Page 65 of Honk if You Love Real Men (Tempting SEALs 1)

wed him into the cabin, stunned by the buns of titanium he packed in those jeans. She’d never seen a physique like the mountain man’s, except in her mind, every time she pictured Maximillion Mercy.

The place was torn apart, boxes everywhere, furniture stacked into piles, plastic storage crates full of books and papers.

“My dad’s stuff. I’m getting ready to put the cabin on the market for him.”

“Oh.”

He directed her toward the bathroom, where Win threw cool water on her face, rinsed her mouth and checked out her hair. She gave up.

He waited for her in the hallway, leaning up against a knotty pine wall. “Mississipi?”

“Excuse me?”

“Arkansas, then? Louisiana?”

Win huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. She’d done remarkably well in masking her southern accent in the last fifteen years, to the point that hardly anyone ever noticed the underlying slow drawl of home.

She noticed that Mr. MacBeth now wore a heather green corduroy shirt. He smiled down at her, and suddenly the narrow hall seemed like one of those endorphin-charged confined spaces she should have been writing about. “Alabama. But I’m a New Yorker now.”

“Never would have guessed. So where’s Fifi today?”

She realized that he was making fun of her, and walked past him toward the main room, seething. How dare some card-carrying NRA member who’d been sliced up in a roadside tavern brawl make fun of her because she lived in the largest city in North America and was accompanied by a borrowed poodle?

“Her name is Lulu.”

“My bad.”

“I came here for a reason, Mr. MacBeth.” She turned to him, trying not to be too snarky, because she needed him to fix the washer. He clearly had no manners, because he hadn’t even asked her to have a seat. A quick look around showed her there weren’t any seats.

“You mentioned you needed help with something at the house?”

“The washer. Seems the water isn’t making it into the machine, and I hate to impose, but could you take a look?”

Mountain Man MacBeth frowned, those remarkable black eyebrows coming to a vee above those rich, deep, sexy eyes. “Is the water turned on at the main?”

“The main what?”

“The water main in the wall behind the washer.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He nodded slowly. “I can see that, Miss Mackland. Let’s go have a look.”

She watched him walk toward the door and grab a set of keys off a hook. She gasped. The idea that she’d get in a moving vehicle with a known animal killer was preposterous.

“I think I’ll walk.”

“Takes three minutes by car, Miss Mackland. Twenty by foot.”

How did he know how long it took to reach the Jacobs place? Had he been stalking her? Peering in the windows as she wrote? Observing her breasts move under her thin tank top with each breath?

“I lived here every summer of my life till I turned eighteen. I’ve probably walked the path to the Jacobses’ a thousand times.”

Now Win felt foolish. This was his home. If anyone was stalking, it was her, just showing up unannounced like this.

“Of course,” she said.

“I won’t bite.” His voice betrayed his amusement. “My name is Vincent MacBeth. People call me Mac.”

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