“Hey, boss,” the voice below me calls out, and I look down to see Jeff grinning up at me between the cracks in the sub-floor of the custom house we’re building.

“I swear to Christ, Jeff,” I say, shooting him an annoyed glare. “If you tell me the plumbing crew is running behind on the Thompson job, I’ll—”

“Plumbing crew’s already here, boss.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“Nothin’ wrong, boss,” Jeff said, breaking into a wide grin. “Your girlfriend’s here.”

I sigh, looking away from him long enough to re-roll the blueprints I’d been using to spot-check work. Stuffing them back into their tube, I leave what will eventually be the master suite. Rounding the last few steps on the curved staircase, I find Jeff at the bottom of it. Still grinning.

“How many times do I have to tell you,” I say, slapping the tube against his chest as I stride past him. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Sorry, boss,” Jeff says to my back. “Your fiancé is here.”

Fiancé.

Cari’s going to marry me.

Goddamned right she is.

Tossing my hardhat onto one of the work tables set up in the entryway, I see her, leaning against my dusty work truck, shading her eyes with her hands, the ring I put on her finger, sparkling in the late morning sun.

She’s wearing a pair of cut-offs and a baggy, paint splattered T-shirt—one of mine—and flip-flops. Her hair is pulled away from her face, piled on top of her head and she has paint smudged on her cheek. Streaked across her thighs.

When she sees me, she breaks into a wide grin and waves, like we haven’t seen each other in weeks rather than hours. Just looking at her makes me want to fuck her against the side of my truck—thirty-man work crew be damned.

As soon as I’m close enough, I reach under her shirt and hook a finger into one of her belt loops and pull her close. “What did I tell you about showing up on my site, looking like this?” I growl in her ear before pulling away enough to scowl at her but it doesn’t hold. As soon as I see her grinning up at me, I laugh.

“Like what?” she says, blue eyes wide and innocent.

I drop a hand, running it up the length of her thigh until I hit the streaks of paint peeking out from the frayed hem of her shorts. My thumb skims the inside of her paint-streaked thigh. “What are you doing here?”

“You forgot your lunch at home,” she says, her breath catching in her throat. “Again.”

I look down to see my lunch box dangling from her fingers. “Did I?”

“Know what I think?” Now, it’s her turn to scowl. “I think you left it on purpose, just so I’d bring it to you.”

I give her the Gilroy grin. “Maybe,” I say, taking my lunch box from her, I toss it through my open truck window. Right now, leftover lasagna is the last thing I want to eat. Swallowing a groan, I flex my fingers around her thigh, the paint on them cracking under my hand. “You know you’re killing me right now...”

She gives as good as she gets, grinning back at me. “Maybe.”

Behind me, power saws have stopped whining and nail guns have stopped punching. I turn my head, glaring into the black cavern of the house we’re working on.

“Morning, fellas,” Cari says, lifting a hand to wave in the direction I’m glaring. From inside the black, a chorus of construction workers call back.

“Morning, Cari.”

I tighten my glare. Less than a second later, table saws are screeching and nail-guns are thunking. Satisfied with their response, I turn and shake my head at her. “They’re worse than a sewing-circle,” I say, fighting the smile that threatens to take over my face every time I look at her. “You shouldn’t encourage them.”

“I think they’re sweet.”

“Only you would call thirty gawking construction workers sweet.”

“They like seeing you happy,” she tells me, dropping her hand to her thigh, covering mine.

“I don’t think that’s what they like to see,” I mutter and she laughs, tossing her head back, exposing her throat.

Because I can’t resist her and because I can, I lean in to press my lips against her neck. “How’s work going?” I ask, lifting my mouth to her ear.

“Not good,” she says, reaching up to pull me closer, her paint-stained fingers wrapping around the back of my neck. “My muse left this morning without giving me any inspiration.”

“You were sleeping.” I laugh, pulling away from her just enough to look her in the eye.  “I didn’t have the heart to wake you.”

“I’m not interested in your excuses, Patrick.” The hand on top of mine urges it higher on her leg, until my fingertips disappear under the hem of her shorts, my thumb grazing her lace-covered pussy. “I just want to know what you’re willing to do to make it up to me.”

Stifling a groan, I angle my body in front of hers, blocking her from view of the house. “You’re pushing me,” I growl in her ear, pushing the tip of my thumb under lace, making contact with bare skin.

“Yes,” she says, her words a breathless shudder, her lips pressing against the underside of my jaw. “I am.”

Fuck leftover lasagna.

“Where’s Grace and Molly?” I ask, skimming my thumb up the length of her.

“School,” she whispers, blue eyes hazy. “They’re both at school. All day.”

Living with her sister and niece has been a challenge but I wouldn’t have it any other way. Having them with us makes Cari happy and that’s the most important thing to me these days—making her happy. Besides, I like having them around.

Usually.

“I’m coming home for lunch,” I tell her, my thumb stopping at the top of her slit to grind the pad of it against her clit until I feel her knees loosen. “When I get there, the only thing you better be wearing is paint and panties.”

She nods her head, swallowing hard against the moan trapped in her throat. “Yes.” She nods again, the fingers on the back of my neck tightening in an effort to keep herself upright. “Okay.”

I slide my hand from under the hem of her shorts to settle it on her hip, pulling her close. “Because you love me?”

“Yes, Patrick Gilroy,” Cari whispers against my mouth, her beautiful lips curved into a smile meant just for me. “Because I love you.”