An Accidental Gentleman Read Online Free PDF Page B

Piercings? Love for illegal street racing?”
    “No to one, two, and three.” More from lack of money and parlors willing to risk tatting a minor when he’d been sixteen than by choice. “But my father called me ‘rotten punk kid’ so many times it might’ve been my legal name from fourteen to eighteen.”
    Stories not worth telling, after he’d graduated from stupid stunts like sledding off the roof to swiping his older brother’s motorbike and getting wasted with the rest of the burnouts in the boarded-up former grocer’s instead of going to class.
    “And then?”
    “I joined the Air Force and straightened up my act.” The sense Dad hadn’t knocked into him with shouts and grounding and the occasional swat, he’d learned with Rob as his study buddy. Who the fuck knew he’d had an aptitude for computer science before Rob prodded his ass to tech school? Not him. He’d been too busy making his buddies laugh to worry about homework.
    “You’ve been straight-arrow since then, I bet.” She gave him the once-over.
    No question what she saw—a quiet computer geek who never stepped out of line in his office-dressy leather oxfords and his I-sit-at-a-desk collared shirt. Dress pants today, too, since he’d had a teleconference presentation for the new clients in Phoenix. Not a match for her bright blue-and-gray ringer shirt, the hem flirting with the top of her jeans and the sleeves circling above those damn sexy bicep curves. Motorcycle leathers, now, those might’ve gotten her attention.
    “So what’s the stupidest thing you ever did as a punk-ass kid?”
    “Surfing the lake without a wetsuit.” Hands down, no fooling, the dumbest fucking dare he’d taken. Lungs had seized up on him in the first minute, and he’d been too bullheaded to cop to weakness in front of the guys. He’d paddled out and ridden the seven-foot swell all the way in, his feet not feeling the board and his chest aching so bad he’d wanted to die. He’d hardly tasted the congratulatory beer—illegally obtained—his brother Matt had slapped in his hand after.
    Head tipped back, she squinted with sweetly confused intensity. Two freckles, ripe for kissing, rested at the base of her throat. “The lake?”
    “Lake Michigan. Halloween weekend. The water’s so cold you need a full-body suit—unless you’re a dumb as fuck sixteen-year-old pissed about your folks giving a big fat ‘no’ to trick-or-treating and you go out blowing off steam with your brothers and friends. You can’t puss out on a dare from your big brother. But you can come damn close to killing yourself when you stop shivering and your fingers go numb and your lips turn blue.”
    Also how you get the nickname Surfer Boy from your squad mates a couple years later, but he’d save that tale for when he had a few beers in him. Kit— Katherine , a whisper dancing between his brain and his balls echoed—didn’t need to hear all his stories today. A handful would catch her interest, list him under “attractive potential date” in her data sets instead of stuffing him headfirst into file thirteen.
    Her playful smile suggested he’d given her some secret knowledge instead of a matter-of-fact accounting of his dumbassery.
    “So you’re a man who can’t resist a dare.” Stroking a leather-bound book on the counter, she clicked her tongue. “Good to know.”
    Tiny nicks and burns marked her, the map of pale lines and dots a badge of honor. Skills learned and work completed. She grabbed life by the horns, his Katherine.
    She tapped her fingers. “Lawn mower, you said, right?”
    Freckles and scars together would take more than a full night to kiss. Wouldn’t want to miss one. “Yeah, mower, but I—”
    “I’m out of intake forms up front.” With her burning stare, she set him ablaze. “Why don’t you c’mon back with me and we’ll get you squared away.” She sauntered through the open doorway behind the counter.
    No need for paperwork when the mower