he asked in a low voice.

      Her eyes jerked up, and she knew her answer was both too quick and too emphatic. “No!”

      “Good. Because you wouldn’t be successful. And I’d hate to accidentally get shot in the foot.”

      “I wouldn’t...” She trailed off as she caught another twitch of his lips. “You’re just making fun of me, aren’t you?”

      His face stayed straight. “I’m actually more concerned for your safety now than I was when I thought you might’ve been eaten by a bear.”

      “You are mocking me. But I don’t care. It’s more normal to not know how contract killing works.”

      “Hmm.”

      “What?”

      “You have to admit. It’s not really normal at all to assume someone is a contract killer.”

      Alessandra pressed her lips together, forced her mind not to dwell, then sighed and said, “Normal’s relative, isn’t it?”

      “So СКАЧАТЬ