Amaya

Five Blessedly Normal Weeks Later

Scowling into the mirror, she parted her hair down the middle and grimaced at the two inches of darker roots showing through the blonde. Her natural color was a subdued brown, which she bleached and colored to blend in. Yes, in Key Largo, being blond with purple and pink streaks in her hair made her blend in. Now her color made her stick out, and she needed to do something about her roots like, yesterday.

Thankfully, she had a hair appointment today after she dropped Peyton off at her new daycare and preschool. It was only four hours a day, twice a week, but her daughter loved it and she was learning all kinds of new things. Half the kids there were related to Paul in some way and everyone treated her daughter like family. They’d even given Amaya and Peyton a nickname, ‘Bulldog’s Girls.’ Like it was a forgone conclusion they belonged to Bulldog, that he’d claimed them.

It wouldn’t be so bad if only his family referred to them by that nickname, but no, the whole darn town called them that. Instead of Amaya and Peyton, they were Bulldog’s girls, and everyone knew it. Whenever they were in public together, Paul made sure to hold her hand and steal a kiss, letting everyone know she was his. With Peyton, he was a gentle giant, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t glare at anyone he didn’t know getting too close to her daughter. Amaya felt safer than she’d been in a long, long time, and she had Paul to thank for it.

Even though he’d kept his promise and kept his hands to himself, she’d been the one who’d ended up hunting him down to steal kisses when Peyton wasn’t around. She couldn’t help it. He could kiss her until her body was throbbing with pleasure, and they’d end up making out like a couple horny teenagers. But he never pushed for more than she was ready to give. It might be weird, but his restraint around her turned her on—the fact that he was respecting her boundaries despite his obvious desire for more. Obvious because his dick was very thick, and when he’d grind it against her while they kissed, she could feel every inch.

Just the memory of him standing behind her, rocking his hips to the music playing while they washed dishes together, made her tingle.

Trying to distract herself, she quickly brushed her teeth after checking the time. Paul was taking Peyton for the day. They were going to go do some kind of camping thing with some of the younger cousins, so she could have some time to herself. To her surprise, she’d been busy ever since she came to Green Haven, getting involved in one committee or another, always protesting that she wouldn’t be there long, which was ignored. Everyone would give her a knowing look when she said she’d be returning to Florida eventually, then just go back into talking about whatever charity project they were working on. She’d made blankets for NICU babies, feminine hygiene kits for homeless women, bags of food for kids at the local schools to take home with them, and participated in all kinds of party planning. Someone in the family was always having a birthday, and someone was always throwing a party—every weekend, without fail.

Cleaning up her stuff, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of warmth, of belonging that she hadn’t felt in a long time. This town was beginning to feel more like home than Key Largo ever had, and it was getting harder and harder to imagine leaving. So far, it seemed like whoever had been stalking her in Key Largo had vanished into thin air, but she wasn’t in any hurry to return. Looking back on her last five years there, she realized how incredibly lonely and isolated she’d been, never getting close enough to anyone for them to start asking uncomfortable questions.

Questions that she worried Paul would ask someday. Questions she didn’t know how to answer.

The Fourth of July was coming up, and the whole town had gone red white and blue bonkers. Bunting and banners hung everywhere, patriotic colored flowers grew in the planters, and more flags fluttered than she’d ever seen in one place. Instead of being cheesy, she found the towns honest love of America inspiring. Paul had gone all out with fireworks this year. They would be shot off on a barge in the center of the harbor, and she knew it was because of her and Peyton. He’d been so excited as he’d shown her some of the fireworks he ordered, talking about the different colors they’d make and the shapes they’d mimic. When she’d mentioned her favorite were the big ones that looked like a weeping willow full of sparkles, he’d ordered them in a dozen different colors.

He was always doing things like that, if on a smaller scale. Never before had she been with a man who paid attention to her, who noted her likes and dislikes. Before she had Peyton, she’d dated like any normal, healthy woman, but her longest relationship had been two years. Even then, her boyfriend hadn’t known her the way Paul did.

And he adored Peyton. She could see it in his smile, in the way his entire face would light up when she gave him a hug. It was stinking adorable, and Amaya was having a difficult time remembering why it would be a bad idea to just stay there, with Paul, and have the life she’d always wanted.

Looking at the time again, she cursed and flew down the stairs, her long floral pattern skirt twisting around her legs. Her sandaled feet hit the bottom step with a thump and Paul looked up from where he was helping Peyton put on her shoes. Dressed in a simple grey t-shirt that clung to his thick body and jeans that’d seen better days, he was putting mini-construction boots on Peyton that matched his own.

Her heart fluttered as he smiled at her. “Going to be late again?”

Rolling her eyes at him, she grabbed the thermos of coffee he already had waiting for her. “No.”

Peyton smiled at Amaya while Paul gently brushed her hair back into a ponytail, his big hands practically dwarfing her head. “Mommy, we’re going to see Grandma Sandy’s cottage. Paul said I get to help him paint!”

A little pang went through her heart at the knowledge that the cottage would be done soon. She wouldn’t have an excuse to stay with Paul anymore. It had been nice—really nice—these past few weeks having him around to help out with Peyton, and she knew her daughter loved the extra attention. He’d told her time and time again that he wanted them to stay here, with him, but she felt weird about it. While most of the town and his family were accepting of her abrupt appearance in his life, there were those who whispered about her taking advantage of Paul’s generous nature. She tried to ignore the gossip, and no one had said anything to her face, but she was aware of what was being said.

“That’s wonderful. Are you guys getting close to being done?”

His eyes shifted away from her as he suddenly became very focused on getting the pink rubber band holding back Peyton’s wild curls just right. “Uh, we’re getting there. Might have some foundation issues to look into. Will probably be at least a few more weeks.”

She wasn’t dumb. She knew he was drawing out fixing up the cottage way more than necessary. Deep down, his efforts to keep them in his home made her feel warm...wanted. When he looked back up at her and gave her a sheepish grin, she couldn’t help but smile back. He was such a good guy. Even though the circumstances that brought him into her life weren’t ideal, she knew without a doubt she was incredibly lucky to have not only him, but also his family in her life. They eased the terrible loneliness she’d been carrying around with her and gave Peyton the extended family she’d been missing out on.

Thoughts of her own family back home in California tried to intrude, but she pushed them to the back of her mind, locking them away so they couldn’t ruin her day.

“Go grab your hardhat, honey.” Paul picked Peyton up and twirled her around once before setting her on her feet. He returned his attention to Amaya. “After you get done at Darla’s, can you grab some pizzas from Rocket’s and meet us at the cottage for a picnic on the beach?”  

“Sounds like a plan.”

He crossed the kitchen, his dark eyes warm before sweeping her into his arms and giving her a soft, delicious kiss that had her tingling from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. “Good, I’ll see you then.”

Darla, a petite and very chic Asian woman in her late forties, fluffed Amaya’s newly darkened hair with a bright smile accented by her deep red lipstick. “I love this color on you!”

Smiling, Amaya tilted her head and admired her newly rich chestnut brown hair with soft caramel brown and rich amethyst purple streaks. It was weird seeing herself with something close to her real color after being blonde for so long. Despite the facial reconstruction surgery, she felt and looked more like her old self. It was disconcerting, and she couldn’t stop staring in the mirror.

“Do you like it?” Darla asked with a hint of worry in her voice.

Looking up at the other woman, she smiled. “Yes, I love it. You did a fantastic job. It looks amazing.”

Darla bit her lower lip, studying Amaya’s face. “Are you sure? We can always—”

“No, no, I’m sure.” She ran her fingers over one of the streaks. “I’ve been a blonde for so long, I forgot what I look like with dark hair.”

The busy salon was filled with the sounds of women chatting as Darla removed the black protective cape from around Amaya’s neck. “It really makes your eyes pop and sets off your beautiful golden skin. The deep purple streaks you’ve added—amazing. They’ll really stand out in the sunlight, and with your long hair, you’ll turn heads.”

Blushing, she looked down and smoothed a non-existent wrinkle out of her skirt. “Thank you.”

Darla gently lifted her chin and leaned down to say in a low voice, “Bulldog isn’t going to be able to keep his hands off you.”

She blushed harder, more than aware of how many people were listening in on their conversation. “Um, we’re...it’s not like that.”

Darla, along with a few women sitting nearby laughed. “Right. I’ve known that boy for years now, and he is head over heels for you.”

“It’s always Amaya this, Amaya that,” a pretty auburn haired stylist in her thirties—yet another one of Paul’s cousins—named Carrie added as she joined them. “Last week, he was over helping Vince get the tractor running, and I swear that man had stars in his eyes when he talked about you.”

“Or Peyton this, Peyton that.” Darla began to put some loose curls into Amaya’s newly dark hair, the hints of dark purple shining through. “He thinks you walk on water.”

“Is the feeling mutual?” Carrie asked with an overly innocent fluttering of her long, dark lashes and a teasing smile.

“Oh, um. Well, I think he’s very nice,” she said lamely. When they obviously wanted her to say something more, she managed to blurt out, “He’s a sweetheart.”

“A sweetheart?” Darla scoffed. “He’s an asshole.”

“He’s not an asshole.” Offended on Paul’s behalf, she narrowed her eyes at Darla in the mirror. “He’s one of the kindest, smartest, most genuinely nice people I’ve ever met.”

Darla’s smile softened as she moved around Amaya’s side to pick up a brush off the black marble vanity. “To you and your sweet little girl he is, but to the rest of us, he’s still Bulldog. He can be very...demanding,” Darla said in a soft voice, “but he means well. He was always a bossy child. The one who led the rest of the boys into trouble.”

Carrie laughed, “Please, I don’t know a guy with McGregor blood that isn’t trouble.”

“Trouble?”

“Not in a bad way, dear,” an older woman that looked familiar said. “They’re just a handful when they’re young. But once they meet the right woman, they settle down nicely.”

Darla turned the chair so Amaya was facing the mirror again. “I saw Paul a few days ago at the kite store with Peyton. Paul was teaching her how to properly tie a kite string. He was very patient with her, and she is just adorable. Those curls and her big eyes. She’s lovely.”

“Thank you. I know I’m biased, but I got really lucky with her. She’s a good kid. Trust me, she has her moments, but overall I got super lucky.”

“She adores Paul,” Carrie added as she tidied her work station. “He’s always been good with kids, but you can tell he’s wrapped around Peyton’s little finger.”

A smile tried to tug at her lips, because Carrie wasn’t wrong. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that Paul thought the world of Peyton. He genuinely liked spending time with her daughter, and for Amaya, it was nice to know Peyton had another person in her life who cared about her. Memories of Peyton saying her prayers with Paul filtered through Amaya’s thoughts like shimmering bubbles, warmth filling her as she remembered how well he’d kissed her once they were alone and Peyton was in bed. Her body throbbed with the memory of their extended make-out session, and she quickly banished the dirty thoughts from her mind.

“A smart man knows his way into a woman’s heart is always going to be through her children,” the old woman said, drawing Amaya’s attention. “My advice to you is to snap him up.”

“Make him work for it,” another older lady getting her hair permed yelled. “No man wants a woman he doesn’t have to work for.”

“Don’t listen to her,” the first woman glared across the shop. “You get a good man, you don’t let him go.”

“He’s not a good man if he allows her to let him go without a fight.”

“Ladies,” Darla shook her head and sighed. “You know my rules, no fussing in the salon.”

Carrie giggled as Amaya blinked then checked her sparkly red nail polish with a knowing grin. “Welcome to life in a small town. Everyone feels like it’s okay to butt into your business.”

“Oh, hush,” the old woman said as she lightly tapped Carrie on the hip with her magazine.

Grinning, Carrie gave Amaya a wink. “Don’t worry, their being up in your business means they like you. If they didn’t care for you, they wouldn’t bother to give you advice. It’s a twisted form of love, but they mean well.”

“You listen here,” an elderly woman with soft silver curls graced Amaya with a warm smile. “I’ve been married, happily, to the same man, a McGregor man, for over forty-eight years. Now, young people always think their generation was the one that invented dating and casual sex. Wrong. My generation was just as experimental as theirs, but we did it in real life, not on the internet.”

For a moment, shocked silence rang through the salon.

“Damn right,” an even older woman—she had to be in her nineties—said as she laughed. “I have the eleven children to prove it.”

Amaya couldn’t help but join in as everyone cracked up. A bright streak of pure happiness rushed through her, filling some of the emptiness left behind from missing her family. The warmth of the community here gave her something she’d been desperately seeking—a sense of belonging. It seemed like she was always carrying around the slightest feeling of being homesick, but for the first time since she went into hiding, she felt like she belonged.

“Don’t listen to them,” Darla said with laughter in her voice. “They’re a bad influence. You continue to do whatever it is you are doing with Bulldog. He is happier than I’ve ever seen him. I like happy Bulldog; he is much easier to deal with.”

“You’re right. He’s much nicer when he’s happy,” Carrie added, twirling a strand of her long, coal black hair. “I guess it helps that he’s not married to that raging bitch Thea anymore. God, I hated her in high school. She was the ultimate mean girl and played mind games with Paul like you wouldn’t believe. Good riddance to that bitch.”

“I saw her at the country club yesterday with her parents, fake as ever. A woman made of fool’s gold and cubic zirconia,” Darla muttered.

Amaya tried to keep her expression smooth. “She’s here? Paul’s ex?”

Carrie nodded as she swept up some stray hair around the chair next to Amaya’s. “Yep. My daughter said Thea’s here filming stuff for her show.”

“Her show?”

“I heard she got some kind of reality TV program. They’re here for the high school reunion next week.” Darla curled another section of Amaya’s hair. “No doubt she’s going to make a big deal about being prom queen. That woman always loved attention.”

“Good or bad,” Carrie added then gave Amaya a mischievous grin. “Bet it’s going to really chap her ass to see you there with Bulldog.”

“See me where?”

“At the high school reunion, of course. I’m sure Bulldog wouldn’t miss it for the world. Not that he’ll have much of a choice in the matter. His Aunt Nancy and Aunt Cheryl are on the planning committee, and as the captain of the football team, they’ll want Paul there for photo ops. He’s a big draw, and since the reunion is also a fundraiser for the local volunteer fire department, I’m sure Bulldog will go.”

“Oh. Well, I’m sure he’ll have fun.”

The women exchanged a glance over Amaya’s head. “You have to go with him.”

“What? He hasn’t even said anything about it.”

Carrie moved a step closer and looked around before lowering her voice. “I’m sure he’s going to. You know how guys are about things like that. They tell you the day before and just assume that you’ll be fine with it.”

“Clueless,” Darla added with a sigh as before she sprayed Amaya’s curls with a sweet-smelling mist.

“But he’ll need you there,” Carrie murmured. “Thea will no doubt use the opportunity to mess with him.”

“Only thing she loves more than herself is making Bulldog miserable,” Darla twisted a lock of hair onto the curling iron. “And she’s no doubt heard about you.”

“The fact that he’s happy and has moved on will drive her crazy,” Carrie said with a satisfied smirk.

Darla sighed, “But that also means she’ll try and sabotage his happiness. I swear, for a grown woman, she still acts like a child.”

“Don’t forget, her crazy mother will be there,” an older lady with her hair in foil sitting next to them at one of the heat coil chairs said, not even bothering to pretend not to listen. “That woman spoiled Thea rotten and still harbors some delusion that Bulldog and Thea will get back together.”

Amaya closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Sounds like fun.”

Darla laughed as she fluffed Amaya’s loose curls. “Don’t worry, it will be. You may have to deal with a little drama, but you’re a strong woman. I can tell.”

Nodding, Carrie checked the woman beneath the heat lamp’s hair as she said, “Just kill her with kindness. Nothing Thea hates more than someone who won’t argue with her.”

The women continued to give Amaya advice on how to handle Thea all the way up until she was literally walking out the front door into the heat of the day. As she entered the small parking lot next to the salon, she couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief. It was almost as if the women were girding her for battle against a hated enemy. Then again, everyone in town seemed to adore Paul—even if they did regularly refer to him as an asshole—so she wasn’t too surprised about their obvious dislike for the woman who’d publicly humiliated him.

She heard her name being yelled and raised her hand in greeting as one of the women she’d met while volunteering at the local animal shelter smiled and waved, then shouted how much she loved Amaya’s new hair. By the time she made it to her car she’d been stopped two more times by friends to compliment her on her new look. When she’d picked up her pizza, the owner, another one of Paul’s cousins, talked her ear off before she’d managed to escape with lunch.

On the road again, she was humming along to the music when a call came through that cut through her good mood like a knife.

“José Marquez calling,” the automated system on the car’s stereo said in a smooth, feminine voice.

It repeated the message twice before Amaya managed to respond. “Answer.”

Her heart began to race as the call connected, and she pulled over onto the shoulder of the small two-lane road next to the forest as Agent José Marquez’s voice came through the speakers of Paul’s SUV. “Hello, Amaya.”

She couldn’t tell anything from his tone, but even though she knew it was stupid, she hoped he was just calling to see how she was. He was the agent who handled her case and had become a good friend over the years. While they didn’t talk a lot because he didn’t want to risk drawing any unwanted attention to her, they did speak from time to time.

“Hey, Marquez, how are you?”

“I’m good.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Unfortunately, I have some bad news.”

Her voice trembled as she said, “What’s wrong?”

“Amaya, your condo in Florida burned down last night.”

The formerly warm sunlight pouring through the sunroof overhead seemed to vanish, leaving her skin chilled and her hands trembling. “What?”

“Your condo burned down last night. I’m sorry, but it’s a complete loss.”

“Oh my God...what happened? My neighbors, are they okay?”

“Yes, everyone around you made it out in time. Though the investigation is still ongoing, we believe it was arson. It looks like your house was ransacked before they set it on fire.”

“Oh my God,” she whispered again. “Oh my God.”

“Calm down, Amaya. I’m about to catch a flight to come up and see you. Can we meet tonight?”

“I—yes, of course.”

“I’ve been talking with my contact in the local police department, Dean McGregor. He says he knows you? That you’re staying with his brother Paul McGregor?”

Her mind refused to focus, her thoughts as disjointed as her words. “Yes...yes, Paul. Is everything gone? Did everything burn? Peyton’s baby pictures?”

“I’m afraid so, Amaya. We’re still going through the wreckage, but whoever set this fire knew what they were doing.”

The words ripped from her throat on an agonized cry. “But why? Why would someone do that to me?”

“We’ll discuss that tonight, okay? Now, I need you to take a deep breath and keep it together for me. No one is going to harm you or Peyton in any way.”

“Okay.” She swallowed as tears stung her nose.

“I mean it, Amaya. You’re safe. No one knows your location except for myself, Sandra, and Kelly, and we’re going to keep it that way.”

Her voice trembled as she whispered, “Okay.”

“I have to go. My flight is getting ready to leave. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“Thank you, Agent Marquez.” Her voice broke but she swallowed hard then said, “I’ll see you soon.”

After she hung up, she stared at the pine trees through her windshield, watching the sun play across the deep emerald needles as they swayed in the gentle breeze. Tears began to flow down her cheeks, and she let out a broken sob. The numb feeling that had been blanketing her broke, letting in the fear and rage. Someone had burned her house down, had destroyed everything she’d worked so hard for these past few years. The paintings her friends had made for her, Peyton’s christening gown, all of it...gone.

Her nose began to run, and she grabbed a handful of the rough brown napkins that were sandwiched between the pizza boxes.

Shit. Paul and Peyton were waiting for her.

The last thing she wanted to do was face anyone right then, but she didn’t have the luxury of hiding from the world.

She pulled back onto the road, biting her trembling lower lip and struggling to keep her composure as she took a right then drove down the newly paved drive to Sandra’s cottage. The bitter smell of hot asphalt still lingered in the air.

The cottage came into view, and she absently noted how nice it was looking, with its new roof and fresh coat of cream paint on the outside. One of Paul’s cousins had redone the landscaping, so bright flowers bloomed around the big front porch, giving the place a homey feel. She pulled up next to Paul’s truck, waving to a few of the men cutting tile on the side of the driveway.

As soon as she opened the door, the scent of fresh cut wood mixed with the mineral smell coming from the lake on the other side of the dunes. The bright sunlight warmed her skin, but inside she felt cold and shaky as she carried the pizza boxes toward the entrance of the cottage. She must have appeared as bad as she felt, because the guy cutting the tile took one look at her and darted inside. A moment later, Paul came out the front door, his heavy brow lowering further as she pasted on a smile.

“Hi,” she said in what she hoped was a normal voice. “Sorry I’m late.”

Paul jogged across the yard and took the boxes from her, his frown deepening. “You’ve been crying. What’s wrong?”

She swallowed hard once, then twice, but the words couldn’t make it out past the lump in her throat.

“Yo, Mack,” Paul turned around and yelled, his broad body blocking her view of the house. “Can you take these inside and set Peyton up with some lunch?”

“No problem, Bulldog.”

As soon as Mack was back inside with the food, Paul grabbed her hand and led her around the side of the cottage, practically dragging her until they were heading toward the beach. As soon as her feet hit the newly replaced wood of the elevated walkway leading over the dunes, Paul stopped. He picked her up by the waist and set her on the railing of the walkway, placing himself between her legs and gripping her waist tight. She had no choice but to grab his shoulders for balance, and the feeling of his strength holding her had her eyes tearing up again.

“Baby,” he crooned gently, “What’s wrong?”

“My-my house in Key Largo burned down.”

She burst into tears and Paul held her close, stroking her hair and letting her soak his shirt as he murmured how sorry he was.

When she calmed down enough to fight back the hysterics that wanted to overwhelm her, Paul began to dry her face with a blue bandana that smelled faintly of laundry detergent and sawdust.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice cracked on the last word and she cleared her throat. “I didn’t mean to lose it like that.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” He wiped away a few more tears that had managed to escape. “Want to tell me what happened?”

Maybe it was because her defenses were already down, maybe it was because of the gentleness in his voice, or maybe it was because of the way he was looking at her with such affection, but she did tell him. She told him about her stalker, about the real reason they were up there, and how scared she was. Paul took it all in, letting her vent, letting her finally share part of her burden. She’d forgotten how nice it was to have someone she could talk to, someone she trusted.

He didn’t seem surprised by her confession, and she wondered how much he’d figured out on his own.

“Agent Marquez from the FBI and Dean are going to come over to your house tonight so they can give me more information.” Her breath hitched while Paul gently rubbed her back. “But everything is gone.”

Paul cupped her face in one of his big hands, the other pressed to her lower back and holding her in place, making her feel safe. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. This fucking sucks on every level, but I’m going to make it better.”

She gave a little hiccupping laugh. “You’re going to make it better?”

“You ever have a moment of clarity?”

“What?”

“Have you ever been instantly certain of something? Ever had that moment where you feel like you’re seeing the world so clearly everything makes sense?”

Confused, she nodded. “Well, yeah, hasn’t everyone?”

“What was your moment of clarity?”

“When I saw the positive sign on my pregnancy test, the moment I knew I was going to be a mother.”

“Then you’ll understand why I say I’m absolutely certain that I would lay down my life to protect you and Peyton. I’m going to take care of you, of both of you, and I promise you things are going to get better. You are safe with me, and you don’t have to face this alone. The circumstances that brought you into my life fucking suck, but baby, I’m so damn glad you’re here.”

This set her off into another crying fit. Paul held her close, rubbing his cheek over her hair.

Slowly, she calmed and rested her heavy head against his broad chest while she watched the long green and gold grass sway in the sand dunes. They remained like that for a few minutes, holding each other while her breathing slowed and her heart rate returned to normal. With a sigh, she moved gently out of his embrace and slid off the handrail, smoothing back her hair and straightening her clothes.

Paul took her hand in his own and rubbed his thumb over her skin. “Did I mention yet that you look beautiful? It’s odd seein’ you without the blonde.”

A wave of self-consciousness swept over her, making her body stiffen as she forced out a laugh. “Yeah, well it’s still plain old me.”

“No, I’m screwing this up.” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “What I’m trying to make you understand is that you are so beautiful that it doesn’t matter what color your hair is, you’d always be gorgeous. But you look really pretty right now. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

Laughing softly, she cleared her throat and looked up at him through her lashes. “Yeah, I get what you’re saying.”

“Good.” He gave her hand a squeeze.

“Thank you again, Paul.”

“You need to stop thanking me. Helping each other out is just part of life.”

“And how do I help you out? I’ve brought nothing but complications to your life.” She reached out to him. “I’m so sorry.”

With a groan, he pulled her into his arms. “That’s another thing that needs to stop. You’ve done nothing wrong, sweetheart, other than have the bad luck of attracting some negative attention. You shine so bright, being in your presence feels like sunlight on my skin.”

The way he said the last part, in his deep and sexy voice, made her giggle. “Sunlight on your skin?”

“Yeah, it reminds me of how warm my body gets while laying out on the beach.”

“Hmmm, that doesn’t sound too bad.”

“It’s perfect. And it reminds me of going for walks on the beach with you. Your skin gets this...smell and taste. I can’t describe it but it goes straight through me. The taste of the sun on your skin is something I crave now.”

“In the winter, you’ll have to deal with the lack of sunlight skin. I’m not wearing a tank top in the snow.”

Laughing, he nodded. “Don’t worry, I’ll be focused on getting your frosty kisses instead.”

“Frosty kisses?”

“You’ll see.”

He gently pressed his lips to hers in a soft, sweet kiss that chased back the worry and replaced it with warmth. Eager for more, she deepened their kiss, her tongue licking along the seam of his lips until he opened for her. Her nipples stiffened into hard points as she rubbed against his body, the feeling of his growing erection starting a fire inside of her. God, she needed him, needed this man inside of her, needed his touch and taste, needed him in a way that should have frightened her, but didn’t. She trusted him and the feeling of being safe in his arms was intoxicating.

Instead of jumping him like she wanted, Amaya pushed him back against the railing, all but climbing his body as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Her fingertips played with the short hairs at the base of his skull, rubbing gently over his scar. The low, deep groan he let out made her sex contract.

“Amaya,” he whispered against her mouth. “I want you so fucking bad, I think my dick is going to explode, but Peyton’s waiting inside for us.”

She groaned against his lips and reached between them, gently cupping his impressive bulge, “Paul, I need you.”

His pelvis rocked into her hand and he devoured her mouth, making this sexy as hell growl deep in his chest. Stroking his shaft, she gave him a good squeeze, wishing there were no clothes between them. Five weeks of extended foreplay had left her almost ravenous for sex. He tore his mouth from hers with a gasp, his head thrown back and his eyes tight shut. She loved this, loved the power she had over him, but Paul gently gripped her hand and removed her touch from his dick with a curse.

“Amaya, please. You’re gonna make me cum in my pants like a fuckin’ kid. I don’t have a change of clothes with me.”

Smiling, she wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned up on her tiptoes so she could kiss his scruffy jaw. “Fine, I’ll behave.”

He pushed her away and adjusted himself with a groan. “Go on ahead. I need a minute to take care of this situation, and it’s not gonna happen with you standing there lookin’ so fucking beautiful.”

Flushing with pleasure, she couldn’t help but grin and give her butt a little shake.

He was on her in an instant, his hard body wrapping around hers as he slowly rubbed his cock against the crack of her bottom. “Do not wiggle your ass like that unless we’re alone, in our bedroom.”

The strength of his presence overwhelmed the fear trying to tear at her emotional defenses, giving her a much-needed reprieve from her worry. “Like this?”

She rubbed back against him with a liquid roll of her hips, years of yoga allowing her a flexibility that she took advantage of. Paul must have liked it, because his big hands slid lower and gripped her hips, his fingers so long they almost reached her pussy. A sudden feeling of emptiness had her wanting to urge him to move his fingers just a little bit. The beach was deserted right now, but they were still too exposed for her peace of mind.

“Amaya,” he purred into her ear, “I’m going to fuck you until you’re screaming my name, which won’t happen until we’re alone, in my bed, with the house empty and the door locked. Right now, I’m just torturing myself.”

To make his point, he pressed his hips into hers and groaned softly.

“Stop it,” she moaned out as her pussy clamped down, wanting Paul’s thick shaft inside of her. “My panties are soaking wet and that’s so uncomfortable.”

He stiffened behind her and crowded her even more, his hands bracing hers on the smooth wood of the boardwalk railing. Then it was his turn to suggestively roll his hips against her willing body, and her knees went weak as her core pulsed with need. For weeks, Paul had been slowly seducing her, and he’d primed her for his touch to the point she was more than ready to take him to bed.

“You are such a damn tease.” He nipped at her earlobe before stepping away. “Go inside while I sit out here and try and get rid of this hardon.”

She could help but giggle as he smiled at her. “Should I feel bad about that?”

“Brat. Go make sure your daughter, who must have a hollow leg or a second stomach, has left us some pizza.”

Reality started to break through the sensual haze Paul had left her in, bringing with it worry and fear. “Right, I need to check on her.”

Paul’s eyes darkened and he reached out, grasping her hand in his own. “She’s okay, I promise. Mack and Dean are in there with her.”

Alarm had her instantly striding down the boardwalk, practically dragging Paul along behind her. “Did you talk to him about showing Peyton his gun? I’m still pissed about that. She’s too young to be handling firearms.”

“I did, but Peyton wasn’t in harm’s way at any time.”

“Peyton said Dean let her play with his gun!”

Paul chuckled. “Babe, Dean makes steampunk guns in his spare time. He let her play with a ‘laser’ gun that’s actually a kid’s water pistol all painted up to look like an antique. Once a year Dean goes down to Detroit for some big steampunk festival they have and sells his guns. Dresses up for it and everything. Craziest shit I’ve ever seen.”

That mental image brought her to a screeching halt. “Dean, your brother—they guy who could be a Ralph Lauren model—makes steampunk guns?”

Paul’s lips twitched. “Yep.”

“Can I tease him about it?”

“You could, but he’s won awards for his work. It’s because of Dean’s artistic talents that we started the artists’ colony on the north side of town.”

Shaking her head, she slowed down. “Wow. I never would have pegged him as that type.”

“You haven’t really spent much time with him. Dean takes a while to open up to new people in his life. Before he became a police officer, he worked in the props department of a big movie studio in Hollywood. He quit after some bullshit with a producer screwing him out of major money and decided to return home and become a cop. He still makes props, but it’s more something he does for fun rather than his full-time job.”

“I’m flipping flabbergasted.” She tapped the bottom of her shoes to get any sand off before they stepped onto the stained bronze and gold concrete walkway leading to Sandra’s cottage.

“Flipping flabbergasted?”

She gently nudged him with her elbow. “Hush. When you have a kid, you have to find new ways to swear without swearing.”

“Good point.”

Once the wide back porch came into view beyond the dunes, she quickly spotted Peyton, her neon pink construction hat shining like a beacon. She sat at a long picnic table beneath a wide, tie-dyed umbrella, eating a slice of pizza with Dean. Big like his brother, Dean had deep reddish-brown hair and a killer smile. As they came closer, she tried to imagine Paul’s brother using his big hands for anything other than a hobby like...wrestling angry bears. But he was gentle with Peyton, and her little girl looked like she was having a great time, laughing at whatever Dean said.

“Good?” Paul asked in a low voice as they passed through an archway of blooming honeysuckle before reaching the edge of the lawn.

The forest surrounding the home cut down on the wind and she took a deep breath, the scent of freshly cut grass mixing with the lake. “Yeah, I’m good.”

On impulse, she leaned up and gave Paul a brief kiss on the lips, knowing the little public display of affection would make him happy. Sure enough, he smiled then cleared his throat, his dark eyes warm as a few of the construction workers whistled. He rubbed his knuckles along her cheek, his touch so light it was barely there.

Tugging his hand, Amaya kissed his knuckles before moving up the stairs. “Come on, I think I see a couple slices left. We need to grab them before Peyton does.”