Dangerous Ties

Nothing like an engagement party to make you do a life review.

Or to make you feel like you've been kicked in the balls.

“Hey grumpy, you're missing the party.” That singsong voice hits me like a sledgehammer.

No. Not now.

I turn my face up toward the ink-black sky and let return to my rumination about the bullshit of the past few years while my teammate is celebrating one of the best days of his life.

Her unwavering stare is hot on the side of my face.

When I lower my gaze from the stars and look right, Madeline Rush, an entirely different kind of star, is standing with her hands fisted on her hips. For some reason she looks radiant. As if she's magically defying the darkness by capturing starlight on strands of her golden hair.

Some trained spec ops soldier I am when an untrained country music star creeps up on me without me knowing.

I rumble, “So are you,” but I can't drag my gaze away.

The woman is enchanting.

Where did that word come from?

Enchanted is for fairy tales. And those are for other people.

My vocab is about missions, ops, tactics, crime, a lot of dark words not meant for dinner conversation, and more than a few curse words.

That just shows how far off my brain is right now.

But, as always, the sight of her causes a catch in my throat.

The roughness in my airway multiplies when she shrugs one shoulder and strides over to the picnic table in her cowboy boots, to the place where I've had my ass parked for the last half-hour.

With a little huff, she says, “I needed a breather from all that lovey-dovey stuff.”

Preaching to the choir. “You and I both. Want to sit?” I offer her a spot by thumping my knuckles against the wooden top of the picnic table.

Part of me is praying she says no and flees. But the other part is hanging on bated breath.

With a tsk of her tongue she says, “Only if you lay off harping on my security detail for five minutes.”

I almost laugh because if there's one thing I'm going to do, it's to remind Madeline that she's got a crap security detail. It bugs the hell out of me. “You might not want to sit, then.”

She grumbles something, then she climbs her pretty little self right up on the table and sits close enough for her sunshine and citrus scent to drown me.

My night just went from downright-hard to full-on hell.

I try my damndest to sit still as she wiggles around and gets comfortable next to me. I never knew a four-by-eight picnic table could feel so small.

She sighs and pushes that waterfall of her shiny locks over her shoulder. The scent of vanilla tangles with her other mouthwatering flavors. The depth of my hunger for her knows no bounds.

I like the opposite sex. I've always appreciated a wide array of beauty, but something about Madeline is exceptional. The girl-next-door, fresh-faced prettiness she has appeals to me in a whole new way.

“I know they suck,” she says without preface.

Surprised, I swivel my head toward her. She's looking up at me and I get hung up again on how pretty she is in the near darkness.

This announcement is a development. I thought Madeline disagreed with my assessment.

“Come again?”

As she looks at me with an open expression, she says, “My guards. I know they suck. I pay my manager to take care of things like that for me, therefore, it means he is also pretty much useless.”

No shit. I already know enough about the guy to make this statement with conviction. “He sucks balls, Madeline.”

She jolts and leans away from me. “Eww that's gross. But yes, he's not the best person I could employ.”

Anger flares in my gut and my eyes narrow. “Did you know that your guards are currently—as in right this minute—getting high?”

She makes a little groan and covers her eyes with her hand. “No.”

Which means there's no way I'm letting them drive her to her hotel tonight. I'm just reserving that debate for later. Instead, I say, “If your manager hired those dickweeds, he needs to be fired too.”

When I first met Madeline, I was working on her older sister's ATF case. Both times her security was fucked, and both times it's made my skin crackle with anger. Someone's taking advantage of her and she's going to be the one to get hurt because of it.

When she drops her hand, her pretty lips twist into a half-pout, half look of irritation. “Believe it or not, I've been through a lot of guards, and a few different security companies. I've also been through a couple of assistants and managers. It's hard to find the right people. Actually, it's not hard—it seems to be impossible.” With a sad tone, she finishes by saying, “I sort of gave up.”

My irritation is building to epic levels. “You can't just walk around without protection, Madeline. I don't care how 'over it' you are. You know who you are, the kind of attention you draw, that means you need a personal detail that's wired tight. Not barely competent. And high.”

This time she bites her lip and stiffens her spine.

Last time we talked, she got snippy. I know she's winding up to unleash that million-dollar tongue on me. “Madeline...”

“Agent Beckett...”

I don't correct her incorrect title. My mood shows in my voice as I reply. “I thought you didn't want to talk about this.”

She frowns at me and narrows her eyes. I hate that I think the expression is cute. What the hell?

She snaps, “I don't.”

Lord. Give. Me. Strength. Everything about Madeline makes me uncomfortable. Like she's poking at parts of me I prefer to pretend don't exist. “Then why'd you bring it up?”

Her eyelashes snap together in a fast blink. “Because it bugs me that you don't like me.”

Oh sweetheart. How wrong you are.