Page 11 of Sniper's Pride

And when he moved away from the wall, it was no better. He had a kind of rangy, lethal grace that something deep inside her, some feminine awareness she’d never known was there before, identified instantly.

He was the mostmaleindividual she’d ever seen. Intense and dangerous from his dark hair to his boots. Not soft and carefully pressed the way the men in David’s world always were, as if how they wore their khakis andpreppy collared T-shirts decided the fate of the world. Griffin was hard and smooth, lethal and compelling, all over.

And the way he made what felt like every last hair on her body stand on end had nothing at all to do with fear.

Mariah accepted that uncomfortable truth as Griffin headed for the door again, pushing his way back out into the moody Alaska afternoon and indicating that she should follow him.

She did, grateful for the slap of the crisp, cool, fresh air and the cloud cover that felt less revealing than the earlier bursts of sunshine. She took a breath so deep it made her lungs ache, then indulged in a moment to enjoy the fact that she could still do such a thing.

With that in mind, she made herself stare down that alley where she’d seen absolutely nothing earlier.Don’t do David’s work for him,she lectured herself.

When she shifted her attention back to Griffin, he was glaring at her again, his arms crossed and an impatient look on his astonishingly beautiful face.

And for some reason, Mariah melted. Everywhere.

Particularly low in her belly and that place between her legs, where she hadn’t felt a thing in a long, long time.

But like it or not, she was still married. Technically. And would continue to be unless and until she survived her divorce.

It didn’t matter that she found another man unreasonably, almost unbearably hot, she concluded as she stood there, the Alaskan cold nipping at her despite her layers. Griffin was a work of art, that was all. And despite all her years of overlooking any number of outright slights, she wasn’t blind.

Still, she was terrified it was written all over her face when his impatience deepened into a frown.

“Hungry or thirsty?”

Mariah decided not to answer that with the recklessness that she could feel pumping through her blood, making her feel entirely too young and invulnerable and foolish, the way she’d never let herself feel when she’d actually been all of those things. “That sounds like a trick question.”

Griffin didn’t move a muscle. She could see he didn’t move at all. And still he managed to turn into granite and ice right there in front of her. Or, really, more of both. “If you’re hungry, I’ll take you to get some food. If you’re thirsty, I’ll take you to the bar. It’s your call.”

Mariah had the sudden urge for what her cousins had always calledthe McKenna cure.Any bar, an armful of shots tossed back as quick as possible, and when you got back up off the floor the next morning, you could count on feeling much too bad to worry about whatever you’d been worried about before.

But Mariah had never been one ofthoseMcKennas. She’d usually been the one scraping her relatives off of bar floors, pouring them into the back of a pickup truck, and carting them back home to sleep it off.

“I could eat,” she said, almost primly, as if that could remind her who she was. Or who she’d spent the last ten years trying to be, anyway.

She followed Griffin’s long, almost angry stride as he wheeled around and started down the haphazard lane. She looked around as they went, and not just down the alleys so she could jump at more shadows. The buildings in the village were clustered together, which she figured had to do with the long, tough winters. No need to domore than stumble out of one door and then in through the next, a few steps away. She tried to imagine what it would be like to live in a place like this, filled with people who nodded to Griffin as he passed them and eyed Mariah in a manner that told her they knew she didn’t belong.

In a way, it reminded her of Two Oaks. Entirely its own universe, close and contained, suspicious of outsiders. But Mariah could smell salt and pine in the air, mixed with wood smoke. Not honeysuckle, deep green woods, and her mama’s homemade biscuits and gravy. This was Alaska. It was nothing at all like Georgia.

And that was a good thing, because David was in Georgia. Her cupboards and refrigerator full of potentially tainted food was back in Atlanta. Mariah went ahead and acknowledged a truth that she knew would horrify her entire extended family, assuming they hadn’t all written her off forputting on airs.

She’d never been so happy to be out of the South in her life.

Griffin led her to a place called the Water’s Edge Café, set up from the water on one of the boardwalk lanes. Outside, it was a sturdy two-story house painted a cheerful yellow. Inside, there were merrily mismatched tables and chairs, everything bright and happy, with charming drawings hung on the walls. Mariah was smiling before she sat down in the far corner, where Griffin directed her.

He sat with his back to the wall, so Mariah had to twist to keep looking around as she shrugged out of her vest and hung it on the back of her chair. Two other tables were filled, one with a group of men she decided were fishermen, with their big boots and waterproof pantswith suspenders. They all sported impressive beards and weathered hands, and let out deep and hearty laughs as they shoveled down huge plates of potatoes and meat. At the other table was a tourist couple Mariah recognized vaguely from the ferry. They had a map spread out between them and camera equipment stacked next to the sugar dispenser, and they were muttering at each other through fixed smiles.

A style of argument Mariah was all too familiar with.

And even though the tourist couple had clearly been sitting there longer, the sharp-eyed, dark-haired woman with a black half apron tied around the low-slung waist of her jeans ignored them entirely and came over to Mariah and Griffin instead.

She didn’t smile. She didn’t offer a greeting. She crossed her arms and glared.

“Coffee?” she asked Mariah. She shifted her gaze to Griffin as if it cost her. “Are you eating or working?”

“Coffee for me.” Griffin nodded at Mariah. “She’s fresh off the ferry. Jet-lagged.”

It was the easiest he’d sounded since Mariah had met him, which didn’t help at all with thatmeltingsensation that was sweeping over her. His voice was even richer when he wasn’t issuing orders. More compelling. Mariah tried to shove that unhelpful observation aside. She concentrated on the fact that the woman’s unfriendliness wasn’t noticeable or notable to him, which likely meant it was normal.

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