She’d seen the man in his underwear. And she’d liked it. Honestly, like was too weak of a word for their wet wrestling match.

Best three minutes of her life.

Scarlett stirred the pot of soup on the stove and tried to get her mind right. Gavin Bain was the least appropriate man in the whole world for her. The stories that she’d read and heard about him were legendary. He’d left a trail of bar fights, verbal altercations, trashed hotel rooms, and heartbroken women in his wake. They didn’t call him The Delinquent for nothing.

Also, everyone knew how self-absorbed rock stars were, and if there was one thing she couldn’t abide, it was selfish, narcissistic people.

Equilibrium returned to her piece by precious piece as she reviewed all the reasons Gavin was not for her and needed to be out of her life as soon as possible.

“Something smells good.”

She screamed and flicked the spoon across the room. “Oh, my gosh, you scared me.”

“Sorry.”

She took in the rock star leaning against the door jamb, grinning like a fool, and knew he wasn’t sorry at all.

Lord, had a man ever looked so good?

No, the answer was no.

He wore a faded Seattle Seahawks t-shirt that hugged his pecs and shoulders. It looked so good she wanted to ditch her beloved Dallas Cowboys to become a Seahawks fan. Thin navy sweat pants covered his long legs, legs that she’d seen that afternoon in all their muscled, tan fineness.

Tattooed arms were crossed over his chest. His damp hair looked darker in this light, like polished onyx. It was short but longer on top, and she wanted to spend hours running her fingers through the silky strands.

“Your hair is short.” What? Where had that come from?

He chuckled and ran his hand over his head. “Yeah, I’ve worn it long, but I don’t like how it gets in my way. And I’m not really a man-bun kind of guy.”

“You should put on some socks. Your feet will get cold.” She kept spouting random things, but his bare feet were distracting and somehow incredibly intimate.

He gave her a strange look. “I’m good.”

She turned toward the sink and away from him. “Fine, but don’t blame me when you catch a chill.”

“Got it. What are you making?” He moved to the stove and peeked inside. What small amount of room there was in her galley kitchen was devoured by his presence.

“Joyce brought soup.” The words squeezed into the tiny gap between them. He was too close, and he smelled so good. Not cologne good, but Gavin good. She’d noticed this afternoon during their tussle, but now after his shower, it was intoxicating. She wanted to bury her nose in his neck and stay there for a very long time.

“I’m starved. I haven’t eaten since this morning. And you gave me quite a workout this afternoon.” He chuckled.

“Mm-huh.” She retrieved another spoon and gave the pot another stir.

“Can I help?”

“Um…” That was unexpected. “You can get drinks. The glasses are in this cabinet.” She pointed to the door just to her left. “I’ll get out of your way.”

With one step his front was pressed to her back. “No problem,” he whispered in her ear. “I can reach.”

Holy…wow. The buttery goodness of his voice spread all over her body. Every inch of hard-won ground she’d gained with her little pep talk crumbled under her feet.

“Thanks for your help.” While he sounded like warm toffee, her words came out like dehydrated bitterroot.

Thankfully he stepped away, and her blood pressure could regulate. “No problem. What should I put in these?” He held up the glasses.

“I don’t have any alcohol.”

“Probably best. Know what I mean.”

Heat tingled under her cheeks. “Yes…well, there’s iced tea and water in the fridge. I’ll have tea.”

He flipped one of the glasses into the air and caught it. “Coming right up.”

When the wild child swooned, she kicked the tramp in the shin, then took the soup to the table.

Once they were seated, she ladled the soup into their bowls. “Be sure to try some of Joyce’s beer bread. It’s delicious.”

He spooned in a bite and groaned. “This is fu—”

She raised her brow.

“Freaking amazing.”

“Joyce was a famous chef in San Francisco before she came back to Zachsville.”

“What brought her back?” He cut a slice of bread and dunked it in his soup.

“Her husband had an affair with his secretary.”

“Original.” Disgust trailed behind the word like the tail of a kite. At that moment she liked him very much. “I’ve got no tolerance for people who cheat. And a man who cheats with his secretary is just lazy.”

“I agree.” Look at them having a civil conversation. “The worst part is, they ran off together, and he took all of their money.”

“He cleaned out their bank account?”

She reached for the knife and cut a piece of bread. “And investments, anywhere they had money. He was some kind of financial guru, so Joyce let him handle all of it. She had a household checking account and a small savings account, nothing more. My understanding is there was a lot of money, and now it’s gone. She came back virtually penniless.”

Gavin’s spoon stopped halfway to his mouth. “Does she need money? Because I’ve got money.”

“I beg your pardon?” She couldn’t possibly have heard him correctly.

“If she needs cash I can give her some.”

She must’ve looked like she didn’t speak English, because he continued.

“I have money. She doesn’t, and she’s got a kid, a kid she’s obviously nuts about. If she needs assistance, I can help.”

His words flailed, flipped, and flopped in her head and she tried to arrange them so that they made sense.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Her spoon clattered to the table. “Why would you make such an offer? You don’t even know her. For heaven’s sake, you met her all of three hours ago.” She knew she sounded pissy, but she couldn’t help it.

“Scarlett, it’s not a big deal. I do it all the time.” His hair fell over his forehead, and he pushed it out of the way.

“You do it all the time?” Her incredulity spewed from her mouth. “What? You walk up to single moms on the street and throw money at them?”

He scooped up another spoonful of soup. “I donate to an organization in Seattle. It helps get single moms back on their feet. They provide housing, family therapy, educational assistance, financial counseling, and job placement help. I play at their fundraisers.” He shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal—like he hadn’t just pulverized her preconceived notions of him.

She closed her eyes and tried to catch her thoughts running laps around themselves.

“Do you have asthma?”

She glanced over at him. “What? No, why?”

“Because you’ve done that weird breathing thing a lot this afternoon, and I would have no idea what to do if you had some kind of attack.”

“I’m fine.” Her hand shook as she picked up her spoon. “No asthma here, so you’re safe.”

“Alright. If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure. Eat your soup before it gets cold.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice. Remind me to thank Joyce the next time I see her.”

The grin she gave him was a brittle representation of a genuine smile, but she couldn’t help it. She didn’t want to think about him having depth and character. She’d placed him in a shallow, entitled, rock god box and that’s where she wanted him to stay. Couldn’t he simply stay in his box?

He was trouble.

So much trouble.

* * *

“Dad-gum-it.” Scarlett gripped the yarn she knitted with and yanked.

“What’s wrong?” His bare feet were propped on the coffee table while he changed the strings on his guitar. Chinese characters were tattooed across the top of one slender foot. She wondered what the symbols meant.

“I dropped a stitch.” She’d knitted and ripped out the same row three times. Who wouldn’t be distracted? Gavin’s agile fingers moved expertly along his guitar. He hummed along to a song from the playlist on her phone. She tried to fight the pull of his dirty whiskey voice, but he was the snake charmer, and she was the snake.

Not to mention the revelation of his philanthropic endeavors still had her reeling. The guy seemed to have a real heart for single moms and didn’t that just suck. Well, it was good for the single moms, but bad for her.

The guitar string made a ting when he cut it. “I like your books.”

The needles scraped together. “What?”

“I like your books. I couldn’t sleep last night and saw them on the bookshelf.”

“Oh…well, thank you.”

He rested the guitar on his lap and opened a package of strings. “That Fiona is cool. I like that she’s kind, but she’s not a pushover, you know? She sets those woodsy animals straight. But she’s so cool about it that they’re all like, Sure thing, Fiona.”

All she could do was nod. He got it.

“And she’s not all big-headed about being right either. When she’s wrong, she straight up says she’s wrong. Which makes her alright in my book.”

“I wish everyone could see it that way.”

“What do mean?” he said around a string he was holding in his mouth.

She uncrossed and recrossed her legs. “It’s a long story, but the short version is the Carousel Network told me they wanted to make them into a weekly television show. But when I got to Vegas to meet with them, they said they wanted me to change Fiona and make her more street smart. Basically, take away some of. I have a month to get them something new.”

“That’s bullshit. You should tell ’em to shove it up their asses. You created her. She’s yours. Either they like her or they don’t. And if they don’t, screw ’em.”

She could do that. His money was sitting in her bank account, enough to pay off the farm, but then what? She wanted to be able to take care of her family and the contract with Carousel would help her do that. “Not really my style. Honestly, I should be in my office working on my proposal instead of knitting, but at the moment, knitting’s more fun.”

“What are you making?” He plucked each string, turning the silver knobby things at the top of the guitar while he did.

“A hat, scarf and mitten set for the church bazaar.” She wrapped the lavender yarn around her finger then looped it over one needle. “This is the hat.”

He paused in his tuning and grinned. “I knew this girl when I was in high school, who wore a knitted swim suit. I never could figure out how it didn’t come completely unraveled. Johnny and I spent a whole summer waiting for the strings to come apart. They never did, though.”

His mournful tone made her smile. “It was probably manufactured and not hand knitted.”

“So the Chinese are responsible for my summer of sexual frustration. I’m glad to know there’s someone to blame. Of course, when a guy’s sixteen, a cool breeze can cause a boner, so I can’t hold too much of a grudge.”

“’Fraid so.” She shouldn’t laugh, but she couldn’t help it. He was the most irreverent person she’d ever met, even more brazen than Luanne.

He draped his arms over the guitar, considering. “Do you think that’s why I get horny every time I eat an eggroll?”

They both laughed.

She cleared her throat. “Speaking of horny.” Smooth move, stupid. She mentally slapped herself. “Did we…I mean…” This was ridiculous. She was a grown woman. Shoulders squared, she plunged forward. “What I mean to say is…have you been tested?”

“Tested for what?”

His bewildered expression would have been comical if the topic weren’t so serious. “Tested for HIV?” She bent her head to her work and didn’t look up.

Silence.

More silence.

Way too much silence.

Why wasn’t he answering her?

She ventured a peek from under her lashes.

“Why are you askin’, Red? You got plans for tonight I don’t know about?”

His smarmy grin ignited the short fuse she’d been carrying around since she woke up naked in his bed. Every time they carved out a tiny piece of civility, he’d say something crappy and ruin it. “Listen, buddy, this is not easy for me, and you damn well know it. I understand this is a conversation we should have had before we had sex, but at the time, I was a tad bit incapacitated.”

He dialed back the slimy smile, but his expression still danced with suppressed humor. Didn’t he understand the seriousness of this subject? Anger bubbled up from her toes, scorching her from the inside out. Her muscles coiled, and she actually considered smacking him upside the head.

What was wrong with her? She didn’t usually have a hairpin trigger. Ordinarily, she was the picture of self-control.

With a monstrous effort, she smothered her irritation and hoped she could actually speak through gritted teeth. “I would appreciate an answer.”

“I got tested a few months ago, and I haven’t been with anyone since then.”

Her knitting became the most fascinating thing in the world. Prickly heat toasted her neck and cheeks. “It’s good to hear you haven’t had sex with anyone except me since you were tested. I’m sure we used a condom, but it’s still a relief.”

“No.”

“No, what?”

“No, we didn’t use a condom.”

“What?”

“We. Did not. Use. A condom.”

“Ah…well, that’s not good.”

“It’s fine.”

“No. I’m pretty sure it’s not fine.”

“What in God’s name does that mean?”

He fell over laughing.

“Gavin?”

Huge belly laughs came from the sofa. She snagged a pillow and hurled it at him. Screw self-control. “You know what, I don’t want to know.” She unceremoniously dumped her knitting into its basket. “I’m going to bed.”

* * *

“Wait,” he wheezed. “I couldn’t get the condom on before you fell asleep.” He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “You fell asleep Scarlett. We didn’t have sex.” Shit, she didn’t look so good.

“Wha…what?”

“It’s true.” He sat up and grabbed the guitar before it could slide off the sofa. “You don’t have anything to worry about.”

“I…we…I’m…” She blinked frantically and started with the deep breathing thing again. “I’m still a virgin?”

“Huh?” She couldn’t have said what he thought she said.

“Nothing.” With clumsy jerky movements, she grasped her craft basket and tried to flee.

He caught her arm as she dashed past him. “Scarlett, stop.”

“No.” With a strength that belied her size, she yanked her arm from his grasp and sprinted from the room.

He stared after her. The room tilted, and he had trouble staying upright.

His wife was a virgin? He dropped his head to his hands. An effin’ virgin.

What was he supposed to do with that?