Click.
Click.
Day-umm.
I feel my jaw unhinge.
The questions crash around inside my poor overstimulated brain, each one fighting to get to the top of the list.
Who is she?
That long red hair can’t be her natural color, right?
How did she shove that total smoke show of a body into such a tight little business suit?
And what the absolute hell is she doing here, two miles outside of downtown beautiful Sweetbriar, Nevada?
I take a gulp of air.
“The Municipal Airpark has officially received an upgrade,” Declan says.
“You got that right,” Finn agrees.
I don’t say anything. I can’t. She’s on the ground now. She takes out her phone to fix her lipstick.
I can’t stand those women, the kind that touch up their lipstick in public.
Next, she tosses her phone into a very expensive-looking leather bag, hooks it onto a shoulder, and kicks back a heel. She reaches around, trying to adjust something with her shoe.
How fucking long are those legs?
The shoe returns to the ground, but it looks like whatever issue she’s having hasn’t been addressed, so she bends forward.
Oh, come on. Really? She needs to bend over like that? In the way that reveals perfect handfuls of hip, ass, and upper thigh?
“You good?” Finn arrives at my side.
“Huh?”
“I asked if you’re good.”
“Of course I am. When am I not?”
The woman straightens. Tosses back her hair. And then she slides those mirrored black sunglasses halfway down her pretty little nose and our eyes lock.
I suck air between my teeth.
She pushes the sunglasses back into place and pivots. She walks—no, that’s not walking. That’s something else entirely. She’s strutting like a cat to the airport office, rolling her hips, somehow staying upright in those dumbass heels while the two slobbering pilots march behind her, in charge of her luggage.
I’m a very smart man. I’ve been all over the world and I speak three languages. I was a lieutenant in the Navy and led a sixteen-man SEAL team. To top it off, I have a degree in computational physics from the Naval Academy. And I still don’t know how this woman hasn’t face-planted into the tarmac in those shoes.
A little voice manages to bring me back from the brink.
“Who is that pretty lady, Daddy? How does she even walk in those shoes?”
“Well…”
Declan arrives at my other side. “Uncle Cal thinks she walks just fine in those shoes. Isn’t that right, Uncle Cal?”