Page 18 of Unplanned Target

“I take it you’re on your own with her?” It’s relatively obvious Miranda’s single. She hasn’t once mentioned a boyfriend or husband and there was no sign of a man in her home.

But I am a little surprised Allie’s dad isn’t at least somewhat involved. I can’t imagine not wanting to be a part of my kid’s life.

Miranda snorts. “On my own is an understatement.” She pulls in a deep breath, straightening. “My ex-husband left us over a decade ago to move to LA so he could be an actor.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m sure you can guess how that’s worked out for him.”

What a fucking dick. “Doesn’t seem like it’s worked out too well for you either.”

“Actually, life is way easier without him than it was with him.” She offers a mirthless smile. “I did everything. Paid the bills. Cleaned the house. Did the laundry. Cooked the meals. He basically wanted a mommy he could have sex with.”

My nose wrinkles. “The fuck?”

“That’s how I felt about it too.” She shrugs. “Now I only have one kid to take care of and no one calling me a frigid bitch because I don’t want to sleep with them at night after wiping their ass all day.” Her eyes come to my face. “Metaphorically.”

I try to wrap my head around expecting a woman to take care of me like another kid, and I can’t fucking imagine why in the hell anyone would want that. “I’m glad you don’t have to deal with that anymore.”

A hint of a smile ghosts across her full lips. “Me too.” She sobers. “I feel bad for Allie though. I know what it’s like to grow up with a dad who doesn’t give two shits about you. I thought I was choosing better for her, but I was wrong.”

“She’ll be okay.” I think about the events of the day. “She seems like a resilient kid.”

A sharp laugh bursts out of Miranda. The sound is unexpected and hits me with an amount of force I don’t see coming. Probably because it’s the first time I’ve heard it.

“She’s resilient, all right.” Miranda’s eyes drop to my chest once again, moving over my skin for just a few seconds before falling to the floor. “I should let you get back to it.”

“I’m done.” I line my toothbrush on the hand towel I laid across the counter. “It’s all yours.” I go to leave the room so Miranda can do what brought her here, but there’s not a lot of space to work with, so my body ends up brushing hers as I move sideways out the door.

And just like that my dick’s hard again. Doing its damndest to make itself known behind the strategic tuck of my towel.

And that can’t happen. Being attracted to a client is not the best idea to start with. Being attracted to a client whose brother is also itching for a reason to kick my ass, might move that into the worst idea ever category.

But I still can’t seem to stop myself from stopping when we’re close. Leaning down to quietly say, “Goodnight, Miranda.”

Her eyes move over my face, that same oddly confused expression pinching her brow. “Goodnight, Owen.”

SEVEN

MIRANDA

I really need to pay attention before I open doors.

In my defense, I’ve lived in a house with just my daughter for over a decade, and haven’t had to worry about walking in on a man in a state of undress.

A very attractive man.

Very attractive, well-built man.

A very attractive, well-built, shockingly considerate man. Who also happens to kill people for a living.

And I’m messed up enough to find that last part exceptionally appealing.

I stand in front of the sink, taking deep breaths. “You need to get a grip.” Something that’s clearly not going to happen since I’m talking to mirror Miranda like she’s going to listen. “He’s a man. They suck. You’re just tired and it’s making you delusional.”

Yeah. That’s it. I’m delusionally exhausted. Definitely not finding myself attracted to or remotely interested in the mercenary with abs. That would just be insane.

Feeling a little better, I switch on the shower and peel off my clothes. I found a small washer and dryer tucked into the utility room, so hopefully I can run my stuff through with Allie’s so we aren’t stuck sporting the same sweaty underwear until I can figure out how to get us something else to wear.

I should probably offer to throw Owen’s clothing in with ours. He likely did way more sweating than I did during our exertive adventure. He also doesn’t seem to be expecting me to cater to him, which makes me a little more inclined to be nice.

I’m fully soaked before I realize I forgot to look for soap or shampoo. Luckily, there’s a bar cradled in the recess built into the stall. It’s damp and has a few bubbles clinging to one side.