A heavenly scent teased Gray awake from his very vivid dreams on the uncomfortable sofa. Reluctantly, he let them go, but groaned when a sharp pain shot up the back of his thigh. He opened one eye to near darkness and looked around, feeling disoriented. 

His eye landed on a window across the room, where sheets of rain sluiced down the pane and he remembered where he was and why.  He was at Logan’s beach house in Galveston, taking a forced vacation to try and solve Michaela Girabaldi’s problems. 

He shouldn’t be wanting to help her at all after last night.  Maybe she could ask Hawkins to help her, since he seemed so interested.

That Gray had to sleep on this sofa was her fault—well, her and Hawkins.  If he hadn’t been pissed off at their flirting, he would have remembered his soaked leather shoes wouldn’t mix well with the wet tile.  He wouldn’t have a pulled hamstring and had a crick in his neck this morning, because he could’ve gone upstairs to sleep in a real bed, like they did.  Every ache and pain he suffered from this morning, including the hard-on under the blanket that covered him was her damned fault. 

Fuck, who had erotic dreams about a woman he’d just met?  Evidently he did.

With a groan, Gray buried his face in the pillow and released a bone-weary sigh.  After a second, he twisted to get up, his foot slipped and red hot pain sliced up the back of his thigh. Gray froze, took three quick, sharp breaths, then pushed through the pain to stand. 

The blanket fell away and he looked down, surprised to see he was naked, but then he remembered why, when something cold and wet touched the side of his foot.  Last night when Hawk helped him to the sofa, his clothes were soaking wet and his suitcase was in the back of Gordie’s truck.  Now, the cheap sweatpants and t-shirt were probably mildewed too.  His five-hundred-dollar shoes were also probably ruined.

Jerking the throw cover from the sofa, Gray tied it around his waist.  Like invisible fingers beckoning, the scent in the kitchen drew him that way.  Once he reached the breakfast bar, though, he forgot all about the gnawing hunger in his stomach.  What tantalized him then was the sight of Michaela Girabaldi’s perfect, yoga-pants encased ass, which was on prime display as she bent over, fiddling with something in the oven.  That ass had starred in his dreams.

When she suddenly spun holding a cookie sheet, his eyes were still locked there.  Heat scorched his face as he dragged his eyes up to her frown.  With a twang that sliced through the cotton in his skull, she slammed the cookie sheet down on the counter to pull off the checked oven mitts and point at him. 

In the flickering light from the candles that lined the counter, she looked like a smaller and much more appealing version of Rachel Ray, wearing the white apron which almost reached her ankles.  Gray’s eyes dropped to her chest where Kiss the Cook was stretched across her full breasts, and at that moment he wanted to do just that. 

“What are you doing up?” she demanded, fisting one hand on her hip, looking like a midget general, which upped the sexy and adorable factor tenfold. The problem he was hiding beneath the blanket became much worse because he noticed.

“I woke up,” Gray replied, leaning his elbows on the bar, reaching one hand back to massage the tightness in his neck.  His eyes darted to the cookie sheet to examine the neat rows of perfectly-browned little pastries and his stomach didn’t rumble, it roared. 

“Well, go lie back down.  You look like hell,” she said.  She looked better than those little pastries. Good enough to eat, he thought, and another part of his anatomy roared to life. 

God, you’d think he was a sex fiend, when he hadn’t been laid in five years.

Maybe that was his problem.

“What are you cooking?” he asked, his eyes tracking to the sauce pan on the back burner. 

He’d fallen asleep as soon as his head hit the sofa pillow last night, so he missed out on whatever she’d cooked for Hawkins.  Or whatever she’d done with Hawkins.  That thought took the wind out of his sails fast.  Not your business.

“Frittatas and cornettis for breakfast,” she replied, her stubborn chin lifting a little, which made it clear to him she was still mad at him from last night.  He was still mad at him too.

“Have you been up all night?” he asked, enjoying the view again when she turned to open a cabinet and pull down three glasses from the lower shelf.

He’d been up half the night with her—or dreaming about her.  If he had her, he would probably become an insomniac.

Stop it!  Gray took a deep breath and dragged his eyes away from her ass.

While Hawkins helped him undress and wrap an ace bandage around his thigh last night, Gray realized exactly why he was so agitated with the pilot.  He was jealous―a useless, misplaced, emotion he refused to indulge. 

He had no claims on Michaela Girabaldi.  She was a Deep Six employee, nothing more, which made her off-limits to him. 

Gray was simply a means to help keep her an employee, because Lou Ellen seemed determined to have her.  If she wanted to flirt with Hawkins and him with her, there wasn’t a damned thing Gray could or would do about it.  Last night he’d just been beyond exhausted and that explained his uncharacteristic reaction.

“I’ve been up since six a.m. cooking breakfast.  I was afraid the lights would go out and I wouldn’t be able to use the oven.” She turned to lean against the counter and cross her arms over her chest.  “They went out ten minutes ago, so I’m glad I did.”

“What time is it?” Gray asked, glancing at the stopped clock on the wall beside the cabinets.

“It’s nearly ten,” she replied, turning back toward the stove.  “Go sit down at the table and I’ll fix you a plate.”  Mickie turned toward the cabinets, but Gray didn’t move. 

“So what, exactly, are cornettis and fritattas?” he asked, leaning his elbows on the counter to rest and watch her.  Sitting right now definitely didn’t appeal, he thought, flinching as his hamstring began to spasm.  He wished he had a pain pill of some kind, but staring at her ass would have to do.

“Mini-croissants and omelets,” she replied.

“Have I died and gone to heaven?” Hawk asked sleepily, rubbing his eyes as he walked into the kitchen shirtless.  He smiled as he stopped beside Michaela to lean in close to the cookie sheet and inhale deeply.  “God, woman…I can’t tell you what that smell does to me.” 

Blocking her with his body, Hawk snatched one of the pastries up from the cookie sheet, blew on it then shoved the whole thing in his mouth.  Cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk, he laughed when she swatted his arm before she pushed him back.  Gray didn’t miss her fingers curling into his stomach, or her eyes raking hungrily over the pilot’s chest as he backed away.

His jaw clenched as anger bristled through him.  His earlier explanation went to hell in a flash, and so did his resolution not to let himself be jealous.  Since Michaela Girabaldi was now a Deep Six employee, Hawkins needed to keep his damned hands to himself too, and Gray was going to tell him that.  He didn’t know what he’d say, because Deep Six didn’t really have a policy against inter-office dating, but they should. 

Inter-office dating caused nothing but drama and friction.  It had caused just that in the Dallas office too, but those couples happened to work things out, however it could’ve easily gone the other way.  They could lose good employees over it.  The feds had lost him because of it.

Logan put him in charge of the east coast office, so Gray was going to institute that policy. Not only would that keep him at arm’s length, it would keep Hawkins there too, if he ever visited.

“I have the glaze over here,” Mickie said, moving the sauce pan to the front burner and grabbing a spoon to drizzle it over the pastries.

She opened an upper cabinet and reached up to grab plates, but couldn’t reach them.  Hawkins, of course, was right there to help her, and Gray gritted his teeth when she laughed as the pilot pinned her to the counter with his body to reach above her and pull down the plates.

“Thank you,” she said, when he set them on the counter, but didn’t move away. 

He leaned a forearm on the counter and hovered over her as she flipped two pastries onto each plate with a spatula then added a heaping portion of the steaming egg dish to the first plate.  Turning to him with a smile, she handed it to him.

“Keep this up, beautiful, and I might propose,” Hawk said with a wink as he took the plate.  But he didn’t stop there, he swooped in to drop a kiss on her cheek.  “That spaghetti sauce you whipped up from nothing last night had me on my knees, but this?” He brought the plate to his nose and inhaled deeply.  “Definitely proposal-worthy.”

Michaela laughed as she nudged Hawk with her elbow to pick up the second plate.  She slapped on half a scoop of the eggs then turned toward Gray.  Her soft smile melted away and her eyebrows drew together. 

“I’m giving you food and you pay me with a scowl?” She set his plate on the counter in front of him and it wobbled.  “Are you in pain, Mr. Jennings? Or are you just a grumpy asshole when you wake up?  I brewed coffee, if you need some.”

He didn’t need coffee, Gray needed to punch the smug smile off of Hawkins’ face.  He hoped the weather cleared soon, so the man could get the hell out of here.

“If you’ll recall from yesterday, Ms. Girabaldi, I fully admit to being an asshole before I have my coffee,” Gray replied, grabbing his plate. “So, it would be in your best interest to keep a steady stream going this morning, because I’m extra tired and have had about enough of you two.”

Her hazel eyes sparked gold fire as she tilted her head and folded her arms over her chest.  “You can get your own damned coffee, Mr. Jennings, since I doubt that is in my job description.  And if you want me to continue to fill that nasty piehole of yours, I suggest you find some respect.”

Anger surged up to choke him.  “Helping you stay alive and get out of your nasty mess isn’t in my job description, either, Jersey.  So filling my nasty piehole is the least you can do in return.  Or maybe you’d like to just run back home to your friends?  I’m sure they’d be very glad to see you.”

Her eyes widened and her lower lip wobbled as her mouth fell open on a gasp.  When her eyes filled, Gray felt like the asshole she accused him of being.  He picked up his plate and turned away, but his leg stiffened and locked.  He tried to catch himself with a hand on the bar, but connected with her huge purse and it fell with him. 

The plate crashed on the tile floor and splintered before he hit the ground and the contents of her purse spilled out all around him.  Trim, shapely calves and cheap white sneakers appeared in his line of vision, before she crouched down to hastily shove things back inside her bag. 

Her hand closed around the pink jeweled leash he’d seen at the coffee shop and with a whimper, she fell back clutching it to her chest as a sob flowed from her.  Hawkins was there in a flash.  He sat down beside her and pulled her onto his lap.  Mickie buried her face in his shoulder and he hugged her to his chest.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Hawk soothed, kissing her hair and Gray’s gut soured.  Hawk’s angry, ice-chip-blue eyes met his and narrowed.  “If you’re in trouble, tell me what it is and I’ll help you.  You don’t have to kowtow to this asshole, and you certainly don’t have to cook for him.”

“I just miss Ti—Tito so much,” she wailed into his chest.

Tito?  Was that her boyfriend?  Gray wondered as he rolled to sit up, moaning when a sharp shard of the plate cut through the blanket to poke him in the ass.  With a growl, he sprang to his feet, fiery pain zipped through his body, his stomach pitched and he covered his mouth.  He swallowed hard as he fought the scream lodged in his throat, which was the only thing that kept him from vomiting at the moment.

“You deserve it, asshole,” Hawk grated, his arms tightening around Mickie.

Gray glared at him, then turned to limp toward the sofa, watching the floor to avoid stepping on the other pieces of the shattered plate.  He eased down on the sofa, more determined than ever to get this show on the road, so he could get back to Dallas as soon as possible.

“Can you call Gordie and make sure he brings my suitcase with him? I need to get busy, so I can get back to Dallas.”  Where he could find his freaking peace again.

“Yes, sir—anything else, sir?” Hawk snapped off a salute with a frustrated sigh.

Yeah, take her with you when you leave. “I need some peace, and we need a rental car because I do not want to be stranded here.”  With her. 

Michaela’s eyes shot gold fire at him as she grunted, bent her right arm at a ninety-degree angle with a fist then planted her other forearm across her elbow with gusto.  He’d seen that gesture before in a movie—she’d just told him to fuck off. 

Gray would love nothing better than to do just that, but he’d made a promise to Lou Ellen and would keep it.  But as soon as he found her cousin and that money, Michaela Girabaldi would be on an airplane back to the east coast.  Lou Ellen could go there to train her.

Gray stared at the books on the shelf beside the fireplace, and somehow managed to keep his mouth shut for the forty-five minutes it took them to leave, during which the electricity came back on.  His teeth were a semi-casualty from grinding them as he not only listened to, but watched their flirting continue the entire time, but at least Hawk left with his toothpaste-commercial smile intact.  He valued the man’s friendship more than he did lust for a woman he barely knew, and didn’t even particularly like.

When the house became silent, Gray’s breath escaped on a rush.  He heard truck doors slam outside and waited for Hawkins to bring in his suitcase and briefcase.  After ten minutes, he knew it wasn’t going to happen. 

With a growl, Gray sat up, then stood to limp toward the kitchen.  At the edge of the breakfast bar, he stopped when something under the barstool caught his eye.  He shoved the stool back and carefully bent to pick up a familiar book with a muscle-bound, camo-clad guy on the cover and rolled his eyes as he slammed the romance novel down on the counter.

Evidently she missed the book under the chair when she gathered up the other contents of her purse.  She hadn’t missed that damned leash, because it got her a lap ride and some sympathy from Hawkins.

Gray’s jaw clenched as he walked into the kitchen and pulled down a plate.  He left it beside the cookie sheet to find some ibuprofen. He’d need it because he definitely wouldn’t be staring at her ass again.  He found a bottle in the spice cabinet and poured out four tablets, then downed them with a glass of water.

Disappointment filled him when he realized she must’ve thrown out the frittatas, because only the pastries were left on the counter.  He plucked a few of the now-cool cornettis from the cookie sheet and the delicious aroma wafted up to him.  His stomach roared and with a curse, he picked up the sheet and emptied all seven remaining pastries onto his plate.  He limped to the refrigerator and added a container of melon to his feast, then poured himself a glass of milk. 

Breakfast in hand, Gray walked past the bar but the book caught his eye again and he stopped.  Definitely not, he thought, glaring at the man on the cover.  He walked gingerly to the bookshelf beside the fireplace to examine the books there. 

Military history, political and police procedural titles―nothing less than he expected since Dave was former military and police, and Susan former FBI, but not something he wanted to read on the mental vacation he planned to take for the next couple of hours. 

With a sigh, Gray turned and scanned the room for a television, which he didn’t find.  Probably because this was the place Dave and Susan came to unplug, something he had no idea how to do anymore.  Unlike him, Susan and Dave didn’t need distraction.  They had other things to occupy them while here, which he didn’t have at his disposal. 

Gray groaned, because he didn’t want to think about that either. Especially when mixed with thoughts of Michaela Girabaldi, which is what he was trying to escape from. 

He walked back to the breakfast bar, set his plate down and snatched the dog-eared book up to read the back cover.  It sounded close to a thriller which, other than classics, was where his tastes ran.  Reading it would certainly beat staring at four walls, he thought, as he tucked it under his arm to pick up his plate and glass. 

Halfway to the sofa, a laser of bright yellow light blinded him.  He looked toward the sliding glass door and sun beamed through the crack in the drapes, which meant the rain must’ve cleared. Fresh air would probably make him feel better, he thought.  He limped there, pushed back the curtains and squinted to look at the vacant beach.  Happy, frothy waves sloshed at the shoreline in the distance and puffy white clouds dotted a sky so blue it hurt his eyes to look at it.

His gaze slid to the right, to a huge gauze-draped beach bed under the large sun-dappled pergola and his mouth opened on a sigh.  Like a man in a trance, he balanced his plate in the crook of his arm and opened the slider.  The sheers on the posts of the bed drew him there like wispy fingers.  He set his plate and glass down, then tossed the book on the bed. 

Gray knelt on the edge of the bed, then eased himself down onto his stomach and sighed as the foam mattress conformed to his body.  The breeze brought gusts of sea-salt tinged air under the patio to soothe him.  The sound of the waves crashing at the seashore fifty yards away washed away the tension in his body.  He laid there breathing it in, letting it ruffle his hair until every muscle in his body finally unfurled and a sense of calm he hadn’t felt in a long time engulfed him. 

God, why had he fought Dex so hard for the last two years about taking a break and coming here?  Because you let yourself become a work-a-holic to forget about your problems, rather than addressing them. 

Those problems were over four years old now, and he was about worn out from working himself into the ground to avoid thinking about them.  He knew he couldn’t run from them forever because Mona would be out of prison soon, and he needed to prepare himself for the distinct possibility she would be looking to extract the revenge she promised at her sentencing hearing. 

How in the hell had he not seen how evil that woman could be?  How she was funding her high-living lifestyle as an FBI agent? 

Gray hadn’t wanted to see it, because then he would have had to admit he’d been sleeping with that evil for two years before he finally woke up when the DOJ knocked on their door.  Since they shared a joint account after they decided to move in together, it had taken a lot of talking and his testimony to avoid the same fate.  He was a fucking accountant. How could he have been so stupid?  That question was the hardest to answer.

But Gray had other bridges to cross before he allowed himself time to think about that.  He promised to help Michaela Girabaldi and he would, just as soon as he had his laptop, if by some miracle it wasn’t fried from the rain.

Right now, though, he was going to pretend he was on vacation for a few hours.  The only thing on his agenda was to lay here, eat his breakfast, and read the first romance novel he’d ever read in his life. 

Maybe it would give him some insight as to why the women who liked to read them, women like Michaela Girabaldi, seemed to prefer alpha ex-military assholes to say—workaholic accountants.

During that time, perhaps he could also figure out why he cared, since he absolutely wasn’t going there with Michaela Girabaldi.  Technically, she won’t be in your office, so you could go there.  And you will be all alone here with her for a week or more.

“Shut up,” he growled, as he shoved a pastry into his mouth, opened the book and moaned as the buttery flakes fell apart on his tongue.