Carolina Dreaming: A Dare Island Novel by Virginia Kantra

dropped briefly to the tray before focusing on her face. “You fed me already.”
    “A sandwich. Yesterday. Which you gave to the dog.”
    “Only half,” he said.
    He sounded defensive, grumpy, like Aidan did sometimes when he kissed her goodnight, as if his sweetness were something to be ashamed of.
    She took a cautious step closer.
    “I won’t bite,” he said. “Unless you want me to.”
    Her gaze flew to his face. His tone was mocking, challenging, almost, but those eyes . . . His eyes were kind. His jaw was hard and stubbled, his lower lip full and soft. Vulnerable. The contrasts of him intrigued her. She wanted to test his textures with the tips of her fingers, wanted to . . .
    Oh, no. Nope. Not going there.
    Her cheeks burned. She couldn’t think of a thing to say. Boys had been teasing her since she developed boobs in seventh grade. Because of her father, it never went beyond teasing. But she sucked at snappy comebacks. She wouldn’t think of a good putdown until three days from now when she was kneading dough or folding socks. And yet . . .
    She held his gaze, and something ignited inside her like a spark. “Bite this,” she said and set down the tray.
    Laughter leaped in his eyes, warming them, warming her. “What is it?”
    “Strata. Basically a breakfast bread pudding with sausage and Gruyère.”
    He picked it up, poking at it with the plastic fork. “Never had it before.” His mouth quirked. “Never even heard of it before.”
    Her own smile escaped. “You mean they didn’t serve strata in . . .” Her breath caught.
    In jail
. The unspoken words pulsed in the silence.
    “In the Marines?” she finished in a weak voice.
    “No, ma’am,” he said quietly. Evenly. “They sure didn’t.”
    He ate. The dog wriggled closer, its eyes fixed on every forkful that went into his mouth.
    Tentatively, she reached out to pet it. The dog shied away, moving closer to Gabe.
    “He doesn’t like me,” she said, oddly hurt by the stray’s rejection.
    Gabe glanced up. “Are you kidding? You’re the giver of the goodies. The mutt likes you fine. It’s head shy, that’s all.”
    “Head shy?”
    “Flinches when you go for its head,” Gabe explained. “It’s used to being chased off. It expects you’re going to hit it. Probably been abused, poor bastard.”
    Her breath caught.
He doesn’t mean anything by it
, she told herself.
He doesn’t know anything about me
.
    The dog nudged against Gabe’s leg. He ruffled the fur at its neck. She watched his hands, strong and long and lean, as he dug in. The dog pressed closer, panting slightly, its eyes half closed in ecstasy.
    An inconvenient sizzle kindled in the pit of her stomach, in the tips of her fingers.
    “He lets
you
pet him,” Jane said. Good heavens, she sounded as sulky as Aidan.
    “He trusts me.”
    Her heart beat faster. “Why?”
Why should he? Why should I?
    “I’m kind to animals. Plus . . .” Gabe met her gaze, that half smirk tugging the corner of his mouth. “We slept together. It makes a bond.”
    That was true.
    If Travis hadn’t been the first boy she’d ever slept with, would she have loved him? Stayed with him? At nineteen, she’d believed that her skipping heart and sweaty palms were the signs of some deep, eternal love. That being close to someone, that feeling desired, were worth risking everything for.
    She knew better now.
    “I need to get back to work. You can, um, just throw out the tray when you’re done.”
    Gabe watched her closely, the smirk fading. “Sure. You do what you have to do.”
    I always do
, she thought bleakly.
    She turned and marched inside, leaving the danger outside. Putting temptation behind her.

Five
     
    H ENRY L EE C LARK propped his feet on his desk, leaning back in his swivel chair. The sight of his size twelves on the furniture usually got a rise out of Marta Lopez, the police department’s administrative assistant. But today she ignored him, her bright coral nails