She could feel his eyes on her ass. She knew he was watching her, stealing glimpses when she turned, observing her movements like one of his targets. The problem was it made her pulse race. Her core tighten in quick snaps. And her skin heat with an invisible fever. God, she hoped it was invisible.

She knew what he was. He was just like Sam. A risk taker. A loner. He was a Ranger. She didn’t think they were made any other way. He was the kind of man she needed to stay far away from.

He scowled at the stacks of lumber.

“They don’t have the length I need. I’ll just get a bigger piece and cut it down.” He lifted one of the boards as if it weighed the same as a Popsicle stick and threw it on his shoulder.

Whitney had to keep from dropping her jaw.

“What else is on your list?” he asked.

She tried to think about all of the projects, but she couldn’t stop staring at the way his muscles tightened where his arm met his shoulder. Good lord the man was ripped.

“The gate latch,” she suggested.

“Oh right.” He walked over to the hardware section.

The board balanced on the ridge of his shoulder while he stooped to select a latch for the gate.

“I think this will work.” He held one up for her to inspect.

She nodded, realizing she would probably agree to anything he suggested. She thought it was because she had been cooped up too long in the house by herself. Maybe it was because his voice got under skin. It was low and firm. Rough and seductive.

“Let’s get these and then I can come back tomorrow for the rest of the things you need.”

“Tomorrow?” She looked at him. She didn’t know how long he was going to stay. And when he mentioned staying in the barn apartment she just went with it.

“I told you. I’m going to get the house fixed for you.” He looked at her over his shoulder. “And anything else you need.”

Kyle took the items to the register and reached for his wallet.

“Oh no. You can’t pay for that.” Whitney tried to stop him. She had an account set up for the house repairs. There was less than a thousand dollars in it, but she could afford a latch and some lumber.

“I insist. It’s part of the service.”

“No. I can take care of it.” She fished in her bag for her debit card. It was in there somewhere.

He shoved a credit card in the clerk’s hand before she could stop him again.

She huffed. “Really? You won’t let me pay for it?”

The kid at the register handed Kyle a receipt as he threw the wood over his shoulder, turning for the door.

“I told you I’m here to take care of things. A promise is a promise.”

“But it feels like charity. I don’t want to be your charity case.”

She raced after him as he loaded the purchases into the back of his Jeep.

“I can respect that.” He was actually considering her dilemma. She was surprised. “How about this? You could make dinner tonight.”

“Do you know about the fire? The restaurant? Is that why you’re asking?” The mist was turning to rain.

He ushered her into the passenger side, before sliding behind the wheel. “No. I don’t know what you’re talking about. But if you don’t cook…”

“No. No, it’s not that.” His eyes were on her and she had this sudden urge to tell him everything that happened to her in the past month, but that was crazy. He didn’t need to hear about the restaurant. “I’d love to make dinner for you. I can do that.”

“Then we have a deal?”

She nodded, but she had this sneaking suspicion she had just been lured into agreeing with him.

* * *

Kyle had been working on the railing for the past few hours. It was starting to get dark and the storm had kicked up off the ocean. That was the best and worst part of the house. It sat on the edge of the cliff, giving you the feeling that you were floating right over the sea.

Whitney peaked out of the door.

“Any chance you’re ready for dinner?”

He stood back to look at the rail. “Yeah. I need some of these pieces to set. I can take a break.”

He followed her in the house, and she was aware of his eyes on her again.

“Is there somewhere I could wash up?” He held up his hands.

Whitney pointed the long hallway that ran the length of the house. “There’s a bathroom on the right.”

“Be right back.”

It felt strange waiting for him in the kitchen as if she was getting ready to start a blind date. But Kyle wasn’t her date. He was a friend of Sam’s. He was here to repay her brother for something. Something he wouldn’t share with her.

She fastened a corkscrew to the top of a bottle of wine. She debated whether to open it, but she decided one glass wouldn’t hurt either one of them.

“Here let me get that.” Kyle’s hands wrapped around her, taking the bottle from her. Her breath seized when his skin drifted over hers. The edges of his hands were rough and warm.

“Thanks.” She watched as he eased the cork from the bottle. “I hope you like salmon and sautéed veggies.”

His eyes lit up. “You don’t know how good that sounds.”

He sat at the table, and she placed a plate in front of him.

“No salmon where you were?” She sat across from him, depositing the wine on the table.

He reached for the bottle and poured a glass for each of them. The slow glug sound of the wine echoed in the glasses.

“No. I’m used to eating a lot of MREs. Not the best tasting meal. That’s for sure. I stopped thinking about food.”

“Oh, are those things that Sam used to take camping?”

“Probably so.” He stuffed the salmon into his mouth, grinning as he chewed. “This is the best meal I’ve had in years.”

Whitney blushed. “No need to exaggerate.”

He shook his head. “I’m not. I’m serious. I forgot how much I missed food. Real food. This is delicious.”

Whitney blushed. “It’s nice to cook again.”

“You don’t cook much by yourself?” He stopped eating and focused on her.

“No. I used to, but ever since I’ve been here I’ve lived on canned soup and sandwiches.” She swore she wasn’t going to get into it, but she could feel herself lowering the wall.

“You sound like a bachelor.” He held up his wine glass.

She laughed. “I guess so.” She swallowed a bite of the salmon. “How long have you been back in the US?”

“Only two weeks.” He took a big gulp of wine and she watched as he swallowed. The muscles in his neck were smooth and firm.

“Did you go see your family?”

He shook his head. “Not yet.”

She stared at him. “What have you been doing for two weeks?”

He loaded his fork with vegetables. “I had to do some in-processing. Debriefing. I can’t really share the details. Once that was complete I came straight here.”

“Oh.” She saw the look in his eye. The blue hues darkened.

“How long is your leave?”

“I’m waiting on my next set of orders.” His eyes lifted to hers, and she felt her knees tremble. It was as if he could look right into her thoughts. “But I’ll make sure you have everything you need before I go. I can work quickly.”

“If you need to go see your family, you should do that. I’ll be fine. The porch is enough. More than enough. Now I don’t have to worry about anyone toppling over. I’m sure Sam would agree your free of your promise now.”

“No. I need to be here.”

It was the way he said it, that made her heart stop. His words were powerful and confident.

“Thank you for dinner.” He stood to clear the table. “Let me help you clean up.”

She sat while he shuttled the plates from the table to the sink.

“Are you real?” she blurted the question.

He turned toward her. “What do you mean?” He refilled her glass.

“You fix things and clean the kitchen?” She giggled, inhaling half of the second glass of wine faster than she intended. She had to admit it was starting to feel like a blind date after all.

“It’s a nice reminder.” He wedged the plates in the dishwasher.

“Reminder of what?”

“Of what I’m fighting for.” He threw a kitchen towel over his shoulder.

“And what’s that?” She knew his tone had changed. She knew the atmosphere was thick. She knew she was drawing emotion from him, but she couldn’t stop.

“Normal.” He leaned against the counter. His arms crossed, forcing his sleeves to widen against the strain of his biceps.

“Normal,” she whispered.

“Yeah.” He nodded. “This. Late dinners with wine on rainy nights by the ocean. It’s something worth fighting for.”

Whitney swallowed another sip, knowing it wasn’t the wine setting her blood on fire. It was him.