Jillian stood back, wondering what the hell was wrong with her.
Chance pulled a fancy knife from his pocket, unfolded a blade and slit through the tape securing the box. Inside was a stack of freshly laundered towels.
Pulling herself together, Jillian hurried forward, selected a cloth and opened the bottled water.
Chance held out his hand. “I can take care of it myself.”
“No, let me. I made you go back in after the kitten.”
“Yeah, but I would have gone in whether you asked me to or not.”
She wet the cloth and capped the bottle, setting it to the side. Now she had to touch the man who’d stirred up so many emotions since finding her in the basement. The smart thing to do would be to hand him the cloth and let him take care of his own injury. But now that she’d insisted, she had to follow through. If she treated him like a client injured on a tour of one of her home listings, she shouldn’t have a problem. Squaring her shoulders, she set her jaw and commanded, “Sit.”
* * *
Chance responded to the command in her voice, though he almost laughed out loud at the play of emotions crossing Jillian’s face. “Yes, ma’am.” He dropped down onto a porch step.
Jillian settled on one riser higher and touched the damp cloth to his cheek. “This might hurt a little,” she said, leaning close.
“I’ve had worse injuries in the war.” More than he could count. As an army ranger, scrapes, broken bones, concussions, shrapnel and gunshot wounds were expected.
As she moved nearer, the scent of herbal shampoo filled his nostrils and made him want to pull Jillian into his lap to explore further.
“That’s right. You’re Nova’s friend from the military.”
He dipped his head.
“Do you work with the same organization Nova works with now?” Jillian cupped the back of his head and gently dabbed at the kitten’s mark.
With her hand tickling the nape of his neck and her breast pressing into his arm, Chance could barely breathe. “I do.”
“What exactly is it you do?” She rinsed the cloth with more water and squeezed out the excess moisture.
“Whatever is needed,” Chance responded, his voice tight, desire pressing hard against the fly of his jeans. Thankfully, he didn’t have to go into detail about his job. Much of what he did with Stealth Operations Specialists was classified and only those with a need to know were given the details of any operation.
Her lips twisted. “Let me guess, if you tell me what you do—”
“I’d have to kill you.” He captured her wrist in his hand. “I think you’ve done enough. We should finish the work and get back to the B and B.”
Jillian stared into his eyes.
A few short inches separated them, but all Chance could think about was her pretty pink mouth and what she might taste like if he dared kiss her.
Jillian ran her tongue around those pink lips, sending Chance’s control flying.
“Do you realize how crazy you’re making me?”
She shook her head, her eyes rounding. Her gaze shifted to his mouth.
Like a moth drawn to the flame, Chance couldn’t resist the temptation. He slipped his hand beneath her hair at the back of her head and dragged her forward until their lips almost touched. “Tell me to stop and I will,” he breathed, praying she wouldn’t when the temptation to kiss her threatened to overwhelm him.
Jillian closed the distance between them, her lips brushing his. They were so soft, full and luscious. Chance increased the pressure on the back of her neck and claimed her mouth, tonguing the seam of her lips until she opened to him.
He swept in, caressing her tongue in a long, slow glide. She tasted of mint and chocolate—sweet, decadent and undeniably irresistible.
Jillian dropped the cloth on the step beside him and ran her hand up the front of his chest, linking it with the other behind his neck. She pressed her breasts against him, stirring an ever-deepening hunger inside.
Chance pulled her across his lap without breaking the kiss, drowning in the touch, taste and feel of her body pressed to his.
A loud crash sounded inside the house, bursting through the cocoon of lust surrounding them.
Chance ducked, his pulse leaped, and he would have flattened himself to the ground, but with Jillian across his lap, that wasn’t an option.
Jillian squealed and pushed to her feet.
Chance rose as well, his attention on the house.
“Stay here,” he said.
“Staying,” she agreed.
His heart hammering from his close encounter with Jillian, Chance ran into the house. With a quick sweep of the rooms on the first floor, Chance located the source of the sound. A four-by-eight-foot sheet of drywall lay on the floor of the living room, having fallen from the stack leaning against the wall.
Chance lifted it and leaned it with the others. When he’d passed the stack before, the individual sheets had seemed to be leaning at an angle so they wouldn’t easily fall. A gust of wind would not have been enough to push over one of the heavy drywall sheets. He glanced around, his gaze going to the dusty wooden floor.
There were several sets of footprints overlaying each other from where he, Jillian and the workers had all passed. Was there someone else in the house? Someone who could have slipped the hook in the loop on the cellar door and knocked one of the drywall sheets to the ground? Chance didn’t like it. Something didn’t feel right in his gut. And his gut was seldom wrong.
He walked back out to the porch, where Jillian stood, her hair rumpled and her lips swollen from their kiss.
“Find anything?”
“A sheet of drywall fell over.” He didn’t go any deeper. He could be wrong. “I set it upright.”
She clapped her hands together. “In that case, let’s get going.”
“Right. This stuff isn’t moving itself. And we need to get back to the McGregor B and B.”
Jillian smiled. “Exactly. If we’re late, Molly will send her brother, a member of the Cape Churn Police Department, to check on us.”
Chance got to work. He wanted to get done and get back before dark—and before something else happened in Jillian’s haunted house.
Jillian’s back ached and she counted the minutes until she could take a pain pill and crawl into bed. But she had to take the trailer back to town,
