Need You for Always (Heroes of St. Helena)(33)
He glanced around at the other customers, then lowered his voice. “Co-leader. And if word gets out about me and my Lovelies, the guys will replace my bullets with tampons.”
She leaned in too, even grinned. “I’ll be sure to e-mail them a photo then.”
Yesterday, Dax had looked like a real hero working with her troop. Ten minutes in and she knew that even though working side by side with him and watching him patiently mentor her sister was going to pull a few heartstrings—and create some pretty steamy fantasies of being stranded in the woods with a highly trained, highly attractive Special Forces guy with the most talented hands she’d ever seen—Dax was going to be the difference between her girls coming home from the campout proud and coming home disappointed. Which was why, no matter how talented he was, this was now, more than ever, a hands-off operation.
“And no dessert.”
Undeterred, he followed her around the produce section. “How about a movie then? The Green Berets with John Wayne. A classic.”
“Movie equates to a date, so no.”
“You sure? Those Green Berets are a bunch of badasses.” He grinned. “Want to know the difference between a Ranger and a Beret?”
“The Berets eat their vegetables?” That stopped him short. “Which we need to balance out the ten pounds of meat you picked out.” She picked up a bunch of carrots. She could make some wonderful glazed carrots with cardamom and ginger. “How about these?”
Even Violet ate carrots without complaint. Sure, they were either cooked in butter and brown sugar or dipped in a sauce, but she cleared her plate.
Dax, however, was not of the same school of thought, because he crossed his arms over that massive chest. “A guy with perfect vision eating carrots would only come off as bragging.”
“Are you shitting me? Is this another one of your lactose tummy ache BS statements?” His expression said that this was, in fact, not BS at all.
How was she supposed to make him complete meals if he only consumed red meat, beer, and caffeine? It wasn’t as if she could hide things in his food like she did with Violet, or tell him that the onions were little bits of cheese that didn’t melt. He’d see right through that.
Or would he?
Emerson picked up a bunch of fresh-picked broccoli and paused to study her latest food critic, who was leaning over the berry display, poking through the strawberry containers. He was built like a Humvee, had the arms of a piano mover, a killer backside, and the confidence of a guy who could handle anything that came his way.
As long as it wasn’t green.
Dax rested his hands on the display case to find the perfect box of berries, and would you look at that. The fabric of his shirt pulled taut across his arms, and up his back. The sheer amount of exposed muscle and ink was enough to make her thighs quiver. Then his right biceps danced, flexing up and down in a seductive rhythm that could charm women from the far corners of the earth.
Women like me, she thought, unable to look away.
“Impressed?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder to watch her watch him and proving that exactly nothing got past Mr. I Can Track a Single Target in Four Thousand Square Miles of Desert with Perfect Accuracy.
“I can paralyze you with a stalk of celery,” she pointed out.
“How about I just ram him with my cart?” Nora Kincaid, St. Helena’s own Perez Hilton and the self-appointed director of the town’s social media presence, asked. “Maybe my pie dish will fall out.”
The older woman placed herself directly in Dax’s path. She was five feet on a good day, wore a church dress and flowered hat, and she bared her teeth before poking Dax in the stomach with a cucumber. No pie dish fell out and not a single thing jiggled. He was solid under there. So Nora upped her game and poked him in the front pocket of his pants.
This time he did move, fast and with purpose, dropping his hands to cover his goods. “What the hell?”
“My thoughts exactly,” Nora said, her beady eyes going beadier. “You might have perfect vision, but your manners could use a smack to the forehead.” She looked at Emerson. “They got a vegetable for that?”
Emerson wanted to tell Dax that it was called humble pie, because he looked so thoroughly confused. Then again, seeing him sweat it out would be entertaining, but they were on a tight timeline.
“Hey, Ms. Kincaid,” Emerson said, stepping forward. “We were just talking about your carrot parsnip pie.” Dax looked at her with the most adorable huh expression ever, so she smiled encouragingly. “He liked it so much he ate it all in one sitting.”
This made Nora’s lips retract back down into something some might consider a smile. “Did you now?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, so absolute Emerson thought he was about to salute. “It’s why I didn’t want any of Emi’s carrots.” He slid her a sideways glance. “Wouldn’t want to mess with perfection.”
“Well, bring me my dish back and I’ll bake you another one,” Nora said loud enough for the three silvered ladies picking through the brussels sprouts to overhear—not that she had to say it loud since the trio was practically leaning over the wooden case to listen in.
Something Nora noticed, because before Dax could utter another “Yes, ma’am,” she had her phone out and Dax posed under the carrot display holding a bundle by, yes, the green stems. A click of the camera and a few frantic swipes to her screen later, she said, “Perfection, huh?”