SEALed With a Kiss: Even a Hero Needs Help Sometimes... Read Online Free PDF Page A

She looked all smooth and demure with her gold curls clasped once again at her nape. Expensive slacks, the color of vanilla ice cream, and her red silk blouse no longer fluttered in a stiff breeze but flowed from breast to hip.
    She was deep in conversation with the deli clerk. Over and over, she would point to an item in the glass case, listen to the clerk's reply, then shake her head and point to another item.
    Jax's fantasy of asking her for a date vanished with an almost audible pop. She was apparently going to make the clerk describe every single one of the prepared dishes before she made up her mind.
    Oh, this lady with the superior attitude was high maintenance all right. This was one choosy woman. No wonder she reminded him of Danielle.
    Nah. He might still have a knee-jerk attraction to women like her, but he was older and wiser now. He didn't need the grief.
    He turned toward the produce aisle.
    Like prey that knows it has been spotted, Pickett felt the man's eyes on her. Jax. He was here. He was looking at her. Vital and elemental from his sweat-dried hair to his strong brown feet, he seemed incongruous in a place as tame as grocery store. His face was impassive, his light-gray eyes cold and remote. A small shiver chased over her scalp. This was a dangerous man. Not just one of the military, he was a true warrior, a hunter.
    He nodded almost imperceptibly and walked away.
    Well. When somebody turns his back, literally, the body language is pretty clear. She'd already reminded herself a thousand times that she was Not Interested, so she refused—she absolutely refused —to feel disappointment.
    It took a minute for the deli clerk's impatient voice to shake her from her daze. "So have you decided, ma'am? Ma'am?"
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THREE

     
    Good old Hobo Joe, the three-legged German shepherd mix who lived on her porch when he felt like it, greeted Pickett when she pulled into her drive. He walked her to the kitchen door, but as always declined to come in. Behind the door, Patterson, a part-Lab, and Lucy, whose ancestry was indecipherable, snuffled and whined.
    "Okay, guys, let me in." You'd think the dogs would learn to stand back so she could get the door open, but they never seemed to. Instead, she had to push her way in, careful not to let doggy toes get pinched under the moving door. "Boy, the two of you make sure I don't come home to a silent house. And guess what, your aunt Lyle is coming to see you this weekend. Only think how exciting that will be."
    Neither dog expressed any interest in the promised treat. Instead, Patterson used his superior height to try to sniff the deli bag; Pickett lifted it higher and tried not to step on Lucy, who was avidly snuffling at Pickett's serviceable low-heeled pumps.
    "Where'd you go? Who'd you see? What did you bring me to eat?" Pickett spoke for Lucy. While not big on conversation, dogs took in an amazing amount of information through smell. Maybe Lucy was extra curious because she smelled Jax on her. Goodness knows the man had some potent pheromones. Setting the food on the counter, well away from the edge, Pickett kicked off her shoes.
    The dogs, having sniffed and wagged to their satisfaction, ran to the back door and whined to be let out.
    "Okay! Okay! Go on out and do your jobs, but come right back, because it's suppertime." Pickett blessed the invisible fence that meant she no longer had to supervise potty time. She only wanted to get out of these clothes and eat some supper.
    She especially enjoyed the days she worked with her favorite project at Camp Lejeune—a group organized to overcome the social isolation of certain at-risk young mothers. But adding that group to the rest of her client load at the base made for a long day, and today she had made it even longer by stopping at the Howells' cottage.
    And spending an hour or more with Jax and the little boy, Tyler.
    Jax. Darn that man! He wouldn't get out of her mind. Pickett crossed the wide hall, stripping out of slacks