Romy drifted across his line of sight, feeling his focus glued on her even though his outward attention had returned to Leighton. Another military trait.
Just one more. Something spectacular. Something to really drive her message home. She picked up item after item and replaced them with care, moving casually towards the glass cabinet holding an array of opal and gold jewellery that probably sold like hot cakes to the wealthy tourists that frequented WildSprings Wilderness Retreat. The display was stupidly positioned, perfect for catching customer attention but in the worst possible spot for surveillance by the single cashier. And the mirror didn’t quite throw this far.
Which suited her fine.
With the efficiency of someone who had nothing at all to lose, she slid open the concealed base to the cabinet and picked out the most expensive-looking clunker she could find. Hardly the sort of thing she’d ever wear—her own tastes ran to something a little finer, something a lot cheaper—but she wasn’t going to have it long. She tucked the gaudy brooch deep into her inside pocket and slid the drawer silently closed.
‘Are you planning on paying for that?’
Romy was too well trained to flinch at the deep, cool voice, no matter how much her body itched to. She turned slowly, then tilted her gaze to his. Whoa. She’d thought he was a giant before…
He had to be six foot three, maybe four, and was built like the tank she was sure he would have travelled in once. All hard angles and iron. Her stomach dropped, but she plastered on an intentionally vague expression. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘Will you be buying that or just keeping the flies off with it?’ He nodded to the postcard in her hand, the one still automatically fanning her face. Her skin bristled. His tone was casual but she recognised the steel behind the smile all too well.
She’d grown up a human metal detector.
She started to move away, eager to escape the whirlpool surrounding his eyes. ‘It’s warmer than I expected, today.’
‘Could have something to do with your coat,’ he said lightly, following her. ‘Wrong sort of day for a long jacket.’
Oh, Lord, she was sprung.
Her heart hammered. If he’d had anything solid on her he would have asked her to turn out her pockets by now, but he was definitely sniffing. She frowned. What was he, security? No, she was interviewing for the position of park security officer in about forty minutes, so who was this guy, some kind of good Samaritan?
She straightened to give herself one more pointless inch against him. ‘Planning ahead. I heard the weather here on the south coast can be unpredictable.’
Those intense eyes weren’t fooled. They scanned her down and up again as though he had X-ray vision, and when they returned to hers they were arctic.
Time to go.
She turned her face a fraction but didn’t take her focus from the man in front of her. She couldn’t if she’d wanted to. ‘Leighton, honey. Let’s go.’
Three feet of dark curls and sunshine bounded over to where Romy stood dwarfed by the stranger. He held out a card with tiny, four-toed footprints printed on it, his voice hushed. ‘Mum, look. Frog prints.’
She dragged her attention down to her son and squatted. It was her personal rule. Leighton rarely sought attention these days, so when he did she gave it unquestioningly. So different to her own upbringing.
She tried to ignore the intense stare pounding onto her like a waterfall. ‘Are they real?’
‘Yeah. The frogs walked on the ink first, then the card. Non-toxic,’ he said importantly, ‘on account of the frog’s sensitive skin, Clint says.’
Romy’s hand faltered as it stroked her son’s shoulder. She bit the inside of her cheek. Clint? Lord, even the name was sexy. And somehow he’d gotten more out of her son in two minutes than she had all day.
She flipped the card over and looked at the price tag. Inflated, but not completely out of the question, particularly if she could nail this job interview. She straightened. ‘Tell you what, L, why don’t you take your frog print and my postcard to the lady at the counter and we’ll head out.’
‘Is it time for your meeting?’
Romy winced. She didn’t want Mr Military knowing her business. She handed her son the postcard and twenty dollars. ‘Go ahead, honey. I’ll be right there.’
The moment Leighton was outside hearing range, Clint spoke, suspicion narrowing his eyes even further. ‘You have an appointment?’
Not that it’s any of your business. ‘Yes, and I need to be—’
‘What kind of appointment?’
Every part of her tightened like a slingshot. Oh, you really don’t want to push that button, mister. She’d spent a lifetime being cut off by an overbearing bully. She didn’t need it today of all days. She took a shaky breath.
‘I’ve interrupted your shopping,’ she said, all courtesy. Verbal Judo 101. ‘And I must be going. Excuse me.’
She was sure it was no accident he’d positioned himself between her and the exit. She squeezed past his bulk in the narrow aisle, tucking her coat to the side so the objects hidden within didn’t clank against him. As she passed, she caught a whiff of something divine. Sandalwood, earth and…man. He might look as though he lived on the streets but he smelled heavenly. And all that bulk was hard as a rock, too, as she slid past him towards the counter, willing her heartbeat to settle.
So he hadn’t let himself go, entirely.
‘Perhaps I’ll see you around?’ He had the chest for such a cavernous voice. His words easily found her ears even though she’d moved halfway across the room. In her periphery, she saw him drift to the rear of the store and continue his browsing.
Lord, I hope not.
‘Is that all?’ the cashier politely asked.
Romy smiled at the girl, her heart beating loud enough to hear, conscious of the four stolen items hidden in her pockets and that the innocent cashier was likely to wear the temporary blame for their loss.
The angels will forgive me, she told herself.
It’s necessary.
‘You want to take the interviews?’ Justin Long stared at his brother, bemused. With good reason. Clint knew he hadn’t involved himself in the running of WildSprings for months. Years.
‘Not all of them, Justin. Only this last one.’ He tapped the lone female name on the list for the park security vacancy. It had to be her. The irony was perfect; he couldn’t pin it, but the dark-haired beauty in the gift shop was up to something. She was too tense roaming those aisles. How many women got uptight shopping?
Justin’s assistant stared at Clint as if he’d just hauled himself out of a sewer. Technically speaking, Simone was his assistant but she’d only ever worked with his brother so Clint forgave her confusion. It wasn’t
