“It’s not much different from Orion’s shop.” Adam leaned against his table saw.

  “Or Rick’s,” Hope said, “but every guy puts his own personal touch in his workshop.” She pointed to a metal sign hung by the door that said, There are at least twenty very sharp blades in this room. Don’t fuck with me.

  “Wendie bought me that for my birthday.”

  “I like it. It has attitude.”

  Hope surveyed the rest of the tools then walked over to a worktable in the center of the space. Sanded boards in different sizes were spread out like pieces of a puzzle. “What’s this going to be?”

  “Diana wanted a coffee table with drawers underneath for her living room.” Adam approached the table and rummaged through a few papers nearby. “Here’s the picture she gave me.”

  The table was gorgeous with a chunky top, stocky legs, and small drawers with black, wrought iron pulls. “This is going to be beautiful.”

  “It’s a fun one to make,” Adam said. “I like making drawers.” He picked up two pieces and fit the dovetail grooves together. They locked tightly, like clasped fingers, and formed a perfect 90-degree angle, giving Hope a sense of Adam’s skills. Woodworking know-how was yet another turn-on.

  “Have you ever made a doghouse?”

  Adam’s eyebrows rose at the question. “Does my friend Olive need one?”

  “I believe she does. A big one she can grow into.”

  “I’d love to make her one. Want to go upstairs and draw out what you want?”

  Good. A reason for going upstairs. Way to ease into it, Adam.

  “That’d be great.”

  Nodding, he led her to a set of stairs. “Right this way.” He climbed the stairs first to unlock a door Hope assumed led to his apartment. Before letting her in, he turned and said, “Let me apologize in advance for any laundry I may have left out, namely my boxer shorts. I didn’t realize I would be having company.”

  “I’ll be sure to look the other way.” Yeah, right. The possibility of seeing his boxer shorts made her want to charge inside. The possibility of seeing what he kept inside his boxer shorts was even more appealing.

  Again, he reached inside and turned on a light then allowed her to go in ahead of him. Adam might have been quiet, but he had manners. Hope filed that away in the mental file folder she was creating on him tonight. Every little detail she learned made the picture of Adam Rouse a little clearer.

  And she was liking that picture more and more.

  His apartment consisted of a big, open area containing the kitchen, dining room, and living room. It had a high ceiling with exposed rafters of rough-cut Douglas fir. A single hallway stemmed off this area, leading to what Hope suspected was at least a bathroom and a bedroom.

  Adam’s bedroom.

  Would she be going down there tonight? God, she hoped so.

  “This is nice, Adam.” She waved her hand over the masculine choices of a dark brown, corduroy couch with oversized cushions, a walnut coffee table and matching end tables with iron lamps on them, a huge television in a walnut armoire across the room, and two brown leather chairs flanking the couch.

  “Is it what you expected?”

  She wandered to the wall of windows where a cherry farmer’s table, a bench, and some black ladder-back chairs filled the dining room. It was too dark to see outside, but the absence of lights told her it was either woods or a mountain view out there. Maybe she’d be here during the day some time to see which it was.

  “Yes, it suits you.”

  “How’s that?”

  “It’s dark and mysterious.” She turned to face him. “Like you.”

  “Dark and mysterious?” He shed his coat and draped it on a stool in his kitchen. Taking a few steps closer into the living room, he said, “Is that a nice way of saying I’m creepy and secretive.”

  “You’re not creepy.” Hope sat on the couch, praying Adam would do the same. How long could they keep up the conversation? How long before it became awkward? How long before one of them had to make a move?

  “But I am secretive?” He appeared to have a conversation with himself before taking four more steps and sitting a cushion away from her on the couch.

  Progress.

  “Yes. You are secretive, but that’s better than being creepy, isn’t it?”

  “I suppose so.” He reached forward and grabbed the television remote. “Do you mind? I like background noise.”

  “I don’t mind.” And she filed that tidbit away too.

  He turned on the television and clicked to the guide. Hope read through the choices as they scrolled by and at the same time, they both said, “Yes, Ghostbusters.”

  “You like Ghostbusters?” he asked, selecting that channel.

  Bill Murray and the rest of the Ghostbusters listened to Sigourney Weaver as she told her tale of eggs cooking on her countertop and hearing voices from her refrigerator.

  “I used to watch this movie every day after school. Well, either this or The Karate Kid.” Hope scratched her forehead. “I… well, I had a bit of a crush on Ralph Macchio.”

  “And everybody loves Mr. Miyagi.” Adam set the remote back on the coffee table. “It was Ghostbusters or any one of the Back to the Future movies for me.”

  “Classics. They don’t make movies like those anymore.”

  “Don’t we sound like a couple of geezers?” He untied his boots and slid them off.

  “Only one way to combat sounding like geezers,” Hope said.

  “Design a doghouse?”

  Adam looked at her, and encouraged by the size of his pupils and the way his gaze traveled over her, Hope moved to the cushion between them. She traced the black wolf and crescent moon on his T-shirt then slid her hand up to his neck.

  “No, not designing a doghouse,” she said.

  Moving slowly so as not to spook him, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his jaw. The scratchiness of his short beard instantly made her want to run her teeth over the rest of his chin, but she restrained herself.

  No sudden moves. Don’t be too aggressive.

  Why did she feel like a hunter stalking an innocent deer? Foolish. Adam Rouse was no innocent deer.

  When he didn’t try to stop her, Hope ran her index finger over the bruising near his mouth. “Sorry about this,” she whispered.

  “You didn’t punch me,” he said in a low voice, looking directly at her.

  “I would never punch you.”

  “Never say never. I can be a real jerk, deserving of a punch in the face. Just ask Wendie.”

  Hope shook her head. “I would never punch you,” she repeated softly. “I don’t want to hurt you, Adam.”

  “What do you want?” His hand was on her shoulder now, his fingers gently massaging so she somehow felt his touch everywhere.

  “To pay you back for coming to my rescue yesterday and for changing my tire today. To say thank you.”

  She held his gaze for a moment then pressed her lips to his, gently so she didn’t reopen the split, but her need was there. Her need, her hunger, her desire.

  Adam’s arms came around her waist and tugged her onto his lap, which meant he could reach more of her. His hands slid up under her blouse, his touch hot and possessive. He kept his lips on hers, nipping in slow, gentle teases that built up Hope’s need even more. His thighs were rock solid beneath her bottom, and his arousal grew the more they kissed.

  Her center was on fire, molten hot with craving. It had been far too long since a man had touched her like this and too long since she’d touched a man. But this wasn’t just any man. It was Adam, and that energy Jake had mentioned was at full power right now, waiting to be released.

  “Adam,” she said as she ran her hands over his buzz cut, loving the softness of the short hairs on her palm.

  “Hmm…” He’d moved his hands to tangle his fingers in her long hair, tethering her to him.

  “I want you.”

  As soon as the words left her lips, Adam was kissing her again and standing with her in his strong arms. He stepped over the coffee table and headed for that hallway.

  The hallway that better lead to his bedroom.

  ****

  Don’t take her to the bedroom. Do not take her to the bedroom.

  Adam kicked open the door to his bedroom, completely ignoring the annoying voice in his head. Leaving only the light on in the hallway, he stood over his bed and let Hope slide down the length of him until she was kneeling in front of him. Jesus Christ, the woman could slide. Her body rubbed all the right places, and he felt himself coming apart at the seams. He leaned down and captured her amazing lips again with his own, tasting her sweet flavor, getting drunk on it.

  She grabbed a fistful of his T-shirt and tugged until they were both lying on the bed. He covered her like a blanket and loved how she fit below him, snug and warm and soft.

  What am I doing?

  He had no fucking clue, but that wasn’t stopping him. No way. This felt too good, too right, and it’d been too long.

  He sat up and made quick work of unbuttoning Hope’s shirt. The delicate material swished in his hands and whispered as he pushed it off her shoulders. Leaning forward, he trailed light kisses along her exposed arm up to her shoulder and into the curve of her neck. When her body quivered beneath him, he almost blew his load. Knowing his simple touch could affect her like that made him feel… powerful. In control. He’d forgotten what that felt like.

  Hope grabbed the end of his T-shirt and peeled that, along with his undershirt, off in one swift pull. Her finger tips glided over his abs and the muscles involuntarily tightened at the tickle.

  “There’s not much light to see, but my fingers approve,” she said half to herself. “Workout much?”

  Enough light spilled into the room from the hallway that he could see her deep brown gaze travel over his chest, igniting a fuse inside him. The smile that grew on her lips delighted him more than it should.

  “I’ve got a gym next door.” He pointed to the wall beside the bed.

  “That explains it.” She licked her lips as if she were viewing an ice cream sundae—one she wanted to eat in one big bite.

  He dove back into kissing her until he couldn’t remember his name and wasn’t at all worried about it. Hope was a woman who could make a man forget his troubles. A woman who could give a guy a fresh start. A woman who could change someone’s world one kiss at a time. He wanted that chance with her. He wanted to be the man to experience her magic. The magic she was willing to give him. Right here. Right now.

  Backing up slightly, he unzipped Hope’s jeans and scraped his fingers along her waist and thighs, taking the denim and a pair of lacey black underwear with him.

  She let out a shuddery breath and closed her eyes, her back arching toward him. Her waist was slender and smooth and perfect. Surely, a creature such as the one that rested beneath him now was not of this world—this place full of imperfection, injustice, pain. No, Hope was the complete opposite of all that. She was pure. She was salvation.

  She was too good for him.

  He paused. How could someone who had done the things he’d done, seen the things he’d seen in Afghanistan, be worthy of what Hope was offering? To take anything from her would be a debt he could never repay. He had blood on his hands and gaping holes in his soul. How could he ever be what she needed?

  He just wasn’t enough.

  “Adam?” She’d risen to her elbows, her hair tousled in sexy, golden waves. Touchable, so touchable, yet out of his reach if he were honest.

  “Hope, we shouldn’t—”

  Her fingers came up to rest against his lips. “No, Adam. We should. Doesn’t this feel right to you?”

  “It feels too right.” He rolled off her and rested on his back next to her, keeping his left arm close to his ribs.

  “I think we owe it to ourselves to see what this could be.” She got to her knees and pulled off her black tank top and bra.

  Adam let out a groan as she straddled him, completely naked. Her breasts were phenomenal, and his hands itched to touch them. She went for the zipper on his jeans, but he grabbed her hands, corralling both of her wrists in his grip.

  “Hope. Don’t.”

  She froze, some of her lovely fingers tucked between his hips and the waistband of his jeans. “You’re serious?”

  He nodded once then sat up, shifting her farther down on his lap. “I can’t do this to you.”

  “But I want you to. I want you to do exactly this to me.” Something flashed in her usually friendly eyes. “You don’t want me?”

  “Jesus, Hope. Of course I want you.” He thrust his hands out to her. “Look at you. You’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” He scratched at his buzz cut, his left ear really humming tonight. “I’m the problem here, not you.”

  “Oh, it’s you, not me. I see.” She got off his lap and sat on the edge of the bed.

  When she didn’t move for a few moments, Adam rested his hand on her shoulder. She jerked away from his touch and looked back at him. Her lips were red and puffy from the kissing they’d done, but they were no longer turned up in a seductive grin. They weren’t about to say something sultry.

  “I get that you had a hard time in the Marines. I obviously don’t know the whole story, because you won’t let me in.” She tapped a finger to his temple. “I thought if I gave you some time, you’d decide to trust me. You’d see that I wasn’t going anywhere, but I don’t know how much longer I can wait, Adam.”

  She rose, in all her naked loveliness, and collected her clothing. Silently, she dressed. When she was finished, she faced him and he saw it. On her face. The last thing he wanted to see.

  Pity.

  “Get out.” His voice came out as a low growl as he barely contained himself. This was exactly what he’d wanted to avoid. No one felt sorry for Adam Rouse.

  “I’d love to, but you drove me here, genius.” Her eyes shot fire at him now, and dammit, she was still entirely too beautiful.

  “Well, I guess I’ll drive you out of here then.” He put his shirt back on, stalked past her in the hallway, and grabbed his coat off the stool where he’d left it. He sat on the edge of the couch and jammed his feet into his work boots.

  She poked her arms into her jacket, slid on her boots, and stomped to the door.

  He met her there and said, “Look, Hope, I’m—”

  “Do not say you’re sorry, Adam. Do. Not. Just take me home.” She wouldn’t look him in the eye and her cheeks were red. She was either royally pissed or… embarrassed.

  Fucked this one up good, Rouse. God, he was such an asshole. How could he have treated her the way he just did? She’d been naked and ready and willing moments ago, and now she probably wished him dead.

  Well, join the club, sweetheart.

  Besides he didn’t want to have sex with someone who saw him as a pity case. A woman was supposed to look at a man and see strength, someone who could protect her, someone she could trust. She wasn’t supposed to look at him and think, Oh, poor guy. He’s so fucked up. He needs serious fixing.

  Grumbling to himself and rubbing the bruise on his lip, he opened his apartment door and started down the stairs. Hope followed behind him, not saying a word.

  The cold outside hit Adam like a frying pan to the face, which was exactly what he deserved. Walking around his bucket truck, he unlocked his regular pickup truck and climbed inside. Hope did the same, but sat as close to her door as physically possible.

  As if she had to worry. He wouldn’t be touching her again. Not ever. The sooner she moved on, the better.

  He pulled out of his driveway. It was a silent ride to her street. When he stopped in front of her mother’s house, he started to say something—what, he wasn’t quite sure—but Hope simply opened her door and got out. She slammed it shut and ran up the front stairs.

  Adam made sure she got inside safely then threw the truck in reverse, turned around, and sped down her driveway, his tires slipping on snow several times. He’d thought about handing his balls in before, but he was pretty sure the authorities would come and collect them at this point. What guy in their right mind turned down a woman like Hope Stannard?

  Simple. A guy not in his right mind. A guy just like him. That was who.

  He arrived back at his house, parked his truck, got out, and stood outside for a few moments, letting the cold seep into him. Hard to believe that earlier this evening he’d been naked, aroused, and hot. Amazing that the switch could be flipped so suddenly.

  He grabbed a shovel by the door and pushed snow out of the way just to have something physical to do. His mind may have decided he wasn’t having sex tonight, but his body still held out hope. An energy bounced off his insides as if someone had wound him up like a top but had forgotten to release him.

  Not forgotten. More like someone hadn’t allowed him to be released. The killer part of it was that he was to blame. He was the one who had denied himself. How did that make sense?

  His cell phone buzzed in his pocket, and he foolishly wished it was Hope asking him to come back and get her. He dug the phone out and looked at the screen.

  Wendie. At this late hour.

  “What?” He nearly barked.

  “Don’t be mad at me,” his sister said. “You’re the one screaming into the driveway after one in the morning, hot shot. Are you okay?”

  “I’m super. Absolutely wonderful.”

  “He said sarcastically. Look, do you want to talk about it or sulk around like you usually do?”

  “Sulk.”

  “Tonight the role of Bratty Little Brother will be played by Adam Rouse. Stand back, folks, he is a professional,” Wendie said.

  “Good night, Wendie.”

  “Fine. Good night. I’m right here though,” she said, “if you need anything.”

  He hung up, knowing full well he didn’t deserve a sister like Wendie either. God, it was as if someone had injected him with asshole-inducing serum and its effects were immediate.

  Was there an antidote?

 

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