Raid (Unfinished Hero #3)(5)

“We goin’ out on the trails this weekend?” Bodhi asked, and I threw him a bright smile over my shoulder.

“Absolutely,” I answered.

He grinned back.

I dipped my chin to look at my feet and again tucked my hair behind my ear as I pushed up the kickstand and put feet to the pedals. I also looked out the corner of my eye Raiden’s way.

Just to check.

I felt heat hit every inch of my body making it tingle when I saw that now he was leaning back against his Jeep, arms crossed on his massive chest, shades, it appeared, still on me.

He had a sexy smile playing about his mouth and he looked settled in, like he was enjoying a show.

What on earth?

Okay. Whatever. It wasn’t every day a guy saw a twenty-something woman on a six year old’s dream bike wearing an outfit that matched her bike. So he had a show.

Again, whatever.

This was what I thought.

What I felt was idiotic.

I had to let it go, but more, I had to get out of there, so I took off, shouting to Bodhi, “Later!”

“Later, girl!” Bodhi shouted back.

I pedaled away and felt funny, hot and strange while picking up Grams’s meds from the pharmacy and grabbing cat food for Grams’s cat, Spot, at the pet store.

These feelings only died down when I was paying for Spot’s food.

The meds were important, of course. But although Spot couldn’t see the cupboard where Grams kept the tins of his food, he could sense when they were getting low and he got antsy.

Grams and I had learned the hard way that when Spot got antsy, something needed to be done about it.

I could have picked up the meds the next day when I usually did Grams’s big shop for the week. But since Spot only accepted two different flavors of a special brand of cat food that had to be bought at the pet store and Grams was running low, I’d pedaled into town, and unintentionally made a fool of myself the first time Raiden Miller’s attention turned to me.

I loved that cat, no matter how ornery.

But at that moment I cursed him to perdition.

I’d bought the food and was heading out of the store when Krista, the owner of the store, called after me. “Is it still cool if I go over to Miss Mildred’s on Saturday to learn how to make her biscuits?”

Grams was known for her cooking. She was from Louisiana. Full-on Cajun, full-on Southern, and she’d brought to Colorado all the knowledge she’d learned from home.

She was also generous with it.

I kept heading toward the door as I looked over my shoulder at Krista, smiled and called, “Absolutely!”

Her head jerked, her eyes went up and she cried, “Hanna!” two seconds before I hit wall.

This shocked me since I’d been in that pet store more than once in my life, a lot more, and I knew where the walls were, even if I wasn’t looking right at them.

And no walls were there.

Walls also didn’t have fingers that could curl around your upper arms, which, by the time I’d swung my head around, had happened.

I saw army green tee and I tipped my head back, back, back and stared straight into Raiden Ulysses Miller’s eyes.

Close up.

I’d seen them in his yearbook picture, of course, dozens (okay, maybe hundreds) of times.

He’d even run them through me when I’d been at Rachelle’s.

But I’d never seen them that close when he was right there, alive, breathing, with his fingers wrapped around my arms, so close I could feel his body heat.

“You okay?” His deep voice rumbled through me.

He had a phenomenal voice, but all I could do was stare in his eyes.

They were a weird light brown/green with a yellow tint at the pupil, but as it radiated out to the edge of the iris it went pure light green.

Startling.

Amazing.

Gorgeous.

I dropped my bag of kitty food.

The crash was loud. The tins overflowed and started rolling everywhere, and all this helped me jerk myself out of my stupor.

I also jerked myself out of his hold and immediately went into a crouch to rescue the cans.

Unfortunately, so did Raiden, and our heads smacked together with a painful thud that sent me falling back, right on my behind. It also sent my sunglasses, which were on top of my head, flying.

I slowly lifted my hand to my head where it slammed into his, thinking, Someone kill me. Please. Right now. Kill me.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked. He was in a crouch, leaning toward me, his hand coming up, fingers wrapping around my wrist.

They burned the instant they touched skin.

I lifted my eyes to his.

Startling.

Amazing.

Gorgeous.

With effort, I found my voice, but when I did, it came out high.

“Are you… uh, okay?”

“Got a hard head,” he replied. “I’m good. You got knocked on your ass.”

That I did.

God!

“I’m good… fine, fine… just, uh, fine and, well… good,” I murmured.

And babbling! I thought, then realized there were cans everywhere, and I realized this mostly because a kid went running toward the door, kicking some and they went flying.

Not thinking and freaking way the heck out, I pulled my hand free from his, shifted to my hands and knees and started crawling around on the floor of the pet store (gah!), gathering up stupid cat food tins.