Mia Jones pushed down the guilt and brightened her smile at Kincaid. They stood just outside her hotel room. His hand rested above her shoulder, against the door, his scent barely detectable in his shadow, but her mouth still ached to take a bite out of the earthy, musky bouquet. Foolish to even think that when the man had read her every thought at the slightest twitch.

She tilted her head back to hold his steady, smoldering gaze. He managed to not loom over her, and that more than anything made her feel really, really bad. A man who knew his strength, his presence and took care to hold it back…

He was a rare one, and fate had dropped this Scot into her life who had hardcore written all over him. His smile and his charm may have softened his features, but he had hard muscles carved from fantasies and the military.

She couldn’t fathom what he’d seen or done. Mia could only guess at the drop of a hat he could scale a building, or a ship then kill anyone who stood in his way. His brow had a furrow that said he shouldn’t be trifled with. His full, beautiful, lips had easily flattened into two disapproving lines, at least when interacting with his brother.

Despite all that, he only went as far as she allowed him. That if nothing else let her know it wouldn’t hurt to invite him up to her room. No, not with the intent to drag him into her bed, but to look mean and ornery if Hank decided to show his face.

If that’s all you wanted, you could have just asked. She couldn't risk him saying no, and how many big, scary-looking men with kind eyes would fall into her lap? Being a good judge of character, she knew that answer was slim to none. She'd lucked out.

She broadened her smile another inch. The guilt made a home when he gave her a smile in return that reached his hazel eyes. The green glinted, but the flecks of honey brown softened the irises. She’d put her hand on a Bible and swear his gaze twinkled with mischief.

“Lass,” he murmured, bringing his head down so they were eye-to-eye.

Something in her stomach fluttered at the single word. His voice was OMG deep. His accent only made his timbre better. It was...Kincaid was an experience she'd never forget, and one she would consider herself lucky for surviving with her heart intact.

She shifted to put more distance between herself and his touch. “You keep calling me that. Are you humoring my stereotype of Scots?”

“Calling you ‘lass?’ No. That’s a bad habit I picked up being around my brother's friends.” He paused, the smile going lopsided. “Humoring you is coming up to your room and acting like I don’t know why you invited me.”

She could only blink for a second. “What do you mean?”

“You’re attractive, funny, and probably fun without having to put your mind to it. You’re also the epitome of trouble.”

She wasn’t sure if she should be curious or impressed he picked up on her ulterior motives and went with her anyway. “What do you think you know about me?”

“You recently broke up with a man. It wasn’t a clean break. Your stuff is in this hotel room. Having someone who looks like me will keep him in line if he’s in there or if he shows up. How am I doing?”

A real-life Sherlock didn’t exist. “You heard me at the bar. Hell.”

“Aye.”

Mia laughed. “Then why did you come?”

“Because an attractive, funny, mischievous woman needed help and didn’t know how to ask for it.”

Mia never had a soft spot for men with hero complexes, but if he was the mold, then she had been missing out. Then again, a man with a hero complex could get pass her defenses and then what? There she’d be vulnerable again. If Mia didn’t know anything else about her future, she knew she didn’t want that.

“Now...” he said slowly, deeper—GOD. The rumble of his voice curled her toes. “...the question is do you have the guts to ask me for a favor?”

“You’re already here, you can just stand here for fifteen minutes.”

“I could also go back down to the bar. I had my hopes set on getting naked with a bonny lass.”

That idea appealed to her a little too much. “Do you always get this frisky when you’ve had two cups of scotch?”

“Only Yanks say scotch. It's whisky.” His smile dropped. “Ask me.”

Mia huffed, not seeing a way around her situation. “Can you do me a solid and keep watch?”

“I would love to.” His smile was slow and left her a little breathless. “You should get started instead of gawking at me.”

Mia turned to face the door to hide the flush to her cheeks. He’d noticed her mooning at him, and what made it worse was he was so not her type. Hank was exactly the kind of man she…dated? No “date” gave the relationship they had too much credit.

Hank was like her—always on the move and his eyes on the next adventure. For two months he’d been her traveling partner and occasional bedmate. They didn’t have a brain-sizzling spark or epic love between them. They had fun and convenience, the only thing she allowed since her ex took her heart and her faith in humanity. They'd dated for a year. Then she had needed him more than she had ever needed someone. Instead of sitting her down and saying he wasn't ready to deal with things like life or death, he'd ghosted on her.

So sue Mia if she noted, more than once, her Watson was handsome, masculine and downright fuckable less than half a day after her last “relationship”. Then again, she’d fucked Hank for the very reason he wouldn’t upset her world if they parted.

Lusting after Kincaid was a “my eyes were bigger than my stomach” kind of trouble. He’d do this one thing for her and they’d go their separate ways.

That was for the best.

Maybe.

She stalled, facing him again. He hadn't moved back, though he had dropped his arm from the door. He was much too close, too male. She caught a whiff of leather from his gloves and her knees wanted to go liquid. “I just want it understood, you're a guard only. You are doing this favor and expect nothing in exchange.”

One brow arched. “I'm not that kind of man. Is Hank that kind of man?”

“He's...” She shook her head, because what Hank was and wasn’t didn’t matter, not for this question. “I'm a woman at a geek convention.”

“You're safe with me, lass.”

Mia believed that down to her bones, as strange as that was. She'd just met him. “Okay, then.”

She turned around, unlocked the hotel door, and pushed it open. What she saw cemented her feet into the carpet. Behind her, the warmth of her Watson pressed into her back. He cursed softly.

Hank and what looked to be a Peggy Carter—if Mia went by the discarded hat and heels—were nearing second base on the bed.

Mia cleared her throat. “Just here to pick up my stuff. Don’t mind me.”

The woman glared at Hank and pulled away, already buttoning her shirt then sliding from the bed. Things had gone south between Mia and Hank, but she didn’t want to ruin his night.

Mia shook her head. “Just FYI, I'm not his girlfriend or roommate.” She added, “Anymore,” with a cringe.

In retrospect, Mia could see why the woman threw a pillow at Hank. Her ex caught it and turned his pissed-off gaze to her.

“Why did you come back?” he bit out. “I thought after your blow up we were done?”

Peggy grabbed up her stuff and left the room, shoeless. Seeing the clock ticking down to yet another blowup on the horizon, Mia moved to the closet for her luggage. “We are done. I just need my stuff.”

“The stuff I made for you? No.”

“That's fair. I'll be taking my makeup, laptop, purse—more than the clothes I have on my back. And, of course, the cosplay I made before I met you. We don’t even have to talk during this.”

Hank finally glanced past her. His sneer had a knowing tilt that Mia could only be annoyed at. He’d brought someone to grope in their shared room, but now he wanted to puff up his chest at the sight of Kincaid.

“Who is that?” Hank grumbled.

“Kincaid Cameron,” the Scot answered with enough bass in his voice a tingle shot up her spine.

How could she not look at Kincaid after he'd used his voice like a weapon? He had on a don’t-fuck-with-me face. He leaned against the wall by the closet, his arms crossed, and he didn’t give off harmless vibes. Hank, a smart man despite his faults, shrank away. He wasn’t a small man either. Six foot even, two-hundred pounds and mostly muscle—Mia had a physical type—and tattoos decorating his brown skin, Hank was nothing to sneeze at. But it wasn’t hard to imagine Kincaid did dangerous things.

“No need to beat your chest,” Hank said, his voice having lost all the edge to it.

She said, “I’m getting my things and leaving. That’s it.”

For a second Mia was sure Hank would make a scene.. Instead he stomped past her to the bathroom and slammed the door.

Kincaid stared at the door for another second before turning his bland stare to her again. “Seems like a nice guy.”

“They are all, in the beginning.” Mia got to work. Ten minutes is all she really needed. Practice made perfect, and she had plenty of it over the last year.

“Nice guys?”

“Yup.” She stuffed her underwear in the carry on-sized luggage. “They open doors, pull out chairs, never call their mothers or ex-girlfriends bitches or cunts. Then all the things you found endearing when you first...”

Dated wasn’t the right word. She didn’t date. She had travel companions she sometimes slept with. Playing tourist kind of lent itself to seeing and doing things that were date-like. “...met.” She settled on.

The way his furrow deepened let Mia know he’d caught onto her distinction. He asked, “When does that irritation start?”

“Usually day three or four. Doesn’t seem like a lot, but the way I live isn’t normal. It’s all compressed time. You can really get to know a person on a twelve-hour flight.”

A corner of his mouth lifted. “Mile-high club?”

“Actually, no. The bathrooms are small and too funky.”

He smiled fully, and it looked like an invitation to do bad things with him. “Who said anything about a bathroom?”

“The ol’ hand under the cover trick?”

He only laughed in reply. She moved to the closest to box her cosplay so she could mail them home. She wouldn't have time to go back to her apartment, not when most flights stopped going out in a few hours.

Kincaid tilted his head when she threw her seashell bra into the luggage. “So...you travel a lot to conventions?”

It was an innocent enough question, were she anyone else. “Is this the moment I tell you my life story and I how I ended up a vagabond?”

“Condense it.”

She liked him. “For six years after college I worked for a tech company as a coder. I was vitamin D deficient always. Didn’t care for people. Loved computers more and loved the language of coding. Then one day I heard this story on the news about retirees who lived on cruises.”

“Lived on cruises?” His voice went up an octave, the disbelief clear in his tone. “What does that mean?”

“They would pack up all their belongings, stuff them into storage, sell their houses, and literally live on a cruise ship the rest of their lives. Just hopping from one to the next.”

His shoulders tensed then he tucked his hands closer to his body. It was a small tick, one she couldn't ignore because Kincaid had been alert the entire time, but he hadn’t tensed.

“What?” she asked.

“Dropping everything in your life to live on a cruise or an RV doesn’t make any sense.”

Mia hadn't said anything about an RV. It killed her a little to not pry.

“They did the math.” She opened the drawer with all her wigs and stuffed them as best she could next to her panties. Probably a bad idea, but she didn't have time. Night had crept up on her as she flirted with Kincaid in the bar.

“And?” he asked.

“Well, they figured out how much they were paying in a month on their mortgage, food, cars, and insurance, and it was actually more than it cost to take a month-long cruise. Not only was it cheaper on a boat, but they wouldn’t have to cook, clean, and they would have activities to the keep them entertained. They'd meet new people. They’d travel and see new places. Sounded like paradise to them.”

“Huh. Never thought of it that way.”

Mia hesitated then brushed aside the trepidation. “Most people wouldn't, unless they know someone who travels a lot.”

His chuckle was low. “Your poking is not subtle.”

“I was giving you an opportunity to spill your guts.” She waited. One of his brows inched up again. “I can't imagine your brother in an RV. Your parents or grandparents travel a lot?”

“Aye. Parents. Both sets of grandparents passed on when we I was a wee bairn.”

“Your parents travel, and that’s it?”

“My parents traveling will never be as interesting as what makes you wear a seashell bra.”

“Hmmm.” His parents were a sore spot, one she didn’t have nearly enough time to poke at. “I’m going to let you have your secrets.”

“Let me?”

“Huh-huh. Do you really think I couldn’t get you to confess after a few more shots of scotch?”

“Whisky, and no. No amount of torture could make me.”

She believed it. “No one said anything about torture.”

At his low laugh, she grabbed tape from the nightstand to close the box of merch she'd picked up at the convention. Thankfully she hadn't put too much of a hole in her budget...this time. Once done, she glanced around the room, trying to remember the next step.

“Last check,” he said.

“What?”

“You need to do the last check around the room to make sure you didn't forget anything.”

Impressed he'd picked the thought from her scattered brain, she smiled. “You're good at this, Watson.”

“I have my moments. Back to your story. Sounded like paradise.”

“Oh. Right. Ummm...” She went back to the dresser to check all the drawers. “Well, there I was at twenty-eight, and I hadn’t seen more than a handful of states in America. Most of that were family trips to Georgia to see my father’s folks.”

“You sold everything you owned or put it away in storage?”

“No. I worked for another year, saving up every dime I had. Since I didn’t take a year off and travel Europe before college, I’m doing it now.”

“You’re unemployed and travel the world?”

“Self-employed,” Mia emphasized. “I’ve turned my travel lucrative. I do podcasts about traveling, pick up the odd job or four fixing websites and keeping them updated. I have an apartment. Just haven’t seen it in...” She closed her eyes and counted. “Four months. I should have this time, since I live here, but time got away from me like it seems to do.”

He straightened from the wall but kept his arms crossed. “That’s...interesting.”

She laughed at his less than enthused comment. “I’m not trying to sell you on it.”

“No. I meant what I said. It’s interesting. Most people who want to leave everything behind and travel the world usually end up in the military.”

She considered if she should ask the obvious question. What did she have to lose? At the end of this exchange they'd probably never see each other. “Is that why you joined the SBS?”

“No.”

She waited to see if he’d say more but the silence kept right on going. Letting that go too, Mia did one last sweep. The odds were not in her favor. She always forgot something, but at least this time she’d have her cellphone and various IDs.

Not seeing anything, she faced Kincaid. “Last favor?”

“Grab the box?”

“Yes! I can mail it from the lobby and then parting shall be such sweet sorrow.”

Kincaid jerked his chin in the direction of the bathroom. “Any last words to Hank?”

She snapped her fingers. “My conditioner. I always forget something.”

The bathroom door opened without her having to knock. Hank handed her a bag of her lotions, hair stuff and a single eye liner pencil. She thanked him and walked out the door with her luggage in tow. It took Kincaid a few seconds to follow her lead, but he did.

In no time she had everything squared away, her next stop already a focus on her mind. Kincaid loitered beside her, quiet and content to be.

“Well,” she said to him just outside the hotel’s doors. “This is where I leave.”

“Aren’t you going back to the bar for your friend?”

Mia waved her hand. “I’ll text her and let her know I had a white knight to save me. I need to make it to the airport before nine and try to get on a plane destined to Georgia. I tend to make time for the random security screening that happens every single time.”

“Georgia? That seems ordinary.”

“Family check-in. It’s my grandmother’s birthday in a week, her 80th. Everyone’s going to be there. Otherwise, I’d skip right over and head to St. Lucia. The Caribbean,” she added when he frowned. “You?”

“Scotland bound. Glasgow.”

“Never been, but it's been on my list. Is it nice?”

“Depends. Do you like freezing your arse off?”

She chuckled then dug into her purse for a business card. “Depends on the company. Here’s my card if you ever need a website. Or even if you need a traveling companion.”

He took it then laughed. “Lass, you’re a whirlwind.”

Mia worried her lip at the throwaway observation. More than once she’d realized, often too late, people got the wrong idea about her. To some, traveling on a whim meant she was looking for inner peace, a bigger question to life. Or she wanted to live a life without consequences, leaving behind whatever mayhem she’d caused in someone else’s life.

All Mia truly wanted was to see every inch of the earth she lived in, meet interesting people along the way, and when the time came for her to lie in her deathbed, she could die knowing she’d lived.

Yet in this suspended moment between her and Kincaid, she wanted to know what he saw of her. He’d give her the truth. That much she knew of the man in the stolen afternoon and part of the night they’d spent together.

She wanted to see herself through his eyes. Just once. “My being a whirlwind is good or bad thing?”

“I haven’t decided.”

She shrugged, the disappointment a secret to herself, and because his answer was at least fair, Mia offered her hand. “It was nice meeting you, Kincaid Cameron. Misbehave often in my absence.”

He frowned then shook his head. “You are…” He shook his head again. “If you find yourself in Scotland in the next two weeks, drop by the Drunken Barrel in Glasgow.”

“Drop in on Glasgow and freeze my ass off with you?”

“I can think of a few things that could keep you warm.”

So could she. “I—there are only filthy things I can say in reply, and that would ruin my aloof goddess persona.”

“I know.” He smiled, looking pleased. “Until we meet again.”

He took her hand and instead of shaking it, bent his head and placed a kiss on her knuckles. His brother had done the same, and yet she felt the brush of Kincaid’s lips through her very being. The kiss was innocent, short, but it left her breathless. She wanted to curl her hand into his shirt, pull him down to her mouth to see if their lips brushing lit a bigger spark.

The urge was stupid and impulsive, and not like her. Well...at least, not when it came to men. She didn't give her heart or her pussy to men with great smiles, six-packs and foreboding brows on a whim.

All she felt brave enough to do was stand there, wide-eyed, as the tingles continued to buzz over her nerves.

“Godspeed,” Kincaid said.

For a moment he rubbed his thumb where his mouth had touched her, and then he was walking away, not bothering to wait for a goodbye. Mia stood there for a long, long moment, watching him, still trying to catch her breath.