Her Last Best Fling. Candace Havens

yourself in danger like that.” The words had more of a bite than he’d meant them to. “You could have been killed.”

      She pulled her fingers away from his leg as if he’d shocked her. “Uh, it’s my job to report the tough stories. And trust me, I’ve been through worse.”

      Lifting her curls, she pointed to an ugly scar on the back of her neck.

      The air left his lungs.

      “That was the one that really scared me.” She stared at the water.

      He reached out and touched the wound.

      She jerked away. “But that’s a story for another day. I need to get my workout in. I’m sorry I interrupted yours.” She stood and he noticed her toenails were painted a violet color. Something about that made him smile. Then he remembered what he’d done.

      “Sorry I touched you. I can’t stand violence against women. It—It’s one of my triggers.”

      “Triggers for what?”

      “A story for another day,” he repeated the phrase back to her. Then he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist. “Have a good swim.”

      4

      WHEN BLAKE TOUCHED Macy it was all she could do not to wrap her arms around him. No one had ever looked at her so tenderly or been so concerned. Her ex had been the one who sent her out on some of her roughest assignments. He’d expected her to be able to handle herself, and she did. But there was a small part of her that wished he’d worried about her once in a while. She should have known something was wrong when she called to tell him that she’d been shot and all he’d worried about was how she was going to get him the story.

      She’d made the surgeon wait an hour so she could pound out ten pages and email it to the paper.

      Blake would have been frantic worrying about her.

      Hey, you are not turning into one of those women.

      She refused to be the type of woman who needed the man in her life to save her. Macy prided herself on her independence.

      Jumping into lane five, she sluiced through the water. When she thought of the marine, she tried to focus on the story she wanted to tell. But it was complicated. She didn’t quite have all the pieces yet. She needed to talk to his mother and others who knew Blake. Well, duh, the whole town knew him.

      She wanted a different perspective.

      The idea was just out of her grasp. She pushed herself harder and harder until ten laps later she was out of breath and hanging on to the edge of the pool in the same way Blake had earlier.

      She glanced through the window to see how Harley was doing. Jack gave her double thumbs-up and she smiled.

      Why couldn’t she go for a guy like Jack or even his boss, Josh? They weren’t the subjects of a story and, as far as she knew, they didn’t have any battle scars. Though, she sometimes wondered about Josh. He’d been wounded in some way. It was that haunted look in his eyes.

      No one knew better than she did how those scars and secrets could weigh a soul down.

      The treadmill slowed, and Jack gave Harley a treat. Climbing the ladder out of the pool, she dressed quickly.

      Professional ethics kept her from loading Harley into her car and driving straight to Blake’s house. She wanted to comfort him. To hold him in her arms and maybe even slip her legs around him and absorb some of the pain he’d experienced.

      When would she realize, she never did simple.

      After drying Harley off with a towel, she got her settled in the SUV without any fuss. The dog was too tired to fight her. She lay across the backseat looking exhausted.

      As Macy pulled up the long drive to her house, she quickly slammed on the brakes.

      Harley growled at her.

      The marine plaguing her thoughts sat on the tailgate of his truck more handsome than any man had the right to be.

      What was going on?

      Her body heated. One glance in the rearview and her cheeks were the color of primroses on a bright sunny day.

      Every cell in her body screamed at her. She needed him just as much as he might need her.

      Oh.

      Cherie would start charging her by the hour.

      But before she called her friend, she had to find out why the Blake was here in her driveway. His expression said the weight of the world was resting on his shoulders.

      She let Harley out of the backseat.

      “Hey,” she said as the dog ran up to Blake. He bent over and rubbed the animal’s ears.

      Macy tried her best not to be jealous, but it wasn’t easy.

      One small touch from Blake, and she already craved more.

      “Hey,” he said eyeing her warily. “Sorry I just showed up. We need to talk.”

      “About?”

      “The fact that I touched you without your permission. I was taught better than that. I can write you a letter of apology if you’d like, but I thought it might mean more if I said it in person.”

      She laughed. “Letters are so old-school. You could have texted me.”

      He shrugged. “I kind of like the old-school ways, besides, I didn’t have your number. And there’s something else.”

      “What’s that?”

      “I really want to kiss you.”

      She was in big, big trouble, she could confirm, because she wanted that, too.

      * * *

      “WOW. FOR A MARINE, you really aren’t afraid to tell it like it is.” Macy gave him a smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes. He’d made her uncomfortable, but he had to speak his mind. If she told him off, so be it, but he had to let her know how he felt.

      If he’d learned anything the past six months, it was that life was short. And from his therapist, that the truth was important.

      “It’s true. It’s who I am. And I understand you and I can’t— Well, that is, you have ethics. Some journalists don’t anymore, but I can see that you do. We have a connection. I’m fairly certain you’ve noticed it.”

      She nodded.

      Good, at least the attraction wasn’t one-sided.

      “But you’re writing a story about me and that’s a conflict of interest.”

      “Yes, it is.”

      “So, I think I have a solution.”

      She sat next to him on the tailgate and petted Harley.

      “Don’t write the story.”

      Immediately her back stiffened. “I can’t do that.”

      “Why not? You’re the publisher of the paper, right? Your uncle left you the whole thing, so you make the decisions. Or you could have someone else write the story, though, I’m going to be honest—I wouldn’t trust anyone else.”

      She sighed. “Why do you have to be so—you.”

      He chuckled. “I’m not sure what that means, but do you agree with me?”

      “The story is already compromised because you do strange things to me, Lieutenant Michaels.”

      He lifted her chin with his fingers and waited. She nodded her approval.

      “Strange things?”

      “Yes,” she said softly. “I always seem to be too warm when you’re around.”

      “Hmm.