Free Sweet Burn by Anne Marsh Page B

plywood he was holding in place over her window than her. Hah. That would change. “And you ’ re still waiting for me to walk you up.”
    Mack was all commands. Reaching over, she plucked a nail out of his mouth. Hammering appeared to be the best way to relieve her frustration, because it was damned certain she ’ d never look at the bar counter the same way again. Her fingers brushed his mouth, though, when she relieved him of several nails and that just sent another flush of heat through her body. Unacceptable . She did not want this growly, order-giving alpha male.
    Much.
    She drove the first nail into the plywood with a hard, fierce blow of the hammer. The smell of smoke drifted out of her bar, and she ’ d clearly sustained some damage to the floor, but it could be so much worse. Mack had jumped into action and saved the day. Once again, damn it. She probably owed him now. At the very least, she needed to say thank you . Instead, she pounded the second and third nails into place. Mack, not being stupid, moved his fingers clear of her hammering.
    Behind them, the parking lot emptied out as Strong ’ s first responders went back to their stations or beds. By morning, the entire town would know what had happened, but for right now she and Mack were alone. She drove the final handful of nails into the board.
    “That ought to hold us until morning.” Mack tested the security of the board, but the edges stayed put. Methodically, he tucked the tools back into his toolbox, packing up like this was just another job. Maybe it was for him. Maybe she was the only one wondering when they had become us .
    It didn ’ t matter. She ’ d figure out this not-quite-a-relationship thing they had going on tomorrow. Or never. The yawn that overtook her was almost titanic in proportions. “ Bedtime for me, ” she decided.
    She turned and started trudging up the stairs that led to the apartment over the bar. Ben had okayed her staying there—on a scale of one to ten, her fire had barely scraped a two—and she was ready for plenty of pillow time. If her place smelt like smoke, she didn ’ t care. Mack fell into step behind her, a warm, solid presence tracking her up the stairs. Fortunately, she didn ’ t have to admit it to him, but she did feel better having company.
    When she reached the top, she unlocked the door, opened it with a hard bump of her hip because the door always stuck, and flipped on the light. It was time for Mack to go home. She turned to say her goodbyes and kick his ass to the curb, but he was too fast for her. He stuck his booted foot in the door and then followed up with his body. Checkmate .
    “ Come in, ” she invited sourly.
    “Don ’ t mind if I do,” he said, ignoring the sarcasm in her voice.
    She hadn ’ t made any changes to Auntie Belle ’ s place. She liked the reminders of the old woman she ’ d barely known, and she hadn ’ t planned on staying in Strong all that long anyhow. The small living room was crammed full of Bali-esque rattan and teak furniture, colorful throw pillows, vases and statues and a million knickknacks Mimi had decided on day one that she had absolutely no intention of dusting. A small stone Buddha watched her impassively, perched next to a grinning Cheshire cat. Auntie Belle had liked anything and everything.
    “Nice place.” The way Mack looked around, she didn ’ t know if he was admiring the décor or looking for hidden attackers. He still had her gun tucked in the waistband of his jeans and there was a grim look on his face despite his semi-playful words. It didn ’ t matter. She didn ’ t want his help, even if she needed it. That was undoubtedly yet another stupid decision in an equally impressive (and long) line of bad decision-making on her part, but right now she didn ’ t care.
    “I ’ m thrilled. Now go.” She pointed to the door to underscore her point. Her mood ring flashed in the dim light, the stone more black than anything. Perfect.
    Of course