Reaper's Fire
Page 3

“I’m sorry,” I told her, which was a damned lie. “And no, I don’t want a counselor. Not right now, at least.”
“That was her husband,” Margarita said. “He couldn’t be bothered to leave work earlier when she was losing the baby.”
The nurse’s eyes widened, and she glanced back toward Brandon.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously,” Margarita confirmed, her face fierce. The nurse shook her head and looked at me again.
“Well, whatever he did, we can’t have people fighting in the rooms,” she said. “Is this going to be a problem?”
I shook my head. “No, no more problems.”
The nurse nodded, then gave me another sharp look.
“So you’re done with him? For real?”
I didn’t have to think twice before answering.
“Yeah, I’m definitely done with him.”
“Good for you, sweetie. You deserve better.”
Damn straight I do. A lot better.
 
 
CHAPTER ONE
 

EIGHTEEN MONTHS LATER HALLIES FALLS, WASHINGTON STATE
GAGE
Handyman needed for family-owned building—free rent in exchange for work. Call Tinker Garrett or inquire inside Tinker’s Teahouse, Antiques & Fine Chocolates for more information.
I ripped off one of the little paper tabs with a phone number on it, glancing in the shop window. No signs of life, but the sign said “Open.”
Pulling a worn bandanna out of my back pocket, I wiped my forehead, cursing the fucking heat. Hottest summer on record, and Hallies Falls was even worse than back home in Coeur d’Alene. Couldn’t even sleep at night because the piece of shit AC couldn’t keep up in my craptastic hotel room. Glancing at the sign again¸ I figured I might as well go for the job. It’d get me out of the damned hotel and provide good cover at the same time. Anything was a step up at this point.
A string of bells jingled as I opened the shop door. Very old-school, which I guess made sense because the whole shop was like stepping through a time warp to the eighteen hundreds. There were fancy little shelves holding fancy little teacups. Each of the windows held a fully set table with cloth napkins, shiny silver, and a hundred more tiny, breakable things that would probably shatter if I looked at them too hard. The battered wooden floor had been scattered with old-fashioned floor rugs to create separate display areas, along with strategically placed side tables and even a couple of old dressers. It was clever, although how the hell it made enough money to keep the doors open was beyond me—couldn’t be much market for specialty tea shit in a town like Hallies Falls.
Across the back of the shop was a glassed-in case full of chocolates, along with an old-fashioned cash register straight out of Little House on the Prairie. I walked over to it.
“Anyone here?” I asked, frowning. There was a door behind the counter that opened into what looked like a small kitchen in the back. I heard a strange, shuffling sound and reached for my gun automatically, then jerked my hand away. Fuck. I’d been jumpy as hell ever since I pulled into this stupid town. Those instincts might keep me alive, but they’d also sink me if I gave away too much.
“Be with you in a sec,” said a sexy, drawling voice from behind the counter. A voice that oozed smoke and heat and warm darkness, putting my cock on high alert. “I was just checking the temperature in the candy case.”
Long, slender fingers tipped with bright red polish reached up to grip the countertop for support as the hottest, most fuckable woman I’d ever met in my life stood up and smiled at me. Yeah, this had been a bad idea. I’d seen Tinker Garrett in the distance once already—my club brother, Painter, and I had checked her while she was unloading the trunk of a sweet, cherry-red Mustang convertible a couple days earlier. I’d known then she was exactly my type, but now that I’d looked at her up close? Fuckin’ hell . . . I’d managed a goddamned strip club for two years, but this bitch put all those girls to shame and she hadn’t even taken off her clothes yet. An image of her naked and sprawled across one of those prissy little tables filled my mind. I had to hold back a shudder.
Walk out—this isn’t going to end well.
“Hi, I’m Tinker,” she said, reaching up to wipe the sweat off her forehead. That set her tits in motion, and for an instant I blanked out entirely, wondering if her nipples were pink or brown. Pink, I decided. Her skin was super pale and white, like creamy . . . Fuck, I didn’t know. Like something creamy and lickable.
She had black hair with bangs, and she wore this tight little top that somehow managed to look prim and seductive at the same time. Didn’t hurt that her boobs were absolutely perfect. High and pointed and big enough to overflow in my hands while I held them.
Throw in a pair of puffy red lips designed to suck cock and wide, green eyes with thick black lashes?
Yeah, I’d hit that. Early and often.
“Can I help you?” she asked, and I reached across the counter, wiping away a small smudge of dirt on her cheek. She flinched, and I caught hold of myself. Great, scare the shit out of her, why don’t you?
“Sorry,” I said. “You’ve got dirt on your face.”
She gave a bright laugh. “I’ve probably got dirt all over. It’s one of those grubby, sticky kind of days, you know?”
Sticky? In her mouth it was a dirty word, and I wanted to make her stickier. My eyes crawled across her body, watching as a bead of sweat rolled down her neck and into her cleavage. I licked my lips. Tinker cleared her throat, gently reminding me that we were in the middle of a conversation.
“You don’t exactly look like one of my regular customers, so I’m assuming you’re here about the job?” she asked, smiling at me. By then I’d half forgotten why I’d walked into the store—she was that fuckable. Tiny and pretty, but still round in all the right places. Despite the mess, she radiated class—I wanted to drag her down into the dark with me.
Swallowing, I managed not to reach down and give my dick the adjusting it seriously needed, which took real willpower.
“Yeah, according to the sign, you’ve got an apartment available in exchange for work. Still open?”
“Yes,” she said, and I swear her eyes dimmed a little. “But I need to get these chocolates into the basement before they melt. The AC wasn’t working when I came in this morning. The temperature’s rising”—not the only thing—“and I can’t afford to lose product. Can you come back in an hour or so?”