“Not sure I can do that,” he said. This guy had Boy Scout written all over him. Maybe that was why she let her guard down, invited him into her quiet, secure life.

Didn’t matter. “I’m afraid you better win, then.” She nodded down the beach. “To the lighthouse?”

He looked out down the beach and lifted a brow. “You first.”

He seemed so easygoing, so laidback. Maybe he could run…

She shrugged and ran, knowing her head start would be his undoing.

Familiar with the route, she crossed the street and took a direct route over the rock divide, then side-leapt to the flat-topped boulder before jumping down onto the sand of the beach. Her legs ate up the distance.

But she could hear him behind her, and she considered what it would be like to say yes this time. Had she been waiting for a reason to say yes?

At the halfway point, he started gaining, so she clicked up her efforts a notch. She did have her pride to consider, after all. She ran toward the water and the hard-packed, wet sand, which gave her a bit of an advantage. She used it, sprinting forward.

With twenty yards to go, he pulled beside her. He wasn’t quite at ease, though.

She refused to break her stride by looking his way. But in the last five yards, huffing breath and all, he shot ahead.

Distracted, she stumbled. Crap, the man could run. Those cargo pants. He’d taken time to remove his shirt, and his rolled pants revealed the definition of his calves—smooth skin, hard muscle. She looked up and almost stopped at the determination on his face. He was running hard, especially without shoes. And watching all that sweet muscle in motion tripped her up.

But she wouldn’t let him get the best of her, not yet. And she kicked in her last reserve. Reaching, reaching…

Shit. He pulled ahead again and touched the abutment—the large boulders that surrounded the land that jutted off the shore where the lighthouse stood, looking out to sea and guiding people home.

They breathed hard in unison.

John bent over, taking in air like an asthmatic, and for a moment Emily felt bad.

“I won,” he wheezed, and the moment was gone.

She rolled her eyes and took the chamois from her waistband to wipe the moisture from her neck. “Barely.”

“Barely counts,” he huffed out. “My God, woman. You run like a cheetah.”

“Geez, did you just call me a cheetah?” She smothered a giggle and cleared her throat. Nice one, you idiot. Fall for the charm.

“Run like a,” he answered, with that grin. “Come on. Go to dinner with me. The boss will pay.”

Her stomach flip-flopped. “Okay.” The night was full of surprises.

The walk back up the beach cooled her off, drying the minimal sweat from her skin. Usually, she ran a few miles. This had been—fun. Not even worth a shower. Not when there was a good-looking man—

Stop.

Good-looking guys were a dime a dozen in her industry, in the military. In and of itself, that shouldn’t be impressive. They walked, and awkward silence filled the air. Almost as bad as that date with Danny MacDougal in eleventh grade.

Only John smelled way better, and he held the door—like a gentleman. Standing in the doorway like he did, she had to sidestep to avoid touching him. Intuition was screaming at her that touching him was probably a huge mistake. He came up behind her, and then moved into the dining area and picked the booth in the corner. Exactly where she always sat.

She breathed a sigh of relief at having the wall at her back, even if it meant John was now next to her instead of across from her. She shrugged at his questioning look. “I guess we have something in common after all.”

“So, tell me what made you open the coffee shop.”

“Small talk, huh? I was thinking you could make your proposal. I could say no. We could eat. And then I would go home.”

“You’re going to eat anyway, and we haven’t even ordered. Talk.”

Emily rolled her eyes as the waitress walked up. “What can I get you, Emily?”

The twinkle in Sally’s eye was a sure sign the town gossips would be very busy tonight. “A water for me.”

Sally looked at John.

“Iced tea for me. And a burger and fries.”

Emily liked how he didn’t hem and haw over what to order. His direct nature assured her he wasn’t going to mess with her. “And you can give me the chicken salad croissant,” Emily said, and set the menu back into the holder against the wall. “Thank you, Sally.”

John smiled for the waitress then gave his undivided attention back to Emily. “So.” He looked at her, his eyes all eager and…innocent and friendly. Holy shit, this guy couldn’t possibly be real. “Tell me about the bakery. How you ended up here in this little town.”

She thought about what to tell him, realizing in all the years working in government agencies, she’d never really gotten on a personal level with her coworkers…to the extent of sharing her past. As much as Richard had known about her past, even he’d only brushed the surface. Funny, this was the first guy to come around and start on her personal life.

“My mom used to bring me down here for a week every summer. We’d rent a place on the strand—that’s the bit of realty along the coast, north of town. Back then, it wasn’t quite the coveted location. Prices weren’t so steep. We never stayed very long. There was—”

Stop talking. He doesn’t need to know your history. He didn’t ask.

“What?”

She stared at him, wondering if her attraction to him could possibly be as simple as time—and how long it had been since she’d been with, dated, or otherwise interacted with a man. Her stomach clenched, and she sighed. It might be time to agree to that date with George Sedley. Scratch the itch. “It was a place to escape every year. And when I left my job, it seemed the perfect place to go. The coffee shop, that was pure luck. The family who owned it wanted to retire, and I had some savings set aside and an unused business degree, so—”

Sally approached with their food and set a plate in front of each of them.

Emily didn’t realize how hungry she was until the smell of fresh bread was under her nose. She ate, thinking about his question. Her life might be quieter now, but there was something alive about the simplicity of it. She really did enjoy it, even if there were bouts of stir crazy that kept her from falling asleep at night. “Tell me about Hawk Elite.”

John finished chewing then sipped his tea. He cleared his throat and brushed a hand through his hair. “Hawk is looking for a sniper.”

She carefully placed her napkin on the table next to her plate. Even though she’d known it was coming, she’d still hoped he might be different. No, there was more. Like the fact that this was a man who might be able to get her to say yes. “You already know my answer is no.”

She’d left the agency and buried that part of her life. He said he’d been there that day, but he was a damn liar to say that and say he wanted her on his team. Her career ended the day she shot that little boy.

“That easy for you, huh?”

“To say no? Hell yes. I don’t work anymore. You don’t want me.”

“Hawk wants you,” he said. “And what Hawk wants, Hawk gets.”

Their food arrived, but she wasn’t hungry anymore. “Why does that sound like a threat?”

He lifted his hands. “Not at all. I don’t drag women kicking and screaming. I only come to ask.”

“Well then, your answer is no.”

“You’re scared because of what happened. But what if you came out and visited our headquarters? Hawk Elite is different.”

Emily stilled in her seat. “I doubt it. No offense, of course.”

He snorted a laugh. “None taken. But I still think you could give it a chance.”

Her hand shook a little, and she kept her eyes on the door and the windows up front. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

His big hand came out and rested on hers. He turned her hand over and ran his thumb over the edge of her palm. “Still shooting,” he whispered, and then looked up into her eyes. “Hawk wants the best. You’re the best.”

She curled her fist. “I don’t remember you,” she said, ignoring his comment. “Sometimes, I wish I could remember more of the details. There were so many people crowding the joint operations center that day. After—” She took a bite as nerves fluttered through her system. “After the fiasco of the media, I didn’t resurface for two whole weeks. I know the exact minute, actually.” She’d never talked about it before. Even in all those post-op briefings and therapy sessions. “I don’t know why I’m talking about this with you.”

“I’m easy to talk to. I don’t really get it myself, and sometimes, I don’t even really like it, but that’s the way it’s been my whole life. People talk to me.” He tilted his head. He was unassuming and interested. Just plain trustworthy.

She cleared her throat. “My mom used to crochet. All sorts of things. Blankets. Sweaters. Baby wraps for the neighbors. After she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, she might have slowed down a little, but she kept going. And in her most lucid moments, she’d say to me, ‘Use it or lose it, Em.’” Emily looked up at John. “I still shoot occasionally. I’m good at it. But nowadays, I shoot for the fun of it—at paper targets.”

“You could be part of a team. A part of the Hawkins family.”

Her pulse pounded. He was dangling sweet morsels in front of her, dreams she’d had her whole life—to be a part of a family, to trust those around her.

“Working with Hawk is not like working for the government. I promise you.”

“I have to think.” In her head, he’d made it to second base. No one else had gotten that far. It was like he’d studied her, knew her deepest secrets and dreams.

“Take some time.” He waved the waitress over. “Pen?”

She handed him a pen.

“Thanks, Sally.” Then he turned over the card and wrote. “That’s my cell number. Call anytime.” He gave Emily a pointed look. “Any.”

He handed the pen back, then opened his wallet and paid for dinner.

“Now.” He scooted toward her.

Emily, her heart still pounding, came to her senses. He was a little like a train, and she hurried out of his way, sliding out of the booth.

He placed a hand on her shoulder, gave a little squeeze, and smiled. “Talk to you later. Dinner was great, Sally. Tell the cook.”

Emily’s legs gave out, and she sat back down on the edge of the seat.

Temptation had a name, and it was John.

Damn it.