Half an hour later, Walker arrived back at the very lake he’d been at that morning. He slowed in front of her house, parked the car, and killed the engine.

They hadn’t spoken the whole ride out here, which Walker didn’t mind. The only thing that had been annoying to him as he drove the media princess back out here was the disconcerting way her “proposition,” as she’d called it, made him feel.

Being anybody’s fiancé wasn’t his thing. Especially a fake one. What benefit did that have for him? And at a wedding? Whew, he could hardly handle those kinds of events when he had to. He’d been to too many of them recently with his own family.

He thought of the pain on this woman’s face, and … okay, the attraction he had to her was potent. He didn’t like that. Didn’t like the concept of feminine wiles, never had.

She didn’t move.

After a beat, he turned to her. “Can you see yourself in?” Sure, maybe he was being rude, but this whole situation was too ticky-tacky. Since the incident on the lake that morning, he’d been thinking of the princess. Her brattiness, her stubbornness. The way she was too skinny. When she’d appeared at that auction and bought him, it’d felt unreal, like a dream. And then he imagined her lips on his. He needed her to leave.

Scarlett blinked, as if emerging from her thoughts. “What?”

He met those pale green temptress eyes he’d seen too many times on the big screen. “Nothing.” He turned away. No way was he going to be her little cabana boy for four days. Not in a million years.

“Sooooo?”

“No.” He said it quickly, not bothering to elaborate. She knew what he was talking about.

She looked at him in that broken way he’d seen in the cleaning closet. The same way she’d looked at him this morning. It was a way that called to him. “Why not?”

Letting out a soft laugh, he shook his head. “Why don’t I want to be your fake fiancé at a prissy prima donna wedding, with a bunch of rich society types who expect … what?” His mind was going in circles. “Why me?”

“What do you mean?”

He pointed back toward the highway. “You could have had your pick of guys back there, and I can say they would have loved being bought by you. So why me?”

She frowned. “I told you: because I know Grant, and he’s talked about all of you, and …”

Suddenly, it clicked. “You want to stick it to them, don’t you?”

“What?” she said with exasperation, meeting his gaze. He caught the pink cheeks. She was busted.

He let out a loud, barking laugh, slapping the side of his leg. “Dang, woman, you want to stick it to the ex-boyfriend, stick it to your old man, stick it to everyone in that wedding.” Part of him was flattered. She thought he was that much of a bad boy, that much of the kind that doesn’t come from her prissy society. To be fair, it was true. His mind clouded for a moment. “My dishonorable discharge is perfect for you.”

“No.”

He pointed at her. “Don’t lie.”

Her hands fluttered. “When I realized who you were, yes, I thought you’d be the perfect guy to tick my father off.”

The pain seared through the center of his chest like a red-hot poker, leaving him breathless. He put his hand over his heart to calm it.

Her eyes were on him, sharper than he would have liked. “What’s wrong with you?”

But he was already underwater. That’s what the psychologist had explained to him. Sometimes, you come back from war and have an underwater feeling and start gasping for air. Unbuckling himself, he pushed the door and kicked it open. He pulled himself out of the car and sucked in a ragged breath of fresh air.

It all rushed back. He was there, seeing the bomb and the light, feeling the shock, and trying to hold to the steering wheel of the helicopter. Gasping for breath, he thought of landing the bird with guns shooting, thought of Tams and how he had turned and seen her take the bullet before she slumped and the gun fell out of her hand. He sucked in more air. His vision was closing in. He’d yelled out, but the special ops team was already climbing in, giving cover, telling him wheels up.

He stumbled some more and then found the top of the car with his hands. He gripped it, sucking in another breath, and started counting backward. Twenty, nineteen. He saw Tams’s body lying on the ground and the guys swarming around it. He’d had to focus on getting them out of there. Emotion clogged his throat. Eighteen. Breathe.

Suddenly he was a kid with his grandfather at the hunting cabin. They were rowing on the lake. His grandfather smiled at him. Seventeen, sixteen. Yes, he was calming.

A fluttery hand had found its way to his shoulder. “Are you okay?” Her voice pulled him back to the present, her arms wrapping around his waist. “Shh, it’s okay.”

The firmness of her pressed against his side anchored. Her fruity smell was better than the tranquility of a canoe. Bam. He was back. He straightened to his full height, grounded here in the present.

Turning, he found himself wrapping his arms around her, moving her head to his chest and letting himself feel the human contact. When was the last time he’d had a hug like this? Nonsexual, grounding, just plain good human contact?

His mother. In the hospital, before she’d passed, she’d said, “I know you, and I know whatever happened, you did it for the right reasons. I know that.”

He misted up just thinking about that moment. About his mother. He pushed Scarlett away, unbearable emotions roiling within him.

“It’s okay.” Her eyes were soft, and she looked confused. She shook her head and said, “I’m sorry for whatever just happened to you. I had an uncle that served and had problems after … I’m sorry.”

Walker wasn’t that steady to begin with, but she’d just shaken him even harder. It was like she actually cared. All the thoughts and feelings that had come tumbling out of him intensified the moment. “I have to go,” he said, reaching for the car door. He stumbled in and started it, swerving so he didn’t hit her.

She didn’t flinch, still looking at him with those haunting green eyes.

He wouldn’t be able to get those eyes out of his mind for the rest of the night.