Mystery Man

Chapter Five Hot-o-Meter

There was one good thing about getting your house broken into in the middle of the night because your sister was an idiot and having to phone your parents and then go spend the night with them: when they had to get up early to go to work and you didn’t so you could avoid the talk the next morning where they would want to know all about your idiot sister; how she put you in danger; how you put yourself in danger; why you didn’t tell them right off the bat; and why you’ve been keeping your perfect Army man boyfriend to yourself.

So, sleeping in, I avoided talking to Dad and Meredith.

However, when I went to the kitchen for coffee, on the counter I found a note from Dad which said:

G –

Tonight, dinner. 6:00 sharp. Be there.

Your window probably won’t be fixed for a week so pack a bag.

Don’t disappear or I’m calling Cam and sending Leo after you.

Love you, Dad.

They say men are attracted to women who are like their mothers and women are attracted to men who are like their fathers. This must be true considering I’m attracted to hot, uber-macho, bossy guys.

I also had a note from Meredith which said:

Morning honey,

There are fresh bagels in the fridge, Einstein’s. Whipped cream cheese, your favorite.

See you tonight!

Hugs, Meredith

PS: I cannot tell you how happy I am for you after meeting Hawk! He’s so cute! And he’s sweet! And he’s smitten! YAY!

Cute? Sweet? Smitten? With underlines? And… yay?

Obviously my Dad wasn’t attracted to women like me. Good to know.

After coffee, a bagel and note reading, I had taken more than my usual going-to-sit-at-a-computer-all-day care with my appearance because I kept running into hot guys. Usually, I worked in yoga pants, camisoles or babydoll tees and lightweight hoodies. If it was summer, I might switch it up with shorts.

That morning I’d used Meredith’s makeup and curling iron (why she needed a curling iron with curly hair, I did not know but she had everything that had anything to do with being a girl, one of the many reasons why I loved her) and I curled my long hair into a mass of curls and waves with a heavy fall of hair at the front. I also put on makeup, something I never did unless I was going out. The rest, I couldn’t help because I’d packed in the middle of the night after a break-in, meeting a new hot guy and another bizarre and annoying (but, unfortunately, hot) confrontation with Hawk. So it was just jeans, a light blue tee from Thrifty Stick (a cool boarder shop on Broadway, I didn’t board but, like I mentioned, I could shop anywhere), with a black skull and crossbones above my breasts that had a red “T” and “S” on and red bands around the neckline and sleeves, black belt, boots and thin, hooded, cardie sweater.

And I was glad I’d curled my hair and done my makeup and I was also glad I had on my killer, wire-rimmed, cop shades with the gray semi-mirrored lenses when I drove up to my house and saw it had a bunch of motorcycles and a big, black van parked in front of it.

Holy, freaking, crap!

I drove into my driveway trying to steer my little, blue Hyundai in while still keeping my eyes on what appeared to be an army of bikers hanging out on my lawn and going in and out of my house.

Clearly my house wasn’t hard to break into, as had been proved last night, and it had been made easier by the fact there was only a board where the window should be but now the door was wide open and the board was gone. In fact, the entire window was gone.

And Tack was standing on my lawn with Dog and he was wearing cool mirrored shades too and they were pointed toward my car.

I barely pulled up the parking brake when he moved away from Dog and started in my direction. Therefore, when I got out, he was there, pinning me between my car and the door.

I looked up at him instantly comparing. Shorter than both Hawk and Lawson but he could seriously work facial hair. And I wasn’t having a flight of fancy the day before. On the hot-o-meter he rang the top bell and he rang it loud.

“Hey,” I said but it came out kind of breathy.

“Hey peaches,” he replied, not breathy at all but deep and gravelly.

“Um… what are you doing here?” I asked, taking that opportunity to glance toward my house to see a biker had a tape measure and was measuring my window.

“Heard word you had a visitor last night,” Tack said and I looked back at him.

“Kind of, he was… uh, interrupted before I could, um… offer him some chocolate chip cookie dough,” I told him.

This garnered me a white teeth surrounded by salt and pepper goatee’ed smile and I made a mental note to stop being a smartass because, apparently, badasses liked smartass women.

Then Tack stated, “You didn’t call.”

“Um… no, I didn’t call,” I agreed.

“Told you, you get in a situation, you call,” he went on.

I stared through my shades at his shades. He didn’t sound biker-angry. He wasn’t being scary. I would know because when he was you could see it, hear it and feel it.

I decided not to answer.

Tack continued. “So, I heard word you had a situation, you didn’t call, I figure, you’re the kind of woman who wants the call. So, I’m callin’.”

I looked at the bikers on my lawn and at my door. Then I looked at Tack.

“Sorry, I must have missed it. Maybe my phone ran out of juice.”

“No, babe,” he dipped his head to the side to indicate the bikers, “that’s me callin’.”

I looked back at the bikers then at Tack. Then it hit me that was how Tack made his call to announce that he was interested and he intended to do something about it.

Uh. Wow.

“Oh,” I whispered.

I was thinking this was not good at the same time feeling warm and fuzzy all over.

I heard the purr of an engine and I leaned to the side to see a metallic dark gray, new model, kick-freaking-ass Chevrolet Camaro rolling to a stop behind the black van and gliding up behind that was another black van, this one newer, nicer, more expensive and very shiny.

The door of the Camaro opened up and Hawk folded out, also wearing shades, his were aviator glasses that were even more kick-freaking-ass than the Camaro and the Camaro was hot. Out of the van jumped a bunch of heavily muscled, cargo-pants and tight, long-sleeved tee wearing commandos.

Hawk’s shades sliced our way.

Uh-oh.

I was wrong. This was not good and I was no longer feeling warm and fuzzy at all.

I heard a car door slam across the street, I leaned the other way to peer around Tack and saw a police vehicle with red and blue lights in the dash, not on the top and walking across the street wearing his own, wire-rimmed, super-hot shades was Detective Mitch Lawson.

Super, double, extra uh-oh!

The hot-o-meter started ringing like crazy as hot guys descended on me, my car and Tack from two directions.

Boy was I glad I curled my hair.

Tack turned but didn’t unpin me as they got close.

What did I do now?

I decided to play it cool but there was one big problem with that, I wasn’t cool.

Hawk got there first and his shades didn’t leave me when he stopped a few feet away.

“Babe,” he greeted but his voice was kind of rumbly in a way that I didn’t suspect meant he was in a good morning mood.

“Hey,” I greeted back.

Lawson arrived, rounding Hawk so he could get a clear line of sight to me but his shades swept Tack, his mouth tight, before they landed on me.

“Mornin’, Gwendolyn,” he greeted, ignoring Hawk and Tack.

“Uh, morning,” I greeted back.

“You sleep okay?” Lawson asked.

“Not really,” I answered honestly.

“Got a remedy for that,” Tack put in and two pairs of shades sliced to him so mine did too and I saw he had his arms crossed on his chest and he was grinning.

Shit.

At this point, Hawk was done.

I knew this because he pointed a finger at Tack and then at Lawson saying, “You… you… talk,” and I figured he was probably the only person on the planet who could get away with doing something like that with those two guys.

He took a step back and both Lawson and Tack moved. So did I, to clear my door and throw it to. When I did, Hawk, who had turned to walk with Lawson and Tack across my lawn, turned back to me.

“Babe. Stay.”

I blinked at him through my shades.

Then I lost my temper.

“I’m not a dog!” I snapped loudly.

One second he was five feet away from me, the next I was pinned against my car.

“You stay or I’ll carry you to my car and handcuff you to the steering wheel. Your choice. Two seconds.”

Obviously I was right. Someone was not in a good morning mood.

“There’s a police officer here. I think he’ll frown on you carrying me to your car and handcuffing me to your steering wheel,” I informed him.

“Lawson knows me, so does Tack, and I promise you, Sweet Pea, I have to do what I have to do to deal with my woman, not a man in your yard will lift a finger to help you.”

I wasn’t certain I believed this statement but with the way he said it I wasn’t going to test it. Things were tense enough. I didn’t need biker vs. commando war on my front lawn with Lawson calling in police intervention.

So I gave in but I didn’t do it graciously.

“You just slipped down two levels on the hot-o-meter,” I informed him snottily.

“I’ll survive,” he shot back and turned away.

As he walked toward where Lawson and Tack were standing and waiting while watching me and Hawk, I walked to the hood of my car, jumped up to sit on it and crossed my arms on my chest.

Bikers and commandos alike swung their heads from me to the macho man, badass huddle. Me, I just watched the three hot guys talk, faces tight, eyes not even close to avoiding contact. Shades were locked to shades. This conversation was tense but it lasted all of three minutes. I didn’t time it but my guess was it could have been even less.

Then they broke away from each other. Lawson headed to his vehicle but he gave me a low wave. Tack whistled, flicked his fingers and the army of bikers were on the move, jumping on bikes and loading up in the van. Tack’s eyes came to me and he put a finger to his forehead and flipped it out before he jumped on a bike. Lawson’s car started and Harleys roared and through them taking off, Hawk broke off from talking to a slim but lean and cut man who was about two inches shorter than him and he came to me while the rest of the commandos unloaded what looked like boxes of equipment.

I hopped off the car to stand in front of him.

“I’ve just added reason three hundred and seventy-two to my list of why we are so over,” I announced.

“Had this conversation twice, not havin’ it again,” Hawk returned, his shades now locked to mine. “Last night, my boys measured your window. A new one is being cut and they’ll install it when it arrives. Now they’re workin’ on your security system. That’ll take a couple days. Until then, you stay with me.”

“Too late, I already had a macho man inform me where I’m sleeping tonight.”

I watched his entire body get tight, it seemed like the very air around him turned a warning shade of red and it took a lot but I just managed not to step back.

“And that would be?” he asked in a scary, quiet voice.

“My Dad,” I answered in a snotty voice.

His body relaxed as did his face and his mouth grinned showing both dimples.

“That I’ll allow,” he allowed.

Serious to God, he could not be believed.

“All right, I know you have selective hearing and block out entire sections of what I say but really, pay attention. First, tell your boys to stop their work. Dad is fixing my window and I don’t want a security system from you. Second, I don’t know what went down in that huddle but clearly you won and that makes you think you can waltz over here and boss me around but you are way wrong. Not only because I’m not your woman but also because I do not like to be bossed around, at all, ever. And last, honest to God, honest to God, we… are… over.”

I barely got out the word “over” when he yanked off his shades, then he yanked off mine, then he tossed both of them on the hood of my car. I was so surprised by this maneuver I was frozen stiff so he was able to execute his next maneuver without resistance. Therefore, I found my body flat against his, one of his arms was tight around me, the other hand was cupping the back of my head, he tilted it and his mouth slammed down on mine.

This was a problem.

There was a reason I never kicked Hawk out of my bed and that was because, usually before I could speak, he was kissing me.

And he was an excellent kisser. He could do a lot of things with his hands, his mouth and other parts of his anatomy that were mind-blowing but even if he only ever kissed me it was highly likely I would be ruined for any other man.

Yes, he was that good. Really.

Therefore, when he finally lifted his head (and as humiliating as it was, he took his time and I let him), I had one arm tight around his back and one hand curled on the side of his neck both in order just to hold on. When his tongue was working my mouth, that was all I could ever do, just hold on.

“We over, Sweet Pea?” he whispered to me.

“I do not like you,” I whispered back, still holding on.

He did that deep, amused, manly chuckle again, his hand moved out of my hair and became an arm wrapped around my shoulders before both his arms tightened, bringing me even closer. “Got things to do now, the boys’ll be workin’ here but I’ll come back, take you to lunch.”

Take me to lunch? We’d never even had a date and now he was casually telling me he was going to take me to lunch?

“I can’t go to lunch. I have three deadlines and I only worked for a few hours yesterday. I have to go flat out if I’m going to make them. I’m eating lunch at my desk.”

“I’ll bring something. What do you want?”

God! What was with this guy?

“I have food in my fridge.”

“Tom Yung Goong and Pad Thai, J’s Noodles,” he said and I stared.

Two of my favorites. I had many but Tom Yung Goong soup and Pad Thai noodles from J’s were very high on the top of that long list. And I usually bought them takeout to eat at my desk when I had a marathon workday going.

Then I stopped staring and I felt my eyes get squinty.

“How do you know everything about me?”

He didn’t answer my question but it was unnecessary for him to do so since evidence was suggesting he watched me like… well, a hawk.

Instead, he asked his own question. “You didn’t sleep last night?”

“My house got broken into,” I reminded him.

“Thought you went to your Dad’s to feel safe,” he replied.

“I can feel safe and still toss and turn because I’m obsessing about watching a man’s hand push open my bedroom door at the same time worrying if I’d break my happy kitty snow globe when I had to clock him.”

His arms gave me a squeeze. “That was last night, babe, this is today. You’re good. It’s over. Get it out of your head.”

Was he high? Did he seriously think I could do that? Did he seriously think any woman could do that? I had at least twenty-five years of obsessing about last night left before I could get it out of my head.

“It’s not that easy,” I informed him.

“It’s just that easy,” he informed me.

I glared up at him.

He smiled down at me, with dimples and shit, I liked those dimples.

Time to get to work.

“I need coffee and I need to fire up my computer and get to work.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, dropped his head and before I could avoid it, he brushed his lips against mine. Then, murmuring again, he said, “Later,” let me go but leaned into me to grab his shades then he prowled to his Camaro, all badass cool, on his way tipping his chin to the commandos. Then he folded into his kickass car and purred off.

I stood by my car for awhile watching the street where I’d last seen him thinking one word.

Shit.

Then I grabbed my shades, avoided busy commandos, made my way inside, set a big pot of coffee to brew and when it was done I poured out about five mugs for various hardworking commandos.

Then, finally, I went to my office to fire up my computer.