“This is not happening.” Lexi Granger stared at the Camp Firefly Falls brochure in her hand. The brochure that told her everything about her week at camp. “This is not happening.”

Her friends had told her that this was a writer’s retreat—a place to get her head back together, to break through the block that had kept her from any serious writing for nearly six months.

The brochure told a different story.

“‘Writers Get It On is a fun, lively week for single writers. We all know how hermit-like we can become.’ A winking emoji? Seriously?” Lexi wanted to hurl the brochure across her cabin. Instead, she took a few deep breaths, and kept reading. “‘Get ready for a week of fun and flirtation!’ Not me,” she muttered as she stomped across the cabin. “Not ever.”

When she yanked the door open, her anger turned into frustration. Rain poured off the small porch roof, a sheet of water that would soak her the second she tried to walk through it. She turned around and dug her raincoat out of her suitcase, glad she’d packed it. Her experiences here as a girl came in handy now.

Knowing the layout of the camp was definitely handy, when she could hardly see two feet in front of her. Lexi cursed under her breath and kept slogging in the direction of the lodge. By the time she reached it, her temper was firing and she was more than ready to blast the first person who crossed her path.

She opened the door—and almost ran into a tall figure. He managed to sidestep before they collided, and caught her arm to keep her from stumbling forward.

“Wet day to be out.” His deep, gravel rough voice had her looking up at him.

He sounded exactly like she imagined Jack, the hero in her mystery romance series, would sound. If he were actually real.

Piercing green eyes studied her, a frown on his lean, much too appealing face. No—not a frown. He looked annoyed.

“I need to talk to Heather,” she said.

He let her go and stepped back. “Heather and Michael are stuck in town, along with Max, the head of security. You got me, or Cooper.”

She cursed, jerking the wet brochure out of her coat pocket. “What is this?”

“A brochure.”

Lexi wanted to smile at his sarcasm—especially since she would have said the same thing. But she was so not in the mood right now.

“I know it’s a brochure. I want to know why this says I’m registered for a—a damned matchmaking event.”

He smiled—and she took a giant step back, running into the wall behind her. That smile had danger written all over it.

“You’re sure you didn’t just get cold feet?” he said. “How else could you interpret Writers Get It On?”

With all the control she had left, she kept from shouting at him. “First, I didn’t register. This week was a gift from some friends. Second, I never saw the name before I picked up this,” she shook the brochure, “in my cabin.”

“What, exactly, did you think you were signed up for?”

“A writer’s retreat.”

“Sounds like your friends thought you needed something different.”

Before she could get past her outrage to verbally flay him, he walked away.

“Wait—where are you—” Lexi ran after him, feeling like one of the weak and clingy heroines she hated. “Stop—”

He did—and this time, she ran into him.

His loose shirt concealed lean, hard muscle; her fingers dug into his bicep as she steadied herself. Or tried to dig in; his flexed muscle was like grabbing a rock.

“Okay.” He steadied her, then peeled her hand off his arm. “Miss—”

“Granger. Lexi Granger.” She waited for him to introduce himself, but he just studied her, one dark eyebrow raised. “And you are?”

“Security.”

“That’s an interesting first name. Were your parents obsessed with the law?”

He laughed, and she stepped back as heat shot through her.

No—don’t you even think about it.

She was still licking her wounds from her breakup with Lance the Bastard. The whole point of this week had been to get away from men.

So much for that plan.

“I’m with security. My name is Nick Standish.”

“Well, I would say it was a pleasure, Nick Standish, but I’d be lying.”

He laughed again, damn him.

“You are a surprise, Lexi Granger. With that pixie hair and those big blue eyes, I expected—” He cut himself off, and started to back away.

“Pixie hair?” Lexi ran one hand through her brown hair. She’d cut it, getting rid of the hip length she’d worn for years. The rash move had partly been to spite Lance, who had loved her hair, probably more than her. The rest of her just wanted a change. The result was a choppy, fun cut that brushed her shoulders. “I think the word you’re looking for is tousled. Never mind—I came here to ask Heather or Michael for a ride out of camp. I’m not spending a week surrounded by lovesick people looking to get—”

She clapped her hand over her mouth, heat rushing to her cheeks. Why was she talking like that in front of a stranger? An incredibly good-looking stranger, yes, but—

“No need to finish.” A smile tugged at his lips. “I can figure out the rest. Sorry to disappoint you, Miss Granger, but no one’s getting in or out of camp. Not today.”

“And why not?” She’d pay whatever she had to, even haul her own luggage to town, as long as it meant she’d be out of here. “I’m not asking for a refund. I just want to leave.”

“I’d be more than happy to help you with that.” He turned her around, and pointed at the window. She focused on the rain obscuring the normally gorgeous view, and not what the feel of the man’s hands on her shoulders was doing to her heart. “But the road’s been washed out by the storm.”

She stared up at him, the words not computing. “What?”

“We’re stuck, sweetheart.”

 

***

 

Nick Standish swore under his breath when the short, but tempting woman stared up at him. He didn’t mean to touch her, or call her sweetheart. If he didn’t let go of her soon, he’d be doing more than touching her shoulders.

God help him, she was pretty, with eyes as blue as the lake, and that rich brown hair framing her face. Blondes had always been more to his taste, but she could—

He let her go and backed out of touching distance. The humor in her eyes, and the smile that curved her full lips, made him itch to pull her in and find out how she tasted.

Instead, he fell back on the sarcasm that had become his shield.

“The road is a river, so unless you plan to float out of here on your luggage, you’re SOL.”

“SOL?” She didn’t look confused now. “Any other happy news for me, Prince Charming?”

He bit back a smile. Anger looked magnificent on her. “We are well stocked, so you won’t starve.”

“That might be preferable,” she muttered.

Nick couldn’t stop himself; he burst out laughing. “Sorry,” he said, when she glared at him.

He startled himself with the apology. It took all his control not to rub his left shoulder, and he blamed Lexi Granger for his polite lapse.

Camp Firefly Falls was supposed to be a safe zone, a place he could start, maybe, to heal his shattered life. He didn’t plan—or want—the distraction standing in front of him.

“Miss Granger.” When she raised her eyebrows, he ignored the hear flaring through him, and roughened his voice. His recent injury made it easier. “You can spend the time in your cabin, if the rest of the campers offend you. Hell, you can dance naked in the rain, if that will help.” It would drive him crazy. “But until this storm clears, and we can assess the damage, no one is going any farther than the lodge, or the dining lodge.”

“You—” She took a deep breath, and Nick thought she was going to storm out. Instead, she shocked him by jabbing her finger into his chest. “You insufferable lout. How dare you—” She cut herself off and backed away from him. “I’m not dealing with this. Not again.”

She gave him a glare that should have turned him into an ice sculpture and stalked out into the rain.

“Touched a nerve, did she?” Nick whirled at the voice, reaching for his right hip. For the weapon that was no longer there. Cooper Hines, his oldest friend and the man who had talked him into this foolishness, looked down at Nick’s hand, then grinned. “Old habits?”

“Hard to break.” Nick lowered his hand.

“I wasn’t sure if you were going to bite her head off, or kiss her.” Cooper leaned against the door jamb. “I wouldn’t blame you on the second. She’s a pretty little thing.”

“I’m not here to—” Nick ran his left hand through his hair, flinching at the sharp twinge in his shoulder.

Cooper straightened and moved to him, cupping his elbow and lowering his arm. “Why didn’t you tell me it was still bothering you?”

“It’s not—not really. The rain isn’t helping. Stop babying me, Cooper.”

His friend let him go and raised his hands. “Forgive me for caring, Nick.”

“Sorry.” Nick let out a sigh, and started to lift his arm, halting when his shoulder complained again. Another habit he needed to break. “I had too many people hovering. It’s the reason I left New York.”

“I wasn’t there, but I know how badly you were injured. Don’t blame people for worrying about you.” Cooper laid his hand on Nick’s right shoulder. “And stop blaming yourself for your partner.”

“It should have been me.”

“Why? Because you were the senior?” Cooper shook him, just enough to make a point. “Joe walking into that building first was his choice. You didn’t kill him, Nick. That’s all on the dealer and his goons who shot you.”

Nick swallowed. His voice still hadn’t recovered from the bullet that nicked his throat. Some days he didn’t even recognize it. “I appreciate everything you’ve done, Cooper.”

“There better not be a but coming, because you signed on for the summer.”

“Don’t worry—I intend to stay.” He turned to the window. Lexi Granger was out of sight, but she wouldn’t leave his thoughts any time soon. “She’s only here for a week,” he muttered. “I can last a week.”