Mickie pulled the keys from the ignition, grabbed her purse from the passenger seat, then got out of the car.  She opened the trunk and clutched the house key in her hand before lining her arms with as many plastic grocery bags as she could.

Thank God, she’d found Grayson’s wallet in his ruined dress pants when they transferred his suitcase to the backseat of the rental car from Gordie’s truck.  She’d only looked inside because she wanted to air dry his wet clothes to save them if she could, but they were not salvageable. 

Hawk told her to use the company card for her shopping, so she did.  She knew Grayson wouldn’t be happy at the total, so she would save that little tidbit of information for later when he discovered the receipt in his wallet, which she had put right back where she found it.

Right now, she wished the weather hadn’t cleared so Hawk could help carry in the many bags in the trunk too, and continue to be a buffer between her and the brooding man inside.  But it had cleared, and he said he had to fly back to the Deep Six compound or Logan would be in a lather.

Knowing her temper, Mickie wondered how she and her new boss would get along. From the way Hawk talked, Dave Logan was somewhere between a tyrant and a saint, which made her nervous to meet him and very glad her position would be in DC.

Hawk’s description of the mysterious compound also made her curious.  He said it was their main base of operations, whatever that meant.  She’d spent so much time picking his brain about Dave Logan, she hadn’t had time to ask more about it.  That was intentional after he started trying to pick her brain about her situation.

The fewer people who knew about her circumstances, the better.  Especially since she had no idea if she’d even have a job when this was over.  Heck, if she was still alive to have a job when this was finished, it would be a miracle. 

That miracle depended on the brooding man inside the house helping her.  And she was going to help him help her the only way she knew how. She would try to keep the peace and give him everything he needed to focus on finding Teresa.

From the way Gray lusted over her cornettis earlier, the path to peace could probably be found through his stomach, like most men.  A man in pain could not focus on finding the answers she needed him to find, so she also bought an extra bottle of olive oil, arnica, and other spices to mix up her Nonna’s magic massage oil for his pulled muscle.

Like he said, it was the least she could do to thank him for helping her.  If she could get through applying the oil to his thigh without doing something stupid. 

Shifting the weight of the bags, she inserted the key into the doorknob, turned it then pushed the door inward.  She fell into the kitchen and the bags slid from her arms into a mountainous pile at her feet. Mickie pushed her hair out of her eyes with her forearm then scanned the living room, but saw no sign of Grayson there.

Panic shot through her as she hopped over the bags and sprinted into the living room. She darted for the stairs, thinking he might have moved to a bed up there, but stopped when she saw the sliding glass door to the patio open.

Turning, Mickie walked there, and as she neared, a salt-tinged breeze wafted through the crack in the door.  She inhaled deeply as she pushed back the curtain and viewed the ultimate oasis of relaxation under the large, shady pergola. The need to inhale more of that fresh air to clear her head, to soak up some of those muted rays and let the restful quiet outside soothe her battered soul, was a driving need as she fought to push the heavy slider wider. 

It finally gave way and rolled on the track to give her access. Mickie stepped outside, closed her eyes and breathed it all in.  Her eyes eased open as she exhaled and fixed on a huge beach bed just beyond the canopied swing.  The wispy fingers of the breeze-blown drapes on the posts drew her there like magic fingers.  Just fifteen minutes, she thought, staggering there like a zombie.  The groceries could wait that long.

Once she passed the swing, the bed came into view, her feet stopped mid-stride and she stumbled as a perfectly formed, but ghostly white rear end grabbed her eyes. Her mouth dropped open as her eyes took a tour of the rest of his equally perfect, but slightly less white body.

A loud clattering on the stone tile shocked her and Mickie looked down by her feet to see the car keys, which she hadn’t even realized she was still holding. The naked man on the bed mumbled something as he turned over onto his side and Mickie’s eyes widened.

Buon, Dio—she needed to close her eyes to give him some privacy, but she was going to hell, because she just couldn’t do it. Her eyes locked on his glorious erection that sprang up to greet her and there was no dragging them away.  Not even when his gray-green eyes popped open, then widened as his hand drifted down to cover himself.  And as big as they were, a single hand definitely didn’t do the job.

“Eyes are up here, Jersey,” he said with a sleepy, sexy laugh, as he pulled the throw over him.  Blood rushed up to her face as she dragged her eyes up to his.

“I was just coming to find you to ask if you were hungry,” she squeaked, then cleared her throat.  A lie, but better than the truth in this case.

“I cleaned out your pan of pastries, so no, I’m not hungry right now, but thank you,” he replied nicely, which surprised her. 

With a yawn, he rolled onto his back and propped his forearms under his head making his biceps bulge and her mouth water.  His eyes dropped to focus on her chest and her nipples responded enthusiastically. 

That stare.  Those eyes.  Dio—was that smoke she smelled? 

Mickie folded her arms over her chest and glanced down to make sure her pants hadn’t caught fire, because her body was suddenly hot enough for that to happen.  His gaze inched up to her mouth and she licked her lips.

“Were they good? They were probably dry by the time—” Not as dry as her mouth was right now, she thought, trying to work up some saliva to finish her sentence.

“Mmm…I think my mouth had an orgasm,” he replied, his eyelids dropping a notch to narrow his focus on her mouth.

And she might too if he didn’t stop staring at her like she was the next course on the menu.

“I, ah, need to get the rest of the groceries put away before they melt.” Or my panties do, Mickie thought, as she turned to stumble toward the slider, feeling his potent stare on her back.

“Did Hawkins get out?” Gray asked and she stopped at the door.

“Yeah, the weather cleared,” she replied, looking back over her shoulder.

“Good,” he said and smiled.  That smile and his inflection on that one word explained why he thought that was good, and Mickie’s body shook as she turned and hurried inside.

Hawkins wasn’t the only one flirting with her.  The problem was, she could casually flirt with the pilot, but this man was all business with his methods.  Body buzzing, Mickie zipped through the house to the side access door and felt like she was escaping as she walked under the carport.

She bent over the trunk, quickly lined her left arm with the rest of the bags and grabbed the gallon of tea.  Standing back up, she elbowed the trunk shut then turned and almost dropped the bags when she found Grayson standing right behind her.

“Is my suitcase in there?” he asked glancing at the trunk.

“No, it’s in the backseat with your briefcase,” Mickie replied, unable to stop her eyes from skating down the valley between his pecs. 

When they hit his well-defined abs they bumped over each one like a pinball as they trekked downward.  At his navel, when she hit the happy trail that would lead her to rock-solid proof that he was happy to see her, she forced them back up.

“See something you like, Jersey?” he asked, his eyes boring into hers as the corner of his mouth kicked up. 

That laser-sharp stare of his was like turning a magnifying glass on dry leaves on a bright, sunny day. When he turned it on her, she wanted to spontaneously combust just like those leaves.  And he evidently realized that.

“No—and would you please put some damned clothes on?” Mickie grated, turning toward the door instead of giving him the satisfaction of ogling his ass again when he turned to limp around the front of the car.

“You didn’t seem to mind Hawkins walking around shirtless this morning, so I didn’t think you’d mind if I enjoyed the same freedom,” he said, sounding a little agitated as he pulled out his suitcase and briefcase before slamming the door.

“I didn’t even notice,” Mickie replied, lifting her chin as she walked inside, but not fast enough to miss his disbelieving snort. 

He was right—Mickie had somewhat ogled the pilot. What red-blooded woman wouldn’t? 

Hawkins had the sexiest smile she’d ever seen and he was an expert at flirting.  That told her he’d had plenty of practice doing it, however, and that made her uninterested in anything more from him.  The biggest thing to convince her to flirt back, though, was the fact that—unlike Grayson Jennings—Hawk was nice to her, seemed to actually like her!

A heavy sigh puffed out her cheeks as Mickie dropped the bags on top of the pile in the doorway.  She nudged the bags to the side with her foot then picked up the first to start unloading it.  When the first thing she pulled out of the bag was a bottle of olive oil, she groaned as an image of her rubbing it into the back of his muscular thigh flitted through her mind. 

Electricity zipped along her wet folds to buzz the bundle of nerves at the top, reminding her just how long it had been since she’d had sex.  That probably explained why she was so easily excited by him, but that knowledge didn’t help a thing.  She dropped her chin to her chest, pressed her knees together and tried to focus on what she was doing.

“Get your mind out of gutter, Michaela Giselle,” she growled, channeling her mother’s voice as she slammed the bottle down on the counter. 

“Giselle, huh?” Grayson repeated, his voice low and seductive as he stepped up behind her and his heat and his fresh, sunbaked scent surrounded her. 

Mickie refused to look at him, instead reaching into the bag to pull out the second bottle of oil. He moved closer, and she sent her elbow back into his abs.  He grunted, as he stepped back and she could finally breathe again.

What happened to this man from the time she left with Hawk until she got back?  He’d gone from a cold, abrasive asshole, a surly bear with a thorn in his paw due to his injury, to a practiced seducer in the space of a couple of hours. 

Hawkins had nothing on him in any way.

“We have work to do, remember?  People are trying to kill me?” Mickie squeaked, forcing her noodle-like legs to move over a step to get out of his gravitational pull. 

Gray sidestepped too, frustrating her.  Mickie threw the bag of tomatoes in her hand on the counter, then turned and he was right there.  She put her hand on his chest to push him back, but made the mistake of looking up into his eyes.  Sparks arced between them as he raised his hand to her jaw.  She could not drag her eyes away from his as he stroked her cheek with his thumb. 

“Trust me, nobody is going to touch you, Jersey.  I might not be one of those badass military guys, but I’m badass in my own way…the way you need me to be.”

His eyes fell to her mouth again making her lips sizzle, but with a sigh, his hand fell away and he smiled.  “Just keep plying me with your cooking and I’ll do just about anything for you.  I’m going out to the patio to boot up my laptop to see if it works.”

Anything?  What she wanted him to do right then was kiss her.  Hard and fast.  And more, if that first kiss was as hot as she knew it would be. 

But they had things to do, and there would be time for that later if it was meant to be.  Right now, he needed to find her cousin and that money before the mob found her.  And Mickie needed some cooking therapy.  Lots of cooking therapy, she thought, as she dragged her eyes from his delicious, bare butt when he limped away, dragging his suitcase with him.

Mickie unloaded the last of the grocery bags and finally found the bottle of dry, white wine she’d bought for the Arancini she planned to make.  Today, it would have medicinal purposes too, however.  Like the olive oil, she should’ve bought two bottles, because her nerves were shot and she knew she’d need to drink plenty for the massage she planned to give Grayson later.

Her grandmother should have included wine for the masseuse in the recipe for her magical massage oil.  But then, Nonna hadn’t been using the oil to treat a man like Grayson Jennings.  She’d only ever used it to treat her family’s sprains and strains, and her brothers had plenty from their athletic activities.  Even today, they swore by it, so Mickie had no doubt it would help his pulled muscle, if she could manage to work up the courage to apply it.

Searching through the drawers, at last she found a corkscrew, which saved her from using the barbecue fork she found in another drawer.  At the moment, she was just that desperate for something to settle her nerves.  She bought a bottle of whiskey for Gray to help with his pain, but Mickie hated hard liquor.  It burned her throat and stomach, and made her loopy.

It took five minutes for her to coax the cork from the bottle, and she only succeeded when she resorted to holding it between her knees and prying it out.  Those five minutes were her breaking point, so instead of looking for a wine glass like a civilized human, Mickie tipped the bottle to her lips and drank deeply.  The warm, cheap white wine insulted her taste buds, but she kept drinking until she gagged.  Yeah, she definitely needed a glass, a large one—with ice.