Serving Trouble (Second Shot 1)

He ran forward and dropped to his knees. His hands hovered over the open box, the realization sinking in that he was in Oregon, not Afghanistan. He couldn’t defuse a bomb out here. He wasn’t prepared to dismantle a roadside IED.

He blinked and peered into the box for the first time. He felt light-­headed and it had nothing to do with Josie’s mouth on his dick. The cardboard shifted and a soft mewing sound pulled him firmly back to reality.

“Fucking kittens.” He reached inside and picked one up. “Ah, hell.”

Dizzy from the rush of relief, he clutched the kitten to his chest and closed his eyes. It wasn’t an IED, just some jerk who’d seen a bunch of farms and decided to abandon a litter of kittens on the side of the road for some bleeding-­heart farmer to take home to their barn.

He heard the truck door slam, followed by the distinct click of Josie’s boots on pavement. But he didn’t open his eyes. She’d been ready and willing to get naked on the side of the road until he’d freaked out.

Because of a box of kittens.

Hero. Jerk. The labels didn’t apply. He was a fool. The bundle of fur in his hands sank its sharp teeth into his thumb, and he welcomed the prick of pain, anything to drive away the lingering traces of fear and his own embarrassment.

He opened his eyes and looked up at Josie. She stood to his right with an open field that looked nothing like a war zone to her back.

“You know, this might ruin your I’m-­an-­ass image,” she said, placing her hands on her hips. She offered the shifting meowing box a cursory glance before looking back at him.

“I thought it was . . .” His throat went dry. “I wasn’t trying to . . . Jesus, I thought . . .”

I thought the box would explode and steal you away from me. I needed to save you because . . . Because I want you and I’m so damn selfish. . .

“I wasn’t trying to be a hero,” he added, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Says the man clutching an abandoned kitten,” she said.

He set the biting, clawing animal back into the box and met her gaze. He expected to see pity in her green eyes. The poor war hero who mistook a box of kittens for a bomb. But it wasn’t there. She looked as if she was waiting for him to get a grip and return to the truck.

If only he could find the strength to get off the ground.

“I could give you a blow job in front of the truck and hope someone drives by and sees us,” she said. “That would help cement your bad boy image.”

He laughed and this time he searched her face for a sign that she understood. Right now, knees planted in the dirt beside a box of fur balls, he hoped like hell she’d connected the dots. He didn’t want to wear the hero label because the things he’d seen, the things he’d done, were flat-­out horrible. There was pride in serving his country, and also disgust. Because the ­people on either side—­American, Afghan—­weren’t divided into bad and good.

And he didn’t want pity either. God, he hoped she knew that. Sympathy and sex didn’t belong in the same thought. He wanted to hold on to the hope that she couldn’t help her attraction to him. Because that would pretty much mirror how he felt. He just wanted to lose himself for a little while—­in her.

“So what do you say?” she pushed. “Want a BJ right here, right now?”

“Josie, don’t fucking say that if you don’t mean it.”

Chapter Ten

“WATCH YOUR LANGUAGE in front of my kittens.” Josie stared down at the blond warrior kneeling in the grass on the side of the road. He blinked and his brow furrowed. The look in his blue eyes screamed have you lost your mind?

“And seriously? You want to?” She nodded to the truck parked a good fifteen feet away from the box he’d expected to explode. “Here? Now?”

“No.” He shook his head as he planted one foot on the ground and rose up. “I’m damn near dying to kiss you again. And yeah, I’d like to feel your lips move a helluva lot lower. But not to prove a point to a random passerby.”

Thank God. She’d tossed out the offer like a Hail Mary pass at the end of the game. But the goal wasn’t to talk him out of his pants. Not here. She wanted to make him laugh and make it clear that she wasn’t counting on him for another rescue. If this had been a bomb, she knew he would have done everything he could to save her, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. The last thing he needed was her faith in him to carry around like a lead weight he didn’t want or need.

“We’re taking the kittens,” she said, bending down to pick up the box. With the squirming cardboard in her arms, she headed for his truck.

“You’re taking them,” he corrected, moving to her side and matching her pace.

“Not at my dad’s place. He’s allergic. But they could live in your barn.” She stopped by the passenger side door and waited while he opened it. “I’ll stop by and feed them.”

He took the box from her while she climbed into the truck. “But—­”

“I’m not asking you to feed and play with them,” she said. The last thing he needed was another burden. “Just share your mostly empty barn with them for a while. Who doesn’t need a barn cat? Or five?”