Wait . . . what?
I peeked at Ranger Jethro. “You don’t know my name?”
“I suppose you could always look in your wallet if you’re desperate.” He indicated with his chin toward my backpack, a smile still hovering on his features. “Once you figure it out, and if you’re inclined to share, I’d like to know it as well.”
I straightened and twisted in my seat, gaping at his profile. “You really don’t know who I am?” I’m sure my tone betrayed my surprise because Ranger Jethro’s smile fell away.
He stopped at a red light, switching his blinker on even though we were the only vehicle on the road. His gaze flickered over my expression, and his was unmistakably anxious.
“Should I?” he asked warily.
I blinked once, downright dumbfounded by his response.
Slowly, the wheels turned and the curtain was lifted, exposing the truth of my present situation.
The flirty smiles, the lingering gazes, the gallant rescue—Ranger Jethro fancied me.
Me.
He’d been flirting with me.
Not Sienna Diaz, the movie star, comedian, millionaire, Oscar winner, America’s sweetheart.
By Rodan’s nostrils, I couldn’t remember the last time I hadn’t been recognized.
Plus, judging by the way he was looking at me now, I surmised he was worried we’d met before and he’d forgotten my name. Perhaps he even thought we’d slept together and he’d forgotten that, too.
And I finally realized what kind of hot guy he was. He was the serial-dating hot guy, the most dangerous of all. Because they’re smart, they’re funny, they’re capable, and they’re typically charming.
Also, they’re easy to fall for, because who doesn’t want a hot, smart, funny, capable guy?
The problem is, they’re not very nice. They’re dangerous because they only want one thing—hot ladies. Lots of them. All the time.
And good for Ranger Jethro.
He should have his hot ladies. A year ago I would have gladly been one of his hot ladies. But just as I had no current interest in dating, I had no interest in losing my heart to a serial dater.
He swallowed thickly, looking acutely worried and bracing. And I couldn’t help it, I honestly couldn’t.
I threw my head back and laughed.
CHAPTER 2
“I'm not lost for I know where I am. But however, where I am may be lost.”
― A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh
~Jethro~
I’d lost my touch.
Instead of giving me her number—or even, you know, her name—this pretty lady was laughing at me. It was difficult not taking it to heart. Her loss of composure was clearly at my expense.
Except her laugh was as artless as it was contagious. So I laughed, too.
“Oh, Ranger Jethro.” She wiped at her big brown eyes; tears had darkened her lashes. I stared at them. She had the longest lashes I’d ever seen. “You are so adorable. I just want to take you home and put you in my pocket.”
I’d prefer her pants, but I guess I’d settle for her pocket.
For now . . .
I flexed my fingers on the steering wheel, this last thought unsettling. Five years of self-imposed celibacy had me questioning what the hell was happening. What the hell was I doing? Why now and why—apart from the obvious—her?
Also, “adorable”? I successfully fought to keep a grimace off my face.
“You have a real nice laugh,” I remarked instead, because she did.
She gave me the side-eye and a flash of white teeth. My breath caught. Her smile was unreal.
And those dimples.
Wow.
She was speaking again, so I forced myself to look away from the dimples and listen. “Thank you, Ranger. I don’t think anyone has ever complimented my laugh before.”
I reluctantly put my eyeballs back in my head and made a left onto The Parkway, clearing my throat before remarking, “Then everyone you’ve met prior to me must be deaf.”
It wasn’t just her laugh, it was her voice. It was melodic. Plus there was something else . . . an intangible, magnetic quality. Natural and unforced.
She laughed again, not as loud this time. “I’m not usually the one laughing,” she muttered. I glanced at her and saw her eyes were focused on the road beyond the windshield. “I guess I should pay attention to where we’re going if I’m going to be driving around up here and not be abducted by aliens or locals. Or local aliens.”
She may not have realized, but we were close to the turnoff for Bandit Lake. I debated whether or not to drive around the mountain once, keep her in the truck talking to me, because—though I’d sworn off women, stealing cars, and hurting people half a decade ago—this woman was all kinds of my type.
Long hair, dark eyes, tall, more curves than straight lines. And she had lips that could only be described as luscious. Yep. I had a physical type, and this woman checked all the boxes. This made her dangerous, a temptation.