No Gentle Giant (A Small Town Romance)

“You miss home, Alaska?” she murmurs.

Damn, I can’t look away from her.

She’s always caught my eye in passing, but not with this new magnetism that’s got me by the throat.

She’s a stunning woman, tall and coltishly leggy with just enough curve in all the right places, a lushness to her thighs that makes her jeans cling to them like a second skin.

Her face is slim with a vixen’s appeal, this come-hither hotness in the angle of her eyes that she seems clueless about. Trouble haunts every line of her, but it makes her look pensive and sweet, her soft violet-blue eyes glimmering and the peak of her brows so thoughtful.

Then there’s that hair—a wicked temptation I’m throbbing to have in my fist.

It falls around her in a cinnamon cascade, shaping against slender shoulders and framing her face till her skin glows like roses and cream against that dark-brown backdrop.

Yeah. I know.

I’m looking at her like I’m smitten.

With the way she glows under the lights overhead, soft-edged and glimmering, painting her in layered gold, hell.

Maybe I am.

“Lately, I’m missing Alaska less every day,” I say softly. “It’s not quite home without my boy, and I think we’re both liking giving this Montana life a try.”

There’s a heart-pounding stillness between us, the air charged.

I feel like there’s a force drawing me closer to her, but there’s a kid between us, and Eli looks at her, then at me, before piping up, “I don’t miss Alaska much. Not without Dad there. My grandparents have way too many rules. They wouldn’t even let me go hiking there like I do here.”

I blink, shaking myself from Felicity’s spell, and look down at my son.

I’m almost grateful to him for slapping me back to my senses, and I groan, chuckling.

“That’s enough of that. C’mon. It’s past your bedtime, and I’ll bet Miss Felicity’s pretty tired, too.” I nod at the stack of cash on the bar. “That should cover you, but let me know if you change your mind about the rest. You sure you don’t want us to shadow you home?”

“No. I’ve got it, everything. Promise.” Felicity glances at the money like she’d rather eat wax fruit than take it, but her smile seems genuine when she looks up. “Thank you both for coming to the rescue, guys. Seriously. Anybody else who stumbled into this would’ve made it a big deal, but you...you get it. I won’t have to worry about half the town hearing the news and fussing over something so dumb, and I’m grateful.”

“Happy to help anytime.” I hold her gaze for a long second. “I mean it.”

She just stares at me, her lips parted, and fuck, what am I even saying?

This town is full of messes.

I know that by now, and it seems like everyone’s got their problems, or gotten over them.

As we walk out with Eli calling back “Good night, Miss Felicity!” I wonder.

After catching wind of what’s crushing down on Felicity’s shoulders, how the hell can I not want to watch out for her?

Someone needs to.

If no one else is volunteering for the job, it might as well be me.

5

More Precious Than (Felicity)

One fine day, maybe, I’ll get over the urge to hide in the backroom every time Alaska comes into The Nest.

That day was not yesterday.

Or the day before.

Or the day before that.

Or any day in the last week when he’s been coming by in the mornings to top up fuel for his crew. He’s as friendly as always, like the entire mug incident—oh, and the whole Paisley-turning-my-place-upside-down thing—didn’t even happen.

He just smiles that slayer grin, thanks me for the joe, and then he’s gone.

But a girl notices things.

There’s a certain way he glances at me, lingering, a heat flaring in his eyes.

Like he’s wondering just what kind of unholy mess I’m caught in.

Exactly like he’s pondering if he should’ve just listened to the fair warnings I gave about not getting too tangled up with me.

Not all the rumors about me are just malicious gossip.

I’m a walking bad luck charm, and most folks in Heart’s Edge know it.

Alaska will figure that out soon enough, the same as everybody else.

He’ll distance himself, those warm, friendly smiles and soul-searching mocha-brown eyes going flat and perfunctory. Careful. Withdrawn.

Just polite enough to keep me at arm’s length.

He’d be totally right to, even if Alaska is exactly the kind of man I’d fall for if I had the freedom to do things like go tripping into love without expecting it to blow up in my face.

He’s too extra.

Too much, really, right down to his sinful form.

It’s like one day the creator of the universe decided he wanted to see how much man he could pack into a tattooed skin stretched over a frame so tall it’s halfway to heaven.

Seriously, the man practically has to duck and angle himself just right to fit through the door like a colossus trying to cram himself into a space made for mere mortals.