Dress shirts and ties—fucking Medieval torture bullshit.

I tugged at my collar as I knocked on Valentina’s door. A huge one-story spread on top of a hill overlooking the ocean. I guess senior editors did a lot better than okay. The lines were gorgeous, the landscaping perfect—not cluttered or overly ornate like some of her neighbors’. Minimalist, but simple and elegant—just like her.

Two strong, guttural barks rang out from the other side of the front door. These boys sounded big—the bigger, the better in my opinion. Small dogs freaked me out. Those tiny rat-looking dogs. The ones that got under my feet—little fuckers wanted me dead.

All week at the gym, she’d been full of questions about architecture. It seemed my stealthy coffee date had made her a little more comfortable with me and curious about what I did. She’d grilled me, wanting to know how I saw things. I hadn’t counted on her genuine curiosity. She’d listen, eyes all big and serious, nod furiously, and fire off more questions.

My problem with this whole deal? Now I wanted to know everything about her, which went against my “not investing in one woman” creed.

“Chris! Bleib!” Valentina’s strong command came from behind the door.

Stay? In German?

The fuck?

The door opened and adrenaline exploded through every inch of me like a shotgun blast. Motherfuck, did she clean up well. Goddamn beautiful—old school, Hollywood beautiful.

“Hi. I’m sorry,” she gushed. “They get a little protective, especially Chris. Did you find the house okay?”

When she opened the door wider so I could come in, I stepped to the side so she could shut the door and I could get a better look at her. “Damn, babe . . . That’s a fuckin’ dress. Let me look at you.” I put my hands out to her.

She waved me off with a small shake of her head. “You’re going to have to look at me most of the night, I’m afraid.” An anxious chuckle escaped her perfect lips.

Yeah, I planned on doing a whole lot of looking tonight.

Removing my cock from the equation, I looked down at her hellhounds. One snarled, and even flashed his pearly whites at me. I’d say this for ‘em, though . . . They were specimens. Both dogs weighed in at about seventy pounds, at least, and were nothin’ but muscle.

Snapping her head to the dogs, she pointed to the floor. “Platz! Down, Chris. You too, Kyle.” Turning to me, she raised a trembling hand. “Jaxxon, meet Chris and Kyle. Do you mind giving me your hand?”

I put mine in hers, and she interlaced our fingers. “If you don’t mind me getting a better look at that dress afterwards, hell no.” I looked down at the two gorgeous, fully grown German Shepherds. “What’s up, boys? You’d make your namesake proud. Named ‘em after the Legend? Chris Kyle?”

“Hopp! Up!” she commanded, and they both rose at the same time. “I did. Navy vets in the family and my own little homage. He protected us. They protect me. And besides, I admire his wife. One of the strongest women I’ve ever read about. So yes, Chris and Kyle.”

Still holding my hand, she crouched down to the boys, forcing me to lean down and giving me a solid view of the top part of that dress. It was backless and pooled low at the base of her spine. The sides were held together by a delicate silver chain stretched across her mid-back.

Smokin’ hot doesn’t even come close.

“Chris, behave!”

Her warning snapped me out of guy space where I had her pressed up against the wall in her entryway and that dress hiked up around her waist.

She rose, but kept our interlocked hands down by the dogs.

Wet noses snuffled over my hand and wrist before the dogs sat on either side of her. These had to be the two most well-trained animals I’d ever seen out here. “You give commands in German?”

With a smirk, she pivoted to face me. “Do you speak German?”

“No. My parents do. Never taught us, but I picked up a few things. You?”

Shaking her head, she straightened up and glanced at me. “I don’t. At some point, I became fascinated with the language . . . ” The little crease in her forehead appeared and left as quickly as it came. She recovered fast, pointing down at the dogs. “I’ve had them since they were puppies. I trained Chris at a Schutzhund protection academy. The training originated in Germany and all commands are in German, which is common in service dog training for vets, I believe.”

“Yeah, you’re right. My uncle runs a Search and Rescue academy. I’m familiar with the training.” Schutzhund protection school? That was no PetStop train-your-dog-on-the-weekend shit. It was the leading protection school for dogs. Schutzhund trained dogs who made it through the program were the best around. Protection on a superior level, they’d kill your ass if you fucked with their handler. I’d never met anyone outside of my uncle who had Schutzhund trained dogs.

Guess it makes sense. She does live alone.

“Kyle had a, ah, a different kind of training . . . but he responds to basic commands in German, because he grew up with me drilling them into Chris.” Squeezing my hand briefly, she let it go. “Sorry about your hand. You can wash up in the kitchen, if you want, but they like you.” She tilted her head slightly, looking down at her dogs with a furrowed brow. “They don’t usually warm to people that fast, especially Chris.”

“I’m a likeable guy, sugar. My turn. Hands.”

I offered her my palms, and she hesitantly put her soft slender ones in mine. I slowly stretched her arms out to her sides.

Peeking up, she shook her head at me, but she didn’t pull away.

I whistled long, which reddened her cheeks.

The way her black, full-length dress clung to her should’ve been illegal. With a high neck, it hugged her body all the way down to where about a half-foot of material dragged on the ground behind her. A slit almost to mid-thigh ran up the left side. A few graphic ideas about what I’d like to do with that slit came to mind—like ripping it wide the fuck open.

Full-length sleeves with long, diamond-shaped cut-outs exposed her forearms and toned upper arms. A flesh-colored bandage caught my eye through the opening on her left forearm. I brought her hands back down. “Babe, you wear the shit out of that gown. You’re stunning.”

“You make that suit look pretty damn good yourself, but are you as uncomfortable as I am in these clothes?” She wrinkled her nose and her eyes pinched at the corners.

I wanted us both to have no clothes. I squeezed her hands. “Like you wouldn’t believe. Monkey suits aren’t my deal. Did you hurt yourself?” I ran a thumb over her bandage.

Gently untangling her hands, she covered the wound. “No . . . I have a rather large tattoo that takes up most of my inner forearm. It’s best to cover it up with the top executives coming. They’re kind of stuffy. I know the material covers it, but just in case it droops, I wrap it.”

Tattoo, huh? That explained the long-sleeved workout shirts she always wore. “Aren’t you just full of surprises?”

Her green eyes immediately dropped to the floor.

I caught her chin between my thumb and index finger, lifting her head. “Hey, that wasn’t a slam. Don’t be ashamed of permanently marking your body with something you believe in. I’ve got two, no big deal.”

“J.V.R.,” she said. “The initials at the top of your left pec.”

“That’s one. I’ve got a back piece too.”

“I’ve seen it. Some of it.” A gleam lit her eyes and her shoulders relaxed as if she were relieved. “Well—the parts your tank doesn’t cover. Can I ask what it is?”

People rarely saw my back, and when they did, nobody knew the piece. “It’s a tattoo of a painting. Michael Tramples Satan.”

Her eyes popped wide and her lips parted. “As in the Archangel Michael Defeating Satan? Guido Reni’s painting?”

Of fucking course, she knows it. “Yep. So you’re not alone in the tat department, babe. What time is the car getting here?”

She stood on tip-toes to glance over my shoulder.

I turned to see where she was looking and got a quick survey of a kitchen I’d kill to cook in. Goddamn.

“About five minutes. Quick tour?” she asked.

“Thought you’d never ask. Sink?” I held up my hands.

“Oh, of course, sorry, in the kitchen.” She pointed around me and led me into the kitchen.

We washed up quick and I took the towel she offered after drying her own hands.

“This is one hell of a house. I figured you made a good living, but this is impressive.”

“Thank you. It wasn’t part of the divorce settlement, per se, but, the money for it came from the settlement.”

“So he never lived here?”

She shook her head, with a hand at the base of her throat. “God, no. I bought it almost two years ago, way after the divorce was final. The boys needed something bigger than where we were living and I wanted to be able to see the ocean. It seems for the ten years we were married, my ex received a hundred thousand dollar bonus check each year from his father, which they hid in an account I had no idea existed. His parents own condo complexes all over the US and internationally. He worked for his father on the side and he didn’t make me sign a pre-nup.”

This dick just got worse. “He hid it from you?”

“He did.” She scoffed and glanced at the floor before looking back at me. “When I think back, his behavior before I found out makes sense. He was insistent I accept a rather large alimony settlement and half of his retirement plan. I figured it was guilt on his part. I kept denying it. I just wanted what was fair and him out of my life. Then my lawyers found the money, and I knew why he’d been so pushy. It was something else he lied to me about.”

She shrugged and dropped her eyes before meeting mine once again. “I’m not proud of it, but when I found out I became a little spiteful? Hateful, maybe? I stopped fighting my lawyers. They went after everything. The money from that alone gave me a significant down payment, which allowed for a mortgage I can afford.” She squeezed her eyes shut and dropped her hand. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry. I ramble when I’m nervous.”

I took her hand leisurely and interlocked our fingers. “Figured that about you. Don’t be sorry. I asked, and you’re not real forthcoming on the personal info front. If that’s rambling, I’ll take it.” I raised her hand to my mouth and kissed the top.

A pretty blush highlighted both her cheeks. A little hesitant, she squeezed my hand and pulled away, but not before I caught the tremor.

“Okay, come on,” she said. “I’ll show you the rest real quick.”

The dogs flanked her as I followed her through the kitchen, which opened up into an expansive living room with vaulted ceilings. A cream-colored, L-shaped sectional big enough for ten people framed a long, smoky glass coffee table. What looked to be about a fifty-two-inch flat screen was mounted over a fireplace on the opposite wall. Windows lined the entire south end of the room and framed a large sliding glass door leading to a spacious back yard.

“Living room.” She waved a hand around.

“You’ve got a gorgeous view from here.” I looked out over her fence to the moon reflecting off the blue-black Pacific.

“I do.” She quickly covered her mouth as she giggled, then flashed a sexy-as-fuck smirk my way. “Only you could see over my fence from here.” She came to stand beside me. “The view of the ocean from most places in the house was the selling point. I like open and bright. This way.” She waved a hand at me. “Wait until you see the view from the office, but be warned . . . I’m renovating, so it’s chaos.” Even with the warning, the glow in her eyes gave away the office as her favorite room.

We walked through a large doorway into a spacious hall that stretched both north and south. Well-designed, this house. She ignored what must’ve been the guest bedroom and bathroom on the north end and opened two massive double doors in the middle of the hallway into the master bedroom, but didn’t walk in.

“Here’s the master. The bathroom’s in there, next to the closet.” She waved a hand to the left of a California-king-sized bed.

Yeah . . . I liked that. A lot.

“As an architect, I think you’ll appreciate the office, even though it’s upside down,” she continued, closing the master doors and leading me to the far south end of the hall. With a hand on the knob, she spun around to me. “Remember . . . renovating. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, sugar. Let’s see it.” I nodded to the door.

She wasn’t exaggerating. As soon as that door opened, my inner designer went ape-shit. The room was medium-sized, but had expansive windows from the hip up on three sides, making it appear longer and more open. Where the window ended on the west wall sat a small loveseat with an antique coffee table in front of it, piled high with interior design magazines. Turning back to the windows, a desktop ran just under the sill on the east, south and west walls, which made for a wicked workspace, giving her a three-way view of the ocean. The large skylight above gave the whole space an uncluttered appearance. She was dead-on. It was the best fucking room in the house, and that was sayin’ somethin’.

“How far in are you with the renovations?” I asked.

She crossed her arms over her chest and squinted up at me. “I’ve been renovating for over a year now. I say ‘renovating,’ but really it’s been more thinking about how to renovate.”

I dropped my gaze to her mouth, and I didn’t miss her sharp intake of breath. Jesus, she was killing me. I’d deal with that later. Right now, I knew how I was going to repay her for helping me out with Bridge. “A year? Do you have an idea what you want?”

Her chest sank on a long exhale. “I don’t.” She looked up at me, hands on her hips. “I can’t see it. I want this room to have . . . balance. I spend most of my time in here, even in the mess, but I don’t have a clear vision yet. It’s a great space, though, right?”

“Tell you what. Since you won’t take money for looking at my sister’s novel, let me take a shot at designing something . . . trading services. If you like it, I’ll start as soon as I can.”

And it’ll give me a bitchin’ excuse to get time alone with you.

A small gasp escaped her lips. “Jaxx. Thank you for such a generous offer, but that’s too much. You’re already saving me tonight. We’re even.”

I shrugged it off like no big deal. “It’s what I do. It would give me a mental break from the industrial design for a firm in Arizona. I prefer freestyle.”

She stared up at me with huge eyes. “It’s too much—too generous. I know how busy you are. This would be too much to take on.”

I crossed my arms as far as my fucking jacket would allow and scanned the room. “Not really. It’s all here. Just needs a little sanding, moving around, maybe a tear-down on that west wall under the window, a few shelves, and a solid paint job.”

My dick twitched as her kissable mouth turned up into a gorgeous smile. “That’s it, huh? I’ve been poring over countless magazines for a year, and you take one look and you got it?”

“Yeah.” I nodded taking a last look around. “I think so. What do you say?”

She studied the room for a second and nodded. “You’re on, but I have to pay you. This is too much.”

I can think of a few ways we can go about repayment . . .

“No money. That’s the deal. You cover materials, and I’ll do the rest. Final offer.”

Gnawing on the inside corner of that damn lip, she nodded. “Okay. Deal.”

As she turned to leave the room, I reached out and grabbed her hand. Her entire body stiffened and she stared at my hand. The smile, there just seconds ago, was replaced with an expression I couldn’t define, but if I had to guess, I’d have said fear . . . and a whole lot of heat.

I loosened my grip, but still held on, running my thumb over her supersonic pulse. If she needed me to back off, I would, but I knew want when I fuckin’ saw it, so I was gambling.

“Valentina. Are you uncomfortable when I touch you? Be honest. You won’t offend me.”

She stared where we connected for a few seconds before meeting my eyes and shaking her head. “No. I’m okay.”

Thank Christ. “Then there’s something we should clear up.” As I moved closer, she moved her free hand to her throat once again. “When you get nervous or you start overthinking, you chew on the corner of your bottom lip.”

The hand at her throat now flew to her mouth and she squeezed her eyes shut.

I moved in front of her and gently removed her hand. “It’s not a bad thing, sugar. I say this because if I’m going to be here working with you on this, I can’t be held responsible for what I do if you keep making that lip swell.”

Wide eyes searched mine and her lips parted. In my head, invitation didn’t get much fuckin’ louder. The energy between us hummed. She ran the tip of her tongue over her swollen lip and I took a step closer to her, framing one side of her face with my hand. In what seemed an unconscious move, she let her eyelids close and pushed her cheek against my palm for a second.

Led Zeppelin’s Kashmir echoed down the long hallway and her eyes popped open.

Great fucking song. Shitty cock-blocking buzzkill. “Your phone?”

“Y-yes,” she stammered. “It’s probably the driver.”

Reluctantly, I let go of her and stepped back. “Nice ringtone. Go ahead.” I nodded down the hall. “I’m right behind you.”

“Thank you,” she blurted before hiking up that sexy as hell dress and shuffling down the hallway. The opening swayed with each step, teasing over the bottom of her spine. I closed the office door and readjusted my shit, then strolled down the hall to meet her at the front door.

This was gonna be one long-ass night.