Ian Parker parked in front of the yellow Victorian home and turned off his engine. He’d wanted this house—it would have been a great flip. The curb appeal alone was enough to sell the house. The white wrap-around balcony accented the yellow siding. A pebbled sidewalk led up to the teal steps. The home was just under three thousand square feet. It would have been a nice addition to the houses he’d already flipped.

The neighborhood was quaint and quiet and screamed old money. He was surprised that the house had sold for so low a price. Isabella would get a nice profit off the flip.

Cole Walker, his business partner, had been surprised when Ian had stopped bidding on the house, but Ian couldn’t help but want to give Bella the bid. Her husky voice had gone straight to his groin. She’d worn a navy-blue suit that accented her curves. The pants bunched at the bottom even with her wearing high heels. Bella had to be almost a foot shorter than his six-foot-four frame. After making the bid of $225,000, she closed her eyes and bit her lip, and he knew she needed this house. People in the crowd whispered about her old boss. They all believed she’d been in on his scheme. Ian never paid close attention to the gossip, but something had tugged at his heartstrings, and he let her have the house. Her eyes had lit up with joy when the auctioneer said, “Sold.”

Losing one house would not send Ian into a downward spiral. He’d sent Cole out to find him another one. Cole and Ian had met in the Navy. They’d both been part of SEAL Team Five and stationed in Korea. Ian was medically discharged, and Cole left a few months later when he had the option to leave or reenlist. After that, they used their savings and flipped houses. Cole did it for the money. Ian did it to help with his PTSD. The demolition of the houses helped wear him down so that he could sleep at night without having nightmares.

A shadow along the side of the house snapped Ian out of his thoughts. It looked like someone in a black hooded sweatshirt. Isabella’s Mini Cooper sat in the driveway, and he could see her working through the front picture window.

Ian exited his F-150 pickup and decided to see who was walking around the side of the house. Ian’s boots crunched on the pebbled walkway. At the side of the house, a slender person held a spray can and was painting the wall.

“What are you doing?” Ian growled.

The person dropped the can and took off toward the backyard. Ian cursed under his breath and chased after him. When Ian rounded the back of the house, the perp jumped into a red Honda and squealed out of the back neighbor's driveway. Ian squinted to see the license plate. He didn’t have his glasses on, so the numbers were a blur.

“Fuck.” He walked back to the scene of the crime. The person had spray-painted, “Get out Bitch.”

When he stomped back to the front of the house, Isabella peeked her head out the window. Her crystal-blue eyes widened when they landed on him. He couldn’t help but wink. It made her blush.

The white door to the Victorian home swung open, and Isabella stormed out onto the wrap-around porch. She stopped at the top of the stairs and placed her hands on her hips. “What are you doing here, Mr. Parker?”

Damn, she was hot when she was angry.

“I wanted to see inside the house.” That was partially true.

“Why?”

“How about we table that discussion for a second? When I pulled up to the house, I caught someone going around the side. I went to see what was going on, and I caught someone vandalizing your house.”

“Fuck. Again,” Isabella mumbled.

He almost didn’t hear what she’d said, but the word again set off alarm bells. Before he had time to ask, she stormed down the stairs and headed to the side of the house. Ian followed behind her. When her eyes landed on the vandalized wall, he could see a sheen in them before she blinked. She turned and headed back toward the front of the house.

“I’m going to call the cops,” Ian said. They needed to file a report.

“No, it’s probably some kid.” Isabella let out a sigh and filled a pail with water and soap. “I’ll clean it up again. They’ll get sick of doing this soon.”

“What do you mean ‘again’? Someone has spray-painted the house more than once?”

“They spray-painted on the first day and broke a window yesterday. Move, so I can get this cleaned off.” Isabella tried to push her way around him.

“Stop, Isabella.”

“Bella.”

He cocked his head.

Isabella let out a sigh. “I go by Bella. Please don’t call me Isabella.”

“Okay, Bella. We need to call the cops. After they take your report, I’ll help you clean this up.”

For a second, Ian thought she would argue with him again. Instead, she turned on her heel and headed toward the front door. He couldn’t pry his eyes from her hips as they swayed with each step. Her tight black yoga pants accented her curves.

He followed her into the house. It took a second for his eyes to adjust to the dim light inside the Victorian home. While Bella paced back and forth, talking to dispatch, Ian wandered over to the living room. The fireplace was a work of art. He ran his hands over the engraved wood. It was pure craftsmanship. He kneeled to examine the inside. Someone had filled it in. Ian was so engaged in wondering how he could make the fireplace work again that he didn’t hear Bella walk up behind him until she placed a dainty hand on his shoulder.

“It’s a shame someone would seal up a piece of art,” she said.

“I don’t think it would be too hard to revert it.” He pointed to the bricks that lined the back of the chimney. “Once you remove those bricks, you’ll be able to tell why they closed it up. Many people don’t want to deal with the upkeep of chimneys and decide it’s easier to close them.”

When she didn’t answer right away, he looked over his shoulder. She had her lip between her teeth. “I’ll take your advice into account.”

He could tell she had no plan to take his advice. It wasn’t his place to push her. This was her flip, not his.

“Are the cops on the way?”

“Yes. You don’t have to stay.” She reached for her paintbrush. “I don’t think they’ll be here for another hour.”

He took a step forward, waiting until she turned before he spoke. “I already told you I would help you clean the side of the house. Why don’t you show me the rest of the house? Then I can help you paint if you have another roller.”

“You really don’t have to stay.”

Ian didn’t see the point in replying. He headed for the grand staircase. When he gripped the railing, it jiggled. He heard Isabella’s footsteps behind him. On each step up, the stairs creaked under his weight. He made a mental note of all the things that needed repairing.

When he turned right down the hall, Bella said, “Mr. Parker, come this way.” She turned the other direction.

He wouldn’t argue. Ian followed her and watched the sway of her hips. Since he’d seen Isabella in her yoga pants, his dick had been hard.

“This is my favorite room.” Isabella opened the door to the master bedroom.

Any buyer would fall in love with the room. It had the original wood floors and—as with downstairs—a masterpiece of a fireplace, though this one was in working order. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the side of the room, showing a view of the lake.

He nodded. “You won't have any trouble selling this house. When do you plan to put it on the market?”

Isabella let out a sigh and ran her hand through her hair. “My goal is a three-week flip.” Before he could tell her that was a crazy timeline, she held up her hand. “I know it’s a short timeline. This is my only project going on. If only the vandalizing would stop.”

“Why are you rushing?”

“I don’t have money to throw around,” she snapped.

Ian had suspected she was short on money. At the auctions, when she lost a bid, she would look so defeated. And because of her ties to Mr. Ainsworth, no one would lend her money. Ian also knew her pride was too high, and she would turn down any money he offered. He had some spare time to help her, and he could keep his eye on her. He needed to work to protect her house from being vandalized.

He ignored her snap. “Let’s head downstairs, and I’ll help you paint.”

For ten minutes, they worked without speaking. It was easy to work next to her.

Isabella broke the silence. “So… why are you here?”

“I wanted to see the inside house.” And you, he thought.

“I’m surprised you didn’t bid me up more on this house. You seem to have bought every house on the auction block in the past three months.”

Ian had no plan to tell her the real reason he’d bought so many houses. Isabella didn’t need to know he suffered from PTSD, and working on the flips to the point at which his body would tire out was the only way he could sleep at night.

Eight years earlier, SEAL Team Five had been on a mission to North Korea to bring back information on a missing SEAL team the CIA had uncovered. The information was false, according to a CIA mole in North Korea. When his team arrived to save the missing SEAL team, the North Koreans ambushed them. They tortured his team for five days. It had felt like a year. He and Cole were the only two to survive the torture. Later, information came out that the CIA mole had flipped sides and had been helping North Korea.

The ring of the doorbell saved Ian from answering Isabella’s question.