Her smile spreads so fast it makes my heart soar. “Yeah?”

  “I do. I want us to try this,” I say as Hudson drops the ball at our feet. “Out in public. For real. You and me. However we can make it work. Do you?”

  She answers by stepping closer, cupping my cheek, quirking up the corner of her lips. “I suppose you’re my type.”

  Of course. Of course she’d respond like that. So I give it right back to her. “I knew it.”

  She loops her arms around my neck. “Can rule number five be you kiss me right now?”

  “Yes.”

  I comply, and for once in my life I don’t mind feeling a little out of control. When we break the kiss, I pick up the ball and toss it back into the maze for Hudson to chase.

  40

  TEMPTING AND DISTRACTING

  RIPLEY

  The next night, I go to Bridget’s house to get ready. Haven’s with Tabitha and the publicist doing an interview, and since my house is packed with the crew, I head to my friend’s place a couple miles away.

  Bridget’s bungalow has a bright-red door, matching her usual red lipstick. As I knock, Banks gestures to an Adirondack chair on the deck.

  “I’ll wait here.” He’s carrying his tablet with a couple of sheets of paper sticking out of the case.

  “You can come inside,” I say as Bridget swings open the door.

  “Nah. I like it here,” he says.

  “You’re not a dog,” Bridget says to him.

  “Hey, I’d never leave my dog on the porch,” I protest.

  “That’s true. You let Hudson sleep in the bed,” Banks deadpans as he takes the seat.

  “Where else would a dog sleep?” Chloe calls from inside.

  “Fair point.”

  I follow my friends inside, and the second the door snicks shut, Chloe grabs my wrist. “So is this like a date for you and him?”

  I scoff. “It’s a girls’ night out. He’s just my bodyguard for the evening.”

  But not for much longer.

  Bridget snorts, flicking her chestnut waves. “You can drop the act with us. We know he’s not just anything.”

  My insides swirl with a giddiness I may never get over. I don’t ever want to. “As a matter of fact, we’re going to see each other when the job ends.”

  Chloe holds out a hand toward Bridget, rubbing her thumb against two fingers, the sign for pay up.

  Bridget does the same to her. “You pay up.”

  “No, you,” Chloe insists.

  “You bet on this?” I ask.

  “Yes. But we both bet you would get together with him, so we had to bet when you’d tell us. I predicted now,” Bridget says.

  “I picked tonight,” Chloe says with a frown.

  “Wow. Glad I’m so predictable,” I say as we head to Bridget’s bedroom. “But I do need to tell Haven.” I haven’t yet. She’s been busy every day with the shoot and the publicity.

  I guess I also haven’t said anything because I feel the need to protect Banks. What if Haven accidentally lets it slip in front of Wanda or the other security team members? I don’t want to get my guy in trouble. Telling Chloe and Bridget is different. They don’t work with Banks’s co-workers or employees.

  There’s time. There will definitely be time.

  I focus instead on getting ready, sliding into a pair of jeans and a strappy tank that reveals a hint of my stomach.

  Chloe declares it perfect as she wiggles into a purple dress. “What do you think?”

  “It’s perfection too.”

  Bridget pulls on a pair of vegan leather shorts with a sexy black top and cute little boots.

  As we put the finishing touches on our makeup, huddling close together in front of Bridget’s vintage art deco mirror, I turn to Chloe. “So, how’s everything going with the dog training?”

  “I started with the Simmons’ Chihuahua, and you know how spicy those dogs are.”

  “Spicy dogs need trainers,” I say.

  “That’s why I love spicy dogs,” Chloe says.

  “And how’s everything at the inn?” I ask Bridget as I slick on lip gloss.

  “Overbooked,” she says, cool and unfazed. “But I can handle it. Hey, you should turn Lavender Bliss Farms into an inn too.”

  That sounds truly overwhelming. “I’m just happy business is picking up.”

  When we’re all ready a little later, we take off, with Bridget and Chloe sliding into a Lyft, and me joining Banks in the truck, since there’s only room for two.

  After he shuts my door, he heads to the driver’s side, then eyes me up and down as he clicks on his seat belt. “Gonna be really hard not to have my hands all over you tonight, sweetheart.”

  “Then consider it a test of your control,” I tease.

  “It will test all of it,” he says. He sets down his tablet and hands me a folded piece of paper. “For your collection.”

  I stare at the paper butterfly, and my heart saunters around like a show-off. “Thank you.”

  “I knew you liked me,” he says with an easy shrug.

  “Oh, shut up and drive,” I say.

  He smiles the whole way, and it feels good, like this is the start of the next phase of our unexpected romance. When we arrive outside Prohibition Spirit, he pulls into the lot next to it, cuts the engine, and then peers into the rearview window behind us. Satisfied, he returns his focus to me, staring with hungry eyes. He groans, shaking his head. “You are too tempting.”

  I like being tempting to him. So much. “Better work on that resistance.”

  “I do, every second I’m with you,” he says.

  He comes around to the passenger door and swings it open, offering me a hand. I take it. This is something he’s done before. It’s a normal bodyguard gesture, to offer a hand, but he doesn’t let go right away.

  Not when I step down. Not when I look at him. Not at all. He holds my gaze, pinning me with his dark stare, clasping my hand tight—a man whose restraint is fraying razor thin. “Soon, sweetheart. I am going to finish this thought in public so damn soon.”

  “I guess I’ll have to be patient.”

  “You’re very, very good at it,” he says, looking like it’s the hardest thing in the world to resist me.

  Faintly, I register someone walking past us toward the bar entrance. A group of people. Banks blinks, dropping my hand instantly as he turns their way, then looks back, frowning.

  “What’s wrong? Do you know them?” I ask, worried.

  He squints. “Nothing.” Then he shakes it off. “I can’t get distracted, Ripley. You never know. You just never know.”

  This man is still so hard on himself. “You didn’t get distracted though.”

  He blows out a heavy breath. “I’d better not.”

  He doesn’t sound like he’s forgiven himself, but I’m not sure there was a transgression.

  We head inside, and seconds later, Haven arrives with Wanda. Before we know it, we’re swept up into the hum and buzz of Prohibition Spirit, busier than usual and full of locals we know and tourists we don’t. The scales are tipped toward the latter.

  Things are changing here, especially since usually this place is a low-key whiskey bar, but tonight Esmeralda has turned up the volume, and she’s playing upbeat pop tunes.

  We order champagne and toast to Haven and Darling Springs, then Lavender Bliss and me, then to Chloe and spicy dogs, and to Bridget and putting out fires. At one point, Banks chats with Esmeralda at the bar, a serious conversation. Soon, we’re all tipsy, and when a new Amelia Stone song blasts throughout the bar, with Banks and Wanda watching us, we head to a corner and dance.

  We all crowd together, singing out loud and moving to the music, and when the chorus hits, my gaze drifts away from my friends once again to a familiar face at the bar.

  But it’s not the familiar face I expect.

  It’s my ex.

  And Eric Patrick is taking our picture.

  41

  JUST A BOUNCER

  BANKS

  It’s a true shame I can’t rip that guy’s phone from his hand. Smash it in two. Toss him the fuck out.

  I don’t know who he is. But one of the golden rules of close protection is not to let things escalate. My job is to ward off trouble before it can become a bigger problem.

  It’s one thing to keep a low profile as a random dude takes pictures of an actress and her friends dancing at a bar. But when Ripley stops dancing, tensing everywhere as she spots the guy, it’s another thing entirely.

  That’s my cue.

  The moment her smile vanishes, I push away from the wall, stride over to her, and whisper in her ear, “You okay?”

  She turns her face toward me, tucking it close to mine. “That’s my ex.”

  Oh, hell no.

  My fists clench, and my shoulders tighten. As the song plays on, I weave past the group of women, heading to the shithead at the bar. He’s dressed in a white T-shirt and jeans, sporting too-messy-to-be-bothered sandy-brown hair, looking like he’s trying to channel Jeremy Allen White chef energy from The Bear.

  I get too close to him, nodding at his phone. “Maybe put that down,” I tell him.

  He barely lowers the device and doesn’t look my way at all. He just leans harder against the wood counter, like he’s the epitome of cool. “Pretty sure it’s not a crime to take pictures.”

  “Pretty sure it’s rude,” I counter.

  “It’s a public place. And who put you in charge?” he shoots back.

  “I did,” I say, cold and unflinching.

  He scoffs, shaking his head. “Okay, bouncer.”

  Seriously? Even if I were the bouncer, this is how he talks to someone who could toss him out the door from here?

  He doesn’t seem to care though. Still holding up his phone, he walks away from me and right toward Ripley and her friends, who have stopped dancing. “Hey, you,” he says to her, pasting on an entirely different personality.

  What is wrong with this asshole?

  She peels away from her friends, moving closer to me as she folds her arms across her chest and answers him. “What do you want?”

  He gives her a friendly almost-nudge that makes me want to throttle him. “So good to see you. Love that you’re out having fun in this sweet town. I took some pics of you and your crew. You don’t mind, do you?” he asks in the schmooziest voice I’ve ever heard. “This clown seems to think you’d mind.” He hooks his thumb toward me.

  Oh, fuck him. I bump up next to him, letting my shoulder knock into him. I tower over him by a good six inches. I easily have sixty pounds on the guy, a chest much broader, arms much stronger, and legs much thicker. And, most importantly, I’m not fucking afraid of him.

  Ripley flashes a huge smile I know is fake as she says to her ex, while pointing at me, “Oh, you mean my bodyguard?”

  All at once, Eric Patrick stands at attention, his eyes flickering my way now with real worry in them. “Wait. You’re not⁠—”

  “Some random jackass who didn’t want you to take pics at a bar?”

  He backs away from me. I move closer. “B-b-but I didn’t know you were with her.” He gulps, then his expression shifts to a sunny smile. “And wouldn’t you know it—you guys are just the people I need to talk to. These pics of Ripley and her friends would be the perfect press for the space. If I can get it.”

  Are you kidding me? One, he’s not getting the space, and I know it for a fact. Two, what a fucking phony.

  Ripley’s brow furrows. “You took pictures of us for press? For the restaurant you don’t even have yet?”

  Eric Patrick waves toward Haven in the corner. “Your sister’s a star, and you’re a Darling Springs institution,” he says, desperately trying to defend himself. “It’d be such a help. The space I want is right next door. I can say you were here. It’d be such great pre-buzz on social. You’re going to talk to Esmeralda for me, right, Ripley? She’s got some others looking at the space, and you putting in a good word would smooth it over.”

  I want to kill him. Pretty sure my woman does too.

  She parks her hands on her hips. “No.”

  “C’mon,” he wheedles. “You were always so helpful. You help everyone. Help a guy out. You like my cooking.” His voice rises with hope at the end.

  Enough of him. “She said no,” I bite out.

  He shrugs like an oily salesman. “Yeah, but you know how women are.” His tone is all, c’mon buddy, old pal.

  I burn. “I know she said no. That means she doesn’t want you to use the pictures, and she doesn’t want to help you.”

  “You could let her tell me that,” he says, clinging to the edge of a sinking life raft.

  “I did say that,” Ripley says, exasperated. “You never listened, and I’m not helping you.”

  “But that’s your thing, Ripley. You help people. You helped that woman change a tire on the side of the road after dinner once. You helped that dog that got out of its yard get back to its home. You brought a coffee from Pick Me Up to the guy who runs The Slippery Dingle.”

  “The Slippery Dipper, you asshole,” she hisses. “You never cared about me or Darling Springs until you thought you could make money off us. So no, I’m not helping you. And you can’t use my pictures on your social media.”

  He clutches the phone to his chest.

  Like that’s gonna stop me.

  I reach across him and grab it easily. It’s like taking candy from a baby.

  “What? You can’t take my phone,” he says, flailing to reach his phone.

  “I can and I did.”

  He tries to grab it, but I press a firm hand to his chest, then delete his camera roll with my other.

  Then, I see red.

  The dude has been live-streaming this on social media too. With the volume down, but I’m sure that’s only because he’s been talking shit. He probably wants to add music later and show the women dancing or something. “Seriously? Grow the fuck up,” I say, then tap on the live stream, ending it. While it’s processing, I go to the profile picture, then hit archive. Next, I find the live archive and click on the broadcast, deleting it for good. Finally, I return to the camera roll to kill the backup.

  “Here you go,” I say. He takes the phone with a smug smile that I want to wipe off his face. “When someone says no, fucking listen. Like now. Get the hell out of this bar and this town. No one here wants your business.”

  “You don’t know that,” he says, not getting the point. “I’m going to talk to Esmeralda.”

  What he doesn’t know is that I already did. Earlier tonight. And I know she’s turning him down. We had a nice chat, and she’s already lined up someone else.

  Still, I’ll let her speak for herself—the curly-haired bar owner with the silver stud in her nose is striding my way. “Feel free to toss him out, Banks.”

  “With so much pleasure,” I say. I clamp my hand on to Eric Patrick’s shoulder, hard enough to hurt, strong enough to make a statement.

  And I escort his sorry ass to the door, then push him out of the establishment, where he stumbles down to one knee. Turns out I used a little bit of force. Oh well. “What do you know? I guess I am a bouncer too.”

  I dust one palm against the other, then let out a deep, satisfied breath as he scurries away.

  42

  SURPRISE GUEST

  BANKS

  Ripley is on me the instant the cottage door opens, and I could not be happier. Or more turned on.

  She grabs my face, her hands roaming possessively over my beard, her breasts pressing to my chest. Her lips devour mine with an after-midnight kind of ferocity.

  This is what I want—this kind of connection. This strength in desire—hers matching mine. It’s a goddamn gift when you both want each other the same way. And oh hell, do we ever. I’m pent-up and have been all night. She’s hungry and determined, her hands traveling down my chest, over my stomach, around to my ass.

  “Need you right fucking now,” I mutter as I kick the door closed to give us some privacy. I break the kiss, but not for long. I haul her up over my shoulder, carry her to the bed, and toss her onto the mattress. Wasting no time, she kicks off her shoes. I toe off mine, then crawl up her, settling between her legs. Right where I want to be—with hardly any distance between us.

  She murmurs approvingly. “You were hot back there.”

  “That turned you on?” I ask, though I fucking know the answer.

  Knew it the second we left Prohibition Spirit. She practically pounced on me in the truck. Ran her hands down my arm as I backed up. Murmured dirty wishes as I drove. Fast.

  “It did. Can you kick guys out of bars every night?”

  “That’s what it takes to turn you on now?”

  She raises her hips, then wraps her legs around my waist, nice and tight. “No. It just got me going,” she says, playing with my hair with eager fingers. “Fuck me now. Please.”

  My brain fries. It overloads with lust and need and something more. Something intense. A deep and fervent need to make this woman happy in every goddamn way.

  I strip her to nothing in seconds, then toss my clothes to the floor, too, turning my phone to Do Not Disturb and setting it on the nightstand. Don’t need a single thing to take my focus away from my woman.

  I reach for a condom, but she curls a hand around my shoulder. “I’m on birth control, and I’ve been tested. Negative.”

  A hot bolt of pleasure shoots down my spine. “Same.” I draw a staggering breath, knowing the answer, but asking anyway. “You want to feel me bare, sweetheart?”

  She shudders beautifully everywhere, her nipples hard, her skin flushed.

  Yes, fucking yes. That’s why I asked. To witness the rush of pleasure in her body.

  “I do, Banks. Please.”

  “Spread your legs nice and wide,” I tell her.

  She pushes back on her elbows, lets go of my waist, then parts those beautiful thighs. That done, she looks up at me with big blue eyes full of passion and vulnerability.