CHAPTER ONE
BRIDGETTE DALTON FLEW through the front doors of Chopstix, wincing at the sight of the owner, Li, holding up her bag of Chinese food. I am officially becoming the worst mother on earth. Someone who fed her son takeout three times in one week was not the type of mother she aspired to be.
She flashed a harried smile. “Thanks, Li. No offense, but hopefully I won’t see you for a while.”
“I packed an extra spring roll for Louie. Tell him Uncle Li misses him.” He waved as Bridgette rushed toward the door.
“Will do! Thank you.” Uncle Li. Okay, maybe she wasn’t the worst mother on earth. She’d done at least a few things right, like moving back to her close-knit hometown of Sweetwater, New York, after the death of her husband five years ago. She and Louie had more family here than they could ever hope for.
She set the bag on the passenger seat with the other groceries she’d picked up, wishing there was a restaurant that offered takeout lasagna. At least then she’d be feeding her son his favorite meal, even if it was made by someone else. Pushing away her mommy guilt, she hightailed it over to her parents’ new house.
It was strange not to be picking up Louie from her childhood home, which her parents had recently sold to her older sister Willow and Willow’s fiancé, Zane, but she was happy the house was staying in the family. She flew through the front door, instantly calmed by the scents of family, love, and home-cooked meals.
“Mom!” Louie sprang to his feet and sprinted toward Bridgette, sending the action figures he was playing with scattering to the floor.
She scooped him up, and he clung to her like a monkey to a tree. He was getting heavy, but she’d never admit it. She was in no hurry for her little boy to grow up, although there was no escaping it. Louie was starting kindergarten next month. She brushed his mop of brown hair away from his eyes and kissed his cheek. “Sorry I’m late, sweetie. But I brought Chinese food, and Uncle Li sent you an extra spring roll.”
Louie cupped his hand around his mouth and whispered, “Grandma Roxie gave me cookies!” Then, louder, he said, “I’m not supposed to tell you. I told her we don’t keep secrets, and she said—”
“She said it was okay for grandmothers and grandsons to have a few secrets,” Bridgette’s mother said as she came out of the kitchen carrying a small grocery bag. Her springy blonde curls framed her smiling face. Roxie Dalton believed childhood should include mischief and mayhem, which was probably why Bridgette had been as rebellious as they came when she was a teenager.
“You know,” her mother said to Louie, “there was a time when your mama was a great secret keeper.” She tickled his belly, and he wiggled out of Bridgette’s arms.
“Clean up your toys, honey, so we can go home.” Bridgette melted at Louie’s mischievous smile, which looked so much like his wild and handsome father’s. There had been a time when that smile had caused as much pain as it had joy, but over the years the black sea that she’d been drowning in had abated, leaving a sacred cove of good memories.
“Mom,” Bridgette said quietly, “I wish you wouldn’t tell him I kept secrets.” She had once been a master at keeping her own secrets, but she’d put aside her wild-child ways after losing her husband and was doing everything she could to focus on bringing up Louie in a safe and stable environment. The only secrets she kept nowadays were the ones her three sisters shared with her. After all, she needed to set a good example for Louie.
Her mother shrugged. “Life is full of secrets, honey. It’s not such a bad thing that he knows you were a normal girl, but I will stop. Let’s talk about you for a minute. You’re racing around so much these days. I wish you would hire someone to help you. Even just a part-time person could free you up so you’re not leaving late so often.”
Bridgette had run her flower shop, the Secret Garden, with only sporadic seasonal help since opening it three and a half years ago, but her business had grown so much, it was getting difficult to manage alone.
“I’m trying. It’s the end-of-summer rush. Things should slow soon, and then I’ll be able to breathe again and think about hiring.”
“Well, maybe this will help ease some stress until then.” Her mother handed her the bag she was holding.
Bridgette peeked inside, seeing two bottles of her mother’s homemade jasmine massage oil, and tried to hide her annoyance. Roxie sold homemade fragrances, scented oils, lotions, and soaps in shops around town, and she claimed to put love potions in some, though she rarely offered up which ones contained her supposed magic. Bridgette had a houseful of the deliciously scented gifts, and she knew exactly what her mother was up to. Ever since the mysterious, gruff, too-sexy-for-his-shirt Bodhi Booker had moved in next door to Bridgette, her mother and three older sisters had been on a matchmaking mission. Her overprotective brother, Ben, was the only one who wasn’t pushing him on her.
She handed the bag back to her mother with an emphatic “No, thank you.”
“Oh, honey. Just give it a try.” Roxie pushed the bag back to her. “Maybe it’s time to let a little lovin’ in.”
“Please don’t talk to me about sex, Mom. It’s weird.” She took the bag just to get her mother off her back, intending to stuff it in the back of a closet where she wouldn’t be tempted to even think about it. She’d built a stable life for herself and Louie, and she owned a thriving business. She was happy without the distractions of a man. Mostly happy, anyway. Just the sight of Bodhi Booker made all her best, and lonely, parts want to come out to play again, reminding her of exactly what she’d been missing out on.
Her mother leaned in closer and lowered her voice. “I’m the one who caught you behind Dutch’s Pub with Robby Macamoy when you were sixteen. It’s no secret that people need intimacy. Or as you told me that night, ‘Human touch is important to a person’s psyche.’”
“I can’t believe you remember what I said.”
Roxie tapped her temple. “Mothers never forget. You’ll see.”
She glanced at Louie, who was busy picking up his toys, and knew it was true. She remembered his first everything. Between her son, her close-knit family, and living in a town small enough that everyone knew when a person sneezed, Bridgette should not be lonely. But she hadn’t been held or touched by a man since she’d lost Jerry. Five years, it turned out, was enough time to grieve and heal. She’d lived without him for more than twice the number of years they had shared, and she couldn’t deny that watching Willow and Zane fall deeply in love over the past few months, so consumed with each other they practically finished each other’s sentences, had made her long for the same type of special connection.
But Bodhi Booker and his piercing dark eyes was not the answer, even if the sparks between them could have blown up the place when they’d first met at Willow’s bakery a few weeks before he’d moved in. Everything about him was tough, from his serious expression and chiseled jawline to the keep-your-distance vibe he emitted. No matter how sweet she was to him—neighborly sweet, not please-let-me-lick-those-incredible-abs-you-keep-flashing sweet—he’d barely said more than two words to her. And when he had, they were clipped or rough. She shouldn’t be intrigued by that sort of man, but that didn’t stop her from turning into a hot mess of hungry hormones around him.
With Louie safely strapped into his booster seat, she drove the few blocks home to their cozy little bungalow, thinking about those hungry hormones. They’d been at peace for so long, she’d wondered if they still worked. And every time they came to life around Bodhi, she felt the sexy, rebellious part of herself she’d buried for so long—and she missed that, too. After losing Jerry, she’d poured herself into filling Louie’s home with so much love there would be no room for missing the father he had never really known. She’d gardened her broken heart out, creating lush, bountiful flower beds throughout the property, full of new life that needed nurturing and could not be ignored. Louie gave her purpose. The gardens gave her hope. Seeing the beautiful roses clinging to the white picket fence and the arched trellis over the walkway made her happy and reminded her that she was keeping the wilder parts of herself hidden for good reason. That very good, very cute reason climbed from his booster seat.
As she gathered the grocery bags, she heard the rumble of a truck pulling into the driveway next door, followed by a deep “Woof!”
Her pulse accelerated, and she tried to ignore her body flaming to life at the chance to catch a glimpse of Bodhi. The man had muscles upon muscles. Big, hard muscles that made her wonder how big and hard the rest of his parts were.
Don’t look. Do not look.
“Dahlia!” Louie darted past to see the badass brooder’s Great Dane.
Shoot. “Louie, don’t bother them—” Bridgette turned as Dahlia barreled into her, sending her bags crashing to the ground. Before she could catch her breath, the dog was nose deep in Chinese food.
Louie laughed hysterically as Dahlia lapped up their dinner. “She was hungry!”
Bridgette glared at Bodhi as he stalked toward them, broad shoulders squared, chiseled jaw tight. His eyes heated up with every step, reminding her of a penned bull ready for a wild ride.
That reckless, carefree girl inside her began tugging on her boots.
No, no, no.
She tried to look away, but it was futile. He had her rapt attention.
And she had his.
Or maybe that was wishful thinking.
“DAHLIA!” BODHI REACHED for the dog’s collar, pulling her away from his sexy-as-sin new neighbor’s meal. Bridgette Dalton had been starring in his late-night fantasies since the day they’d met a few weeks earlier in the local bakery. She had a smile that lit up a room and a voice he could listen to all day long—but he’d like to hear it crying out his name in a fit of passion.
She also had the most adorable kid he’d ever met.
For a guy like Bodhi, Bridgette was the epitome of off-limits.
“Sorry,” he said curtly. He was in town only to fix up the house he’d bought for his mother while he awaited his orders for his next assignment. As a covert-operations rescue specialist, he never knew exactly when he’d be called in, or if he’d make it home alive. And he certainly didn’t need an irate husband on his ass if he did. It was probably a good thing he was returning home to New York City in two weeks to report to mandatory training. A daily dose of hot-as-sin temptation would surely screw with his focus.
Bridgette crossed her arms and narrowed her beautiful green eyes, throwing virtual daggers in his direction. At least that was how she probably wanted it to come across, but she was so frigging adorable in her short skirt and sleeveless sweater, it was hard to take all that anger seriously. Although that didn’t make him feel any less of an ass for what Dahlia had done.
“You might as well let her eat the Chinese food,” Bridgette said as she began picking up the groceries.
“It isn’t good for her,” he said, too harshly. Keeping his emotions in check should not be more difficult than strategizing a mission. Until meeting Bridgette he’d never had trouble keeping his mind off women, never mind having any emotions worth hiding. But all it took was one word, one glance from her alluring green eyes, and he was toast.
He picked up the egg carton. Half the eggs were broken, the milk was spilling across the pavement, and—
She snagged a box of panty liners from his fingertips, and her cheeks flushed. “It’s okay,” she said a little shakily. “I don’t need help.”
Spending several years in the Special Forces and four years working for Darkbird, a civilian company hired to carry out the most dangerous covert rescue missions, he’d been through some awful shit. But hearing that little tremor in her voice did something funky to his stomach a war zone never had. He forced himself to focus on the groceries and not the urge to thread his fingers into her thick, luxurious hair, which was about a hundred shades of brown and blonde, and kiss her until that harried look fell away.
He picked up a romance novel from among the mess and wiped milk off the cover. “Everywhere and Every Way? I’ve rea—” Aw hell, now he sounded like a wimp. A friend had turned him on to romance novels when he’d needed an escape from the death and destruction he experienced on the job. That particular novel was funny as hell. He’d devoured it, and several more since, though he wasn’t about to share that bit of intel.
He cleared his throat and set the book aside. “I’ve seen it in the grocery store.”
Her eyes flicked up, and she leaned her elbow on her knee with a curious smile. “Most guys wouldn’t notice.”
“I notice everything.” Like the erratic pulse beating at the base of your neck, the darkening of your eyes, the spike in temperature between us, and the way you’re clutching that bag of peas so hard it’s ready to pop.
Her eyes shifted nervously to Louie, sitting cross-legged beside Dahlia, and his lust-addled brain snapped back to reality. What the hell was he doing? He had nothing long-term to offer a woman. And even if he did, he didn’t know what Bridgette’s deal was. He hadn’t seen a man around, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one.
“Looks like it’s PB and J tonight,” she said quietly.
Bodhi gave Dahlia a way-to-go look. The pup wrinkled her brow and cocked her head, watching him with sad eyes, as if she knew she had been naughty. He’d loved Dahlia from the moment he’d rescued her from the pound, but she was definitely not always the most well-behaved pooch. With a whimper, Dahlia stretched her giant paws out in front of her and rested her chin on her legs. He stifled the urge to love her up, knowing it would send the wrong message. He fucking hated tough love.
Bridgette glanced at Dahlia, and her expression softened. “You picked an interesting name for her.”
“She’d been abused before I adopted her. I think Dahlia fits her perfectly. She’s remained kind despite being tested in every way.” He petted Dahlia’s head, remembering the day he’d first seen her in the pound, rail thin with frightened eyes. She’d cowered from his touch, but she’d survived, and he’d poured as much love into her as he could ever since. His mother took care of her when he went on missions, and Dahlia was as comfortable with her as she was with him.
He concentrated on the task at hand and not the pouty pup beside him or the incredible woman in front of him, who was looking at him like she was trying to figure him out. He picked up a can of whipped cream and a container of strawberries, and his mind raced straight to a list of Bridgette’s body parts he’d like to eat them off. He gritted his teeth as he set the items in one of the bags and grabbed a bottle. Massage oil. Jesus. His mind went deeper into the gutter.
She snagged it from his hands, her eyes darkening as she licked her lips.
Lust seared through him, coiling hot and tight in the pit of his stomach. He needed to look away, to break their connection, but he was having a hell of a time finding his “Off” button when she was repeatedly pushing on, on, on.
He needed to get ahold of himself. It’d been a long time since a woman had affected him like this.
“Can Bodhi and Dahlia eat dinner with us?” Louie asked.
Bridgette’s lips parted on a sexy sigh, and her eyes—damn, those angelic green eyes—turned to liquid heat.
Combustible. That’s what this was between them.
Unstoppable.
He couldn’t afford unstoppable.
She snapped her mouth shut, and he imagined prying her sweet lips open with his tongue. Fuck.
That could not happen.
“No,” came out fast and hard—from both of them.