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Veronica

I

read a lot of romance novels, but until Colton McKinley came into my life, I never understood what the authors meant when they talk about the hero growling. What is he, a bear?

After some quality time with the tall, sexy jackass who’s also sorta-kinda my boss, I consider myself enlightened.

Colton has two kinds of growls: the panty-shredding I’m taking you right this minute hungry rumble of a man about to do some serious ravishing, and the I should really fire your ass angry snarl of an employer to his delinquent employee.

While I might actively—and frequently—fantasize about the former, my life is brimming with the latter. Especially this morning when I push through the door, harried and hands full, and the first words out of his infuriating wet dream of a mouth are “You’re late.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.” I juggle my purse, coffee, planner, and notebook as I pull the keys from the front door and kick it closed behind me.

“A half-hour late.”

Shit. I plop my coffee and my purse on the front counter and glance at the clock, praying he’s wrong on this. Alas . . . I give him my most innocent smile. “You must’ve been so worried.”

His eye twitch tells me he’s not amused. “I need you to be on time or I’ll find someone who will be.”

My hackles go up. When I was scrambling to get out of the house this morning, I was mentally reciting the apology I’d give him, but now that he’s gone and growled at me, I don’t want to give the self-righteous ass the satisfaction. “You keep saying that, and yet here I am.”

“Don’t push me.”

Oh, but I want to. I spend way more time than is healthy imagining what it’d be like to finally push equal parts asshole and hottie Colton McKinley over the edge. As my friend Star likes to say, God puts the biggest assholes in the hottest packages. It’s the only way to preserve their species.

Colton folds his arms and glowers. “What the fuck am I supposed to say, Veronica? I literally can’t do my job if you aren’t here to do yours.” He rocks back on his heels and looks me over with the slow, thorough appraisal of a guy who’s mentally cataloguing all the reasons he wants to take a girl home. But I know better than to think he takes any enjoyment out of his visual perusal. We had one night together before either of us knew the other well enough to understand we’re vinegar and oil. One night that was impulsive and reckless and So. Fucking. Hot. Until, suddenly, it wasn’t.

Colton hates me as much as I hate him.

His gaze lands on my coffee before flicking back up to meet mine, and murder lurks in his eyes. “Now I have a guided ATV expedition that’s going to start late because you thought putting on makeup and getting coffee were more important than my business.”

I could tell him that neither the coffee nor the makeup played any part in my tardiness, but why should I reason with a man who assumes the worst of me and can’t be bothered with basic decency? Propping a hand on my hip, I bat my lashes and give him my best pouty mouth. “Maybe if you didn’t stare at me all day, I’d do a better job remembering my appearance isn’t supposed to be a priority.”

“No one here cares what you look like, Veronica. Next time, choose punctuality over the smoky eye.” He turns on his heel and strides into his office. I take the opportunity to ogle the muscles stretching the back of his white T-shirt. After seeing him work on the boats, it’s obvious those things aren’t just for show. He has the kind of strength necessary to throw a woman over his shoulder and carry her to his bedroom. Or throw her on his desk and have his way with her. Not that I’ve imagined such scenarios. Much.

He slams his office door, yanking me from my fantasy and making the walls shake.

They say Colton used to be this wild thrill-seeker, but the guy I know has a stick up his ass and lives to remind me of my shortcomings—of which, let’s be fair, I have many.

I watch the door and wait for him to remember he’s supposed to be washing the ATVs for this morning’s guided trail tour.

He reemerges after three seconds, and I flash him a smug smile. “Have fun!” I call after him, resisting the urge to show his back my middle finger. When it comes to Colton McKinley, I’m shamefully immature. Except for what he does to my libido. That is definitely more mature.

I walk around the front counter and sink into the chair at the desk stationed behind it, shoulders sagging. The phone blinks with messages, and there’s a stack of paperwork waiting for me.

I really, really don’t like being late, but it turns out that along with the other thousand reasons sharing a bedroom with my almost-three-year-old isn’t ideal, I need to add “Jacks can now climb out of his crib” to the list.

He’s never done it before, but this morning he somehow managed while I was sleeping. And since he loves buttons, it’s not even surprising that he turned off my alarm. I can’t be mad at him—not when he woke me up with kisses on my cheeks, whispering, “So pitty, Mommy. So pitty.”

How could I be mad about anything that gave me that moment?

I’m firing up the computer and pulling out my notepad when Amelia wanders in from the docks, her dark hair twisted into two shoulder-length braids and her light brown skin glowing from a morning fishing expedition.

“Back already?” I ask. The sunrise tours usually stay out another hour.

“City folk. They got a couple of good ones and were done.” She shrugs, accustomed to the various kinds of clients who use the services of Heartbreak Bay Adventures. “Who pissed in Colton’s Wheaties?”

I raise my hand. “Me. As always. I just got here, so he’s late preparing the ATVs for his booking.”

She glances at the clock and cringes. “Again? Girl.”

I sigh. “I know. Trust me.”