Protector for Hire Read Online Free Page B

around the cabin. On second thought, there was no judgment in her expression. Just surprise.
    “‘Like’ is not a strong enough word for how I feel about Pop-Tarts,” he said. “I love Pop-Tarts the way Sherman over there loves having his butt scratched.”
    “That’s a beautiful metaphor.”
    “Yeah. I’m a regular fucking poet.”
    Janelle grinned and stood up. “Well then, allow me to serve desert. Where do you keep the Pop-Tarts?”
    “Second cupboard on the left. Right above the sink you didn’t notice earlier.”
    Just like he wasn’t noticing her ass. Or the way her hips swayed as she moved around the kitchen counter. Nope, he didn’t notice any of that.
    “You have no idea how relieved I am to know you have indoor plumbing,” she said.
    “Don’t get too comfortable. Tomorrow I’m planning to teach you to split firewood.”
    “I’m going to tell myself you’re joking.”
    “Nope. ’Fraid not. You didn’t bring your ax?”
    “Oh, sure,” she said, stretching up to reach the cupboard and revealing a perfect soft strip of skin beneath the hem of her shirt. “My ax is in my Louis Vuitton suitcase right next to my shotgun and my bear traps.”
    “Bear meat isn’t bad in a stir-fry.”
    “I should have packed my wok.” Janelle rolled her eyes and pulled open the cupboard door. “Holy cow, you weren’t kidding. You must have a hundred boxes of Pop-Tarts in here.”
    Schwartz polished off the last bite of his burger. “Try the s’mores flavor—those are the best. The frosted raspberry isn’t bad, either.”
    She shook her head as she pulled out two foil pouches and closed the cupboard back up. “I still can’t believe this is your vice of choice. Pop-Tarts?”
    “You’d rather I sit out here in my remote mountain cabin and collect animal skulls?”
    “I was thinking more like swilling bourbon or something. You really are an enigma.”
    “Is that like an Eggo waffle?”
    “What? No, an enigma—”
    “I know what an enigma is. A puzzling or inexplicable occurrence or situation. A person of puzzling or contradictory character. Something like that?”
    She blinked, then nodded. “You are a tough man to figure out, Schwartz Patton.”
    “Keep on trying,” he muttered, hoping like hell she wouldn’t.
    He stood and picked up his plate, then carried it to the kitchen sink. He turned around to grab a fresh sponge out of the cupboard, and collided with something warm and solid and deliciously soft.
    “Ooof.” Janelle pressed her hands to his chest and pushed back, peering up at him with an embarrassed smile. “Sorry. Just trying to get the toaster.”
    “Uh, not a problem.”
    “Tight space in here.”
    “Right.”
    “Very snug.”
    “Uh-huh.”
    Her hands were still on his chest, the pale pink fingernails looking out of place against the frayed red flannel of his shirt. She smelled like flowers and sunshine, and it seemed very hot in the kitchen all of a sudden.
    “Okay. So—toaster.” She took a shaky breath and pulled her hands back, and Schwartz kicked himself for missing her touch. As she busied herself unwrapping the Pop-Tarts and shoving them in the slot, he tried not to think of words like “shoving” and “slot” and “Janelle.”
    Why was it so fucking hot in the kitchen?
    He filled the sink with soapy water and wondered if he should just drown himself and be done with it.
    “Can I help with the dishes?” she asked.
    “No.”
    “Please?”
    “No.”
    She was quiet a moment, and he did his best not to look at her. “Do you mind if I take this to bed with me?”
    “What?” He looked up, half expecting to see her with a cucumber or a pepper mill or the paper towel rod or some other phallic-looking object.
    For the love of God, why was it so hot in this kitchen?
    “Oh—the Pop-Tart? Yeah, sure. Go right ahead.”
    “Thanks,” she said, smiling at him oddly. “I didn’t realize how exhausted I was. Haven’t slept much for the last few days.”
    “Okay