Defending Harlow (Mountain Mercenaries #4)(12)

A man stared through the glass window at the door of the shelter across the street, where the dark-haired guy had disappeared. He’d seen other men come and go from the First Hope Women’s Shelter, but it had been on a regular basis, near the beginning of the month. Not in the afternoon—and they never walked anyone to their cars when they left. He’d seen the old guy come and go more frequently, but this one wasn’t old. Not in the least.

He’d watched him park his fancy-ass Mazda6 down the street and seen how the old bitch had greeted him at the door. He hadn’t been inside very long when he’d reappeared with one of the cooks. He was looking around, assessing the area, and acting very protective of the woman at his side.

Sighing, the man pressed his lips together. He didn’t need this. Things had been going so well. He could almost see the end of his very long mission. But he had a feeling this guy was going to mess up everything.

It was time to step up the pressure. He’d get what he wanted or else.





Chapter Four

Harlow jerked when someone knocked at her door at precisely five thirty. Even though she’d been expecting it, the sound still startled her. Smoothing her hair behind an ear, she went to the door and looked through the peephole.

Swallowing hard, she opened the door and stared at Lowell.

She was in big trouble here.

He looked amazing. He’d changed into a pair of black jeans and a black T-shirt that molded to his body. He looked . . . lickable.

Shaking her head at herself, Harlow forced a smile. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he returned.

She couldn’t help but stand there and stare back as his eyes took her in from head to toe. Because this wasn’t a date, Harlow had refused to get dressed up for him. She was wearing a simple pair of jeans and a T-shirt, but she had taken the time to brush her hair out, which now fell around her shoulders. She still had on her flip-flops, but had decided that afternoon to paint her toenails a bright red.

It was a spur-of-the-moment choice, and she couldn’t keep her toes from curling as his gaze reached them.

He looked back up at her and smiled. “I like the toes.”

Harlow forced herself to roll her eyes instead of simpering like an idiot. “Thanks,” she said as curtly as she could. “Let me grab my purse, and I’ll be ready to go.” She turned, leaving him standing at her apartment door. She picked up her purse, which was sitting on her kitchen counter, and spun back around to leave—but she bounced off Lowell’s chest instead.

His hands came up and caught her biceps before she could fall to the ground.

“Easy, Harl.”

She knew she was blushing, and she ducked her head to try to hide her reaction to being near him.

“You okay?” he asked, tipping her head up with a finger under her chin and casually tucking her hair behind her ear with the other hand.

The brush of his fingers on the sensitive outer edge of her ear made goose bumps rise up on her arms. She wasn’t used to men being this close to her. So close she could smell the soap he’d used to shower and could feel his body heat.

Nodding, Harlow took a step backward. “I’m fine. I didn’t realize you’d be right there . . . since I didn’t invite you in.” She couldn’t help tagging on that last part since she was discomfited. She hadn’t asked him to step inside while she’d grabbed her purse because she wasn’t going to be that long, and honestly, she didn’t want him in her space.

Not because she was scared of him or what he might do, but because she had a feeling once he was in, he was in.

She’d dated dozens of men in the past. Not that the dates had gone particularly well, but she had a niggling feeling that Lowell was different. He could hurt her. Really hurt her. The other men she’d dated were mere blips on her life radar, but Lowell was already different from the other men she’d gone out with. She had a history with him. Once upon a time, she’d had a crush on him, maybe still did, and the more time she spent around him, the more she remembered why she’d liked him so much.

Back then he was a nice boy, but now, all indications were that he was an amazing man.

She was in so much trouble.

Lowell smirked at her. “Sorry I came in without permission.”

He didn’t look sorry. In fact, he looked extremely pleased with himself.

Harlow shrugged the strap of her purse onto her shoulder and took a step toward her door. “I’m ready to go.”

Luckily, he didn’t insist on getting the grand tour of her place, not that there was much to see—it was a two-bedroom, two-bathroom apartment with a kitchen and living area.

He held out an arm, indicating she should precede him to the door. She did and, when she felt his hand settle on her lower back, sighed internally. He’d done that earlier in the day too, and the second she’d felt the warmth of his palm on her body, she’d relaxed. Just knowing he was there, that he had her back, made her much less afraid of who might be lurking outside the shelter.

The same feeling settled over her now, except it was . . . more. She wasn’t afraid of who might be outside her apartment, but his touch made her feel safe all the same.

Not a date, she reminded herself, and she lengthened her stride to step away from his touch. He didn’t comment, simply held the door open as she exited the apartment. They made their way downstairs, through the lobby of the complex, and out the front door. Harlow made sure to stay at least three feet ahead of him as they walked toward his Mazda in the parking lot.