Men In Uniform: Taken By The Soldier: The Soldier's Untamed Heart / Closer... / Groom Under Fire

‘Welcome to WildSprings officially, Ms Carvell. I’m Clint McLeish.’

She recovered her composure in seconds, sliding calmly into the vacant seat opposite his and pinning him with those amazing eyes. Battle-ash grey.

‘Do you always scope out potential staff before interviews?’ she asked, referring to their earlier encounter.

‘Purely opportunistic.’ He sank into Justin’s chair and studied the woman in front of him. Nervous, but hiding it. She wanted this job badly enough not to turn and walk out when she realised she was set up. Maybe she needed it? Clint thought about the young boy in the gift shop.

‘How old are you?’ He blurted it out before thinking.

Her lips thinned. ‘My résumé doesn’t include that for a reason, Mr McLeish.’

‘You think you’ll be judged by your age?’

‘You’re judging me now. Wondering how someone my age accrued the experience I have.’

Her darkened eyes flashed and his body matched it, deep inside. The angry flush did amazing things to her bone structure. ‘Actually, I was contemplating how you could possibly have a son Leighton’s age. You must have been virtually a child yourself?’

She gasped and shot to her feet. Clint knew he deserved the outraged expression on her face. Man, he really had been away from people too long. He stood as well.

‘Please, sit, Ms Carvell. I apologise, that was unnecessary.’ He sank back into the chair as she reluctantly did, too. ‘The point I’m trying to make—rather badly—is you appear very young for someone in the security industry.’

He did the math; she had to be no more than twenty-six.

She glared for a moment. ‘I learned a long time ago to turn my appearance to my advantage,’ she said. ‘It often gives me an edge over others. They underestimate me.’

I’ll bet they do. He looked at those doe eyes set in smooth skin over knockout bone structure. The mouth, which would be full if it wasn’t pulled tight with displeasure. Focus, McLeish. He forced his mind onto the task at hand, ignoring the daggers Little Miss Fierce stared at him.

‘Uh, can you give me a recent example, please?’ It was textbook interview protocol and he loathed that it was coming out of his mouth. But this wouldn’t be the first time he’d done something he hated based on a hunch.

She regarded him for a moment, seemed to weigh something in her mind and then reached to unbutton her coat. ‘I can give you a very recent example.’

Idiot, you didn’t ask for her coat. He mentally shook his head. Maybe his Grizzly Adams days were catching up with him.

Bottomless grey steel looked hard at him. ‘Why were you watching me in the gift shop?’

There was no good answer to that question, so he went for a half-truth. ‘You looked shifty.’

Her lips quirked, taking all the ice out of those eyes, turning them from storm-grey to kitten-grey in a blink. ‘Shifty? How?’

‘Like you were up to no good.’

‘I was up to no good. I was stealing you blind.’ She reached into her pockets and pulled out an array of items he recognised. Stock from his shop. When she placed a clunky brooch on the desk, he knew exactly when she’d nabbed it. And under whose nose. Heat flared up his throat.

Bloody hell. He’d just been scammed by a rookie.

‘You stopped me on instinct,’ she said. ‘Why didn’t you take it further?’

Because I was too busy wondering what was beneath that coat of yours, and not of the stolen variety. He glared at her and realised with some pain exactly how far the mighty had fallen. He used to specialise in hostage extraction on foreign soil, now he couldn’t even spot a shoplifter at six paces. He fought the stiffening of his body, knowing she wouldn’t miss it. Not wanting to give her the satisfaction. ‘Point taken, Ms Carvell.’

‘This is hideous, by the way.’ She pointed to the brooch. ‘Why do you stock it?’

He had no idea; someone else did the stock selection for him. Yet another thing he’d relinquished control of since coming home. ‘Because it sells?’

She shook her dark auburn hair, just like her son’s but heavier and longer, and when she smiled a tiny dimple formed on her left cheek. ‘It’s still a crime against taste.’

Clint’s brows shot up. When was the last time someone had spoken to him with frankness and honesty rather than fear and suspicion? Or pity? God, it felt good!

‘Stealing from me was a risk, Ms Carvell. What if I’d thrown you out?’

‘A calculated risk. And I figure if you’re recruiting for security you wouldn’t have anyone to throw me out.’

That dimple again. Ouch. ‘You doubt I could manage that on my own?’ He had at least twelve inches and one hundred pounds on her.

‘I figured you wouldn’t have chosen to interview me yourself only to throw me out.’ She nodded at his surprise. ‘I did my research. I was supposed to be meeting a Mr Long.’

His reassessment was immediate. She may look as though she’d just left college but she’d worked a string of good security positions; she read people well, was thorough with research and had raised a young boy alone.

And she totally had his number.

His body stirred at the challenge. ‘What would you do differently in the shop?’ he asked, trying to force the interview, and his mind, back on mission.

She shrugged out of her coat and twisted to drape it over the back of the seat. Her short blouse bunched sideways and, for a fleeting moment, it lifted to expose a stretch of smooth, pale lower back marked by black ink. Clint’s gaze fell on the stylised wedge-tailed eagle tattooed at the base of her spine. Its wings spanned the breadth of her hips and its majestic head disappeared behind the hem of her plain blouse.

He dragged his stare up to her face as she turned, his heart beating painfully. Only a handful of people knew his squad call sign was ‘Wedgetail.’ What were the chances of a civilian turning up with one tattooed so prominently on her body?

Pretty damn small.

The old feelings came surging in, the mistrust and the doubt. He fought them off with reason. How many espionage-trained operatives brought along eight-year-old accomplices? Then again, how many looked like the woman in front of him?

Only the good ones. He took a series of deep breaths and tuned in to her animated answer.

‘…and you might consider moving the counter, too. It’s perfectly positioned to watch the door but terrible for watching the whole store. Deter, detect, delay.’ Her entire demeanour changed when she was problem solving. That brightness in her eyes, the way she leaned forwards slightly, the tilt of her head to the left as she was reasoning. She rattled on for another sixty seconds. She certainly didn’t seem to have an agenda, other than showing him how crap WildSprings’s security had become while he wasn’t on point.

She reined in her galloping enthusiasm long enough to note his expression. ‘What?’

‘You noticed all of this in the few minutes you were in the store?’ Clint asked her. She shrugged. ‘Tell me why I should hire you, Ms Carvell.’

She measured him with her eyes. ‘I have immediate experience in a wildlife setting and I specialise in perimeter control. A park this size is going to be difficult to manage if you can’t secure your boundaries. I’ve also worked on retail security and I have outstanding networks in state enforcement, customs and—’

He thrust up a hand. ‘Plenty of people have the background for this job. Tell me why I should hire you.’

One perfectly shaped brow rose as he cut her off and she took a deep breath. ‘Because I’m hungry for the job. I don’t come with baggage or an agenda or some kind of burning desire to run the place. I enjoy what I do and I thrive on challenge but you won’t lose me the moment I get comfortable in the job. I’m loyal and I’m honest…’

He tried not to glance at the array of stolen items on the desktop.

‘…and I’m very good at what I do,’ she finished up, sitting high in her chair, leaning towards him intently. It would be so easy to trust those steady eyes. Except trust was a stranger around here.

‘You haven’t been very honest today,’ he said.