Jordan stretched and pushed back from his desk. His eyes were burning, but he and the team had finally managed a successful test run of the robot project.

“Have a name yet?”

He looked over his shoulder, a smile already on his face. It didn’t matter what time of day it was, how long he’d been working, or who’d pissed him off. Abigail made him happy.

“No name yet,” he said, crossing to where she stood leaning against the doorframe of his office.

Her chin tilted up and he kissed her, a soft touch that nonetheless had him going rock hard. He was a man starved . . . or maybe living on the edge. But he wasn’t a man satisfied.

It had been two weeks since that night at Abby’s house, and he could still taste her on his tongue.

But they’d both been swamped with work, and though he’d followed her home every night with dinner, he hadn’t managed to carve out more time than that.

Hunter had been in the hospital and Jordan had tried to spend every spare minute with his nephew. It was tough to see the vibrant little boy laid low, to see his body covered in wires and tubes. He was an innocent seven-year-old who had no one except Jordan, a mother who skipped town, and a nanny, who had spent more time with him than both of his parents combined.

Jordan honestly didn’t know what he or Hunter would do without Cecilia. Luckily, though she was technically an employee, Cecilia seemed to love Hunter as her own.

As for George O’Keith, well, he might be paying the hospital bills, but he wasn’t anything more than a checkbook.

Which had bugged Jordan at first. What was the point of opening his wallet if he wasn’t going to spend time with Hunter? Jordan himself could afford the bills without strain, but his father had insisted to the point that he’d given in.

Then he’d understood.

It was too much like Mom.

His mother’s illness and death hadn’t been sudden. Cancer was a real asshole and it had chipped away at her body and soul, piece by piece. She’d wasted away, taking a part of all of them with her.

Hunter didn’t have cancer.

Unfortunately, what he did have was congenital heart failure. He was weak, immunocompromised, and in desperate need of a transplant.

And neither Jordan nor George O’Keith could buy that for him.

Abby squeezed his arm, making him realize that he’d blanked out on her. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” He tugged her over to his desk chair and tapped her shoulder, guiding her down into it. “I was just trying to finish up everything because Hunter comes home today.”

Her face brightened. She knew what was going on with Hunter’s illness and about the extended hospital stay. “Oh, that’s great!”

“Yeah,” he said, leaning against his desk in front of her. “So I’m going to have to cancel tonight.”

“Of course,” she said and though there was disappointment in her tone, her words were genuine. “Of course you have to. Hunter is way more important than a date night.”

That was the moment it finally happened. The last piece was placed on the scale, finally tipping the balance and making him feel something he’d never thought possible—love.

Abigail hadn’t met Hunter. The little boy wasn’t anything more than a vague personality supported by pictures Jordan had shown her. And yet she was putting his nephew ahead of herself.

“You’re important too,” he said.

Her hand rested on his thigh. “He’s an innocent little boy who’s already been through too much. He needs you.”

Jordan shoved a hand through his hair. “I hate that he has to deal with this bullshit. It’s not fair.”

Arms slid around his middle, held tight. “It is definitely not fair.”

“I’m sorry to cancel,” he murmured, slipping his arms around her in return and squeezing gently. “Though probably not as sorry as the rest of the team.”

“What do you mean?” She leaned back, stared up at him.

“Sniff test being delayed again means that stinky Jordan is here to stay.”

She laughed. “Is it better to be stinky or to be puke-causing?”

“I’m not sure.”

Abby rose on tiptoe, pressing her nose to his neck and inhaling. “For what it’s worth, I think you smell fabulous.”

“Stinky turns you on?”

She grinned. “Apparently.”

His cell phone buzzed and his eyes flicked down to where it sat screen up on his desk. The message was from Cecilia.

Abby touched his hand. “You’d better go.”

“Yeah.” Keeping one arm around her, he lifted the phone, sent back a response, then slipped it in his pocket. “But first I need to do this.”

He kissed her, pouring all the desire he’d been banking for the last few weeks into it. All the frustration from finding his satisfaction with his hand, from waking up hard and aching. He poured everything into that kiss.

Including the love.

Eventually, they had to break apart and gasp for air. Abby dropped her head against his chest, breaths coming rapidly.

“You may . . . not . . . be able”—she sucked in a deep breath, steadying her words—“You may not be able to use that hammer, but your tongue is damn good.”

He cupped her chin, pressed one more kiss to her mouth. “If I never hear another hammer innuendo, it will be too soon.”

Another laugh, another shot of joy directly to his soul.

Damn, he loved this woman.

And somehow, that love grew even more when she paused in the doorway and said, “I think you should name the robot, Hunter.”

A moment later, she was gone.

But she was the first one to give voice to the truth. He was pushing this project because of Hunter. Because his tech-savvy nephew not only wanted a robot he could play with from a hospital bed, but one that could also be taken apart and put back together again and again and again.

It was a simple request, but not an easy one. There wasn’t anything on the market like that, so Jordan had decided to delay his beach plans to create one. Hunter had needed him.

But Hunter also needed it soon.

Because without a transplant, the doctors gave him six months.