Mitch stepped through the sliding doors of the Cape house kitchen onto the covered back porch, then slammed them closed. The cold sea breeze hit with a shock against his bare skin, but he needed the distraction.

He’d tried to go to bed but couldn’t fall asleep, so he’d thrown on a pair of athletic pants and paced the foyer.

Then he’d gone downtown like a crazy bastard to crash the date.

Twice.

Stopping himself just short of anyone seeing him.

Motherfucking hell.

Forcing himself to go back to the Cape, he’d rummaged around to see if he could scout out any hidden reserves of Maxine’s moonshine.

Score.

It was well past nine, and Claire should be safely home in her apartment, and maybe even in bed by now.

He hadn’t heard from her yet, and the waiting was torture.

Maybe she’d taken the guy home after all.

The image of her showing her date how that damn vibrator worked sparked a pain so irrational that he didn’t even know himself anymore.

So he shoved that from his head with all the self-control he possessed.

Sipping from the blue canning jar, he released a grumpy sigh.

He pictured her naked, but alone, God damn it, and surrounded by baked goods. The idea tightened his body to a painful level. He scrubbed at the scruff on his face to keep from rubbing one out right there on the porch.

Fuck.

He couldn’t even imagine if Maxine caught him. She’d either have his nuts for it or cheer him on in her healthy, sex-forward way of thinking.

That would be worse.

And then that damned vibrator and a naked Claire covered in powdered sugar popped in his head.

“Jesus Christ. I’m fucking turned on by baked goods now.”

A low voice caught his attention from the direction of the well, and he squinted through the darkness to get a better look. Something about a penny and a wish. The silhouette of a person could just barely be seen in the darkness.

“Hey! Who’s there?” His bellow echoed back from the trees, louder than he’d expected. But he had a lot of energy to take care of. A damn trespasser would do the trick.

The figure froze. “Crap.” The voice was barely audible, but he’d recognize it anywhere, and his body sprung away like he’d downed one of Shelly Anne’s espressos.

“Claire?”

She approached from the well, her bare feet silent in the grass, and her heels hanging from her fingers.

“You have to be freezing. What the hell are you doing out there?”

Throwing him an accusing glare, she asked, “What the hell are you doing here?”

As she reached the steps, he grabbed her arm and propelled her into the kitchen. Without thinking, he wrapped his arms around her and drew her up against his chest. She was chilled to the bone, her small frame shivering as he pulled the door closed behind them. “I’m living here as the caretaker while I figure out where I want to land. Sold my apartment. Looking at houses.”

The city attorney needed a home, a symbol of attachment and commitment. His bachelor pad wasn’t doing the job. He’d approached Larkin and Ryker about the caretaker position until they had enough time to really comb out the right candidate to take his place.

She was rubbing her cheek back and forth against his chest, her eyes closed, a half smile on her face. Confusion settled on his shoulders. “Are you okay?”

Her smile fell, and she froze. She blinked a few times, then tilted her head back. “You can let me go now.” Her fingers patted his chest in an awkward flutter.

The problem was, he didn’t want to let her go. She fit against him so perfectly that he felt weightless. “Not yet. You’re shivering.” He’d tell the lie again if he could hold her for a second longer. “What are you doing here?” he asked in a soft tone.

“I couldn’t go through with it.” She mumbled against his chest, sounding dejected and sending a wash of goosebumps over his skin.

A huge flood of relief almost knocked him on his ass.

For his own sanity, he walked her to the bench under the window next to the sliding glass doors. Lifting the seat, he grabbed one of the many blankets Maxine had stored there. That woman had a keen sense of what would be needed and when, from blankets in unusual storing places to wet wipes or batteries. An assortment of supplies could be found in every room.

Running around the house with Ryker as a kid was like being a pirate on a treasure hunt. He couldn’t count the times she’d threatened them if they kept stealing her stuff, but a hidden flashlight to a ten-year-old was way too cool to pass up.

Pushing his moonshine into her fingers, he said. “Drink some of this. It’ll warm you.” As she did what she was told, he wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, then noticed her bare toes.

“For fuck’s sake, Claire.” With his hand at the small of her back, he propelled her forward. “Come on. I lit a fire. Let’s get you warmed up before you drive home.”

“I walked.”

He almost missed a step as he led her toward the master bedroom.

“You walked. Are you fucking crazy?” His eyes skimmed past the wainscotting that followed up the stairs, now white instead of the black it used to be. “Town isn’t far, but you were in those damn heals and it’s dark, and the driveway is long.”

She looked down at her toes. “I took off my shoes.”

Shaking his head, he guided her through the bedroom door to one of the plush, high-backed tufted chairs in front of the fireplace he’d lit earlier.

The master bedroom had changed from Maxine’s signature eggplant to different shades of gold. It still wasn’t his taste but was sure as hell better than the prissy style it used to be.

Claire would probably love it but still resisted from entering.

“Take it easy,” he said on a low chuckle, the rumble filling his chest and the room. “We’re only in here because the fireplace was already lit to take off the chill. It is ten o'clock at night, you know.”

She relaxed immediately and sunk into the chair where Puzzle rested. The cat jumped down with a sinister stare, then, nose in the air, weaved around her ankles.

On a sigh, she stretched her toes toward the fire. “I’ve always wanted a fireplace in my bedroom. I imagine it’s what you’d call decadent.”

She knew him too well at this point. Squatting down at her feet, he lifted one into his hand. She tried to tug it away, but he stopped her. “Listen, you just walked from town—barefoot—in thirty-degree weather. Can you stop being stubborn for one damn minute and just let me help you?”

Finally acquiescing, she relaxed back into the chair with a dreamy look on her face as he began to knead the small muscles between the bones of her dainty feet. “Surprised these things can even keep you upright.” His voice was gruff, and he swallowed to clear it.

She wiggled her toes. “These things served me quite well, thank you very much.”

He nodded as he thought of all the ways he wanted to serve her. “Are you going to tell me what happened? Why are you here, Claire?”

She drew in a deep, troubled breath, then let it out in a long exhale. “Started out fine. We ordered drinks, casual conversation, but then his fingers were on my wrist, and his knee was pressing against mine. He started asking me about what I wanted in a relationship. I don't know, I just panicked. Dating is such a big commitment. There are other people to consider. In their lives, in my own. What if we really enjoy each other's company, what if we started spending a lot of time together?”

She shifted in her seat but left her foot in his hand. He changed the motion of his fingers to firm, slow circles. A slight shiver shook her frame, and she closed her eyes.

“So what if all of that happens? Doesn't sound like a negative thing to me.” Even though he had to force himself not to squeeze her foot too hard, as if holding on tighter would keep her closer.

This time she did pull her foot away. “Says the man who’s never had a relationship longer than foreplay and orgasm.”

“Fair enough.” He dipped his chin. “But has it ever occurred to you that I have my reasons? It amazes me that no one has ever thought to ask. I know, I know you have your reasons, too. But you yourself said that you wanted to get out there. So, what the hell is stopping you?”

“What if I fall in love?”

Her quiet whisper hit him square in the chest. The idea of her falling in love with another man filled him with an unreasonable amount of jealousy and a pain in his chest he could only imagine felt like a damn heart attack. He forced his question out. “Isn't that what you want?”

She moved her head back and forth. “No, I want companionship, I want a man's hands on me, to feel the weight of him, but I don't want to fall in love. That only opens you up for unimaginable pain.”

“You don't really believe that. You can't turn away from love in your life because you're afraid.”

His inner voice called him every other name for a hypocrite in the book. But it was different for him. He was afraid of ever hurting anyone like his mother had been hurt, not necessarily afraid of being hurt himself. Though if any of the inconvenient sensations he’d been experiencing since taking on this project with Claire were any indication, getting hurt would be a fine thing to avoid as well.

“I am completely serious,” she said her voice stronger now. Pulling her feet up, she tucked them under her butt and leaned against one corner of the chair.

She wasn't a tiny woman, not compared to the average ladies he saw around town. She was tall and fit with a petite frame but not so small that she should look as fragile as she did at that moment. “So how did you end the night?” he asked, careful to keep his voice light.

A slight blush covered her cheeks, and she grimaced. “He went to use the restroom, and I was gone before he came back.”

“You did not,” Mitch said with a chuckle. “I am never gonna hear the end of this.” In the end, he didn't care. Suddenly, his buddy no longer seemed like a good fit for her. She deserved someone extraordinary. And though Cape Van Buren had better than most, extraordinary was not easy to come by.

“Not only that, but you know how long it's been since a man has held me? Since I've kissed anyone? I was this close...” She put her pointer finger and thumb almost touching.

“And don't laugh or make any jokes. I've heard them all from you already.”

That statement left him feeling more than a little ashamed, but that was one of the reasons he was helping her. This was a good opportunity to try to make it up to her. And in return, it could enable him to turn a new leaf toward being a citizen who was upstanding and respected, known for caring about the people of this town. Clearly, from her statement, he still had a long way to go.

“I'm not making any jokes. Not tonight.”

She glanced up at him warily.

“The only thing I can tell you, is the longer you resist, the harder it will be. It's just a matter of letting yourself be open to a bit of pleasure from someone you are attracted to, someone you trust.

“Are you going volunteer?” she asked with a little smirk.

A surge of red-hot lust coursed through him with such force he almost lost his balance, but he shook his head, forcing out the lie. “No, of course not.”

She tilted her head to the side, studying his features, then let her eyes wander down his bare torso. He was still kneeling at her feet and suddenly feeling more exposed than he could ever remember.

“Actually...” She scooted to the edge of her seat. “Would you? I do trust you, and I don't find you unattractive.”

His bark of laughter echoed around the room. He could hear the bewilderment and a touch of embarrassment in the sound of it and took a hard swallow. “Me? Is this a joke? All we've done is argue since we met.”

“Exactly,” Claire said, “I need to break out of this rut and how much safer can I get than with you? I mean the risk of either of us falling in love with each other is pretty much nil.”

The look on her face was sincere, and he’d damn well never let her know how much those words hurt, even if they were true. He was a safe bet. He didn't want to get entangled in a committed relationship any more than she did. So why in the hell was it so easy to picture seeing her face first thing every morning?

He cleared his throat. “Are you sure about this?”

She shoved up from the chair and shook out her hands. “Quit stalling, or I'm gonna chicken out. It's like ripping off a bandage. Let me get this first kiss out of the way and then maybe I can go out and be a normal adult on a date. Something's gotta give, or I'm going to get a reputation worse than Julia Roberts in Runaway Bride.”

His chuckle was low and strangled. “I feel like you might have a thing for Julia Roberts. How the hell did you pull that movie out of your ass?”

“She’s my fave. Chick flick nights with my mom,” she said as she placed his hands on her hips.

Warning bells clanged in his head as he gripped her waist.

Her fingers didn't know where to settle on his shoulders.

“Do you want me to put on a shirt?”

Her eyes devoured his chest as she darted the tip of her pink tongue out to lick her lips, almost undoing his tenuous hold on his self-control. Clamping down on his need to yank her up against him, he gently pulled her closer.

“I'm sure,” she said, adding with a bit of sarcasm. “And no, I'm a big girl. I think I can handle Mitch Brennan without his shirt on.”

He flashed a cocky grin. “We’ll see.”

Holding her gaze, he slowly dipped his head to hover his lips just above hers. Tension played tug-of-war between them, and his blood rushed through his veins in eager anticipation. A little closer.

Closer.

His lips tingled with the hint of moisture from her soft breath.

Just as his lips were about to brush hers, she burst out laughing and dropped her forehead to his chest.

He froze. What the hell just happened? With his hands on her shoulders, he slowly eased back to look into her eyes. “Is everything okay?” He wasn’t sure if he should be insulted or concerned.

“Oh my gosh! I am so sorry. I don't know why I’m laughing.” Her cheeks blushed red, and the mortification in her eyes eased the sting of her laugh.

There was nothing like a woman laughing in his face just before kissing him to remove the discomfort of an erection. As his body cooled, he muttered, “We don't have to do this, Claire.”

“No, no, I want to. I don't know what's wrong with me.” She shook out her hands. “Okay, okay. Let's try again.”

Her fingertips slid across his chest, leaving a trail of sensation behind them. As she wrapped her arms around his neck, he closed the distance between their mouths once more.

Her sharp crack of laughter made him jump, and he released her. Confusion didn't even begin to describe the emotions running rampant through him. The moment was a physical rollercoaster with the drop and climb of a big hill ride.

“So sorry!” she exclaimed, her cheeks a deep red as if she’d just stepped in from too long in the sun. “What is wrong with me? Oh, my God. I'm such a mess.” She moved back in. “Just kiss me. Don't make it soft, don't make it sweet.”

He drew her up against his chest and, at the last minute, her cackling laugh filled his head. This time he joined her himself. He didn't have to imagine how mortified she was because he could read it all over her face. She really wasn’t ready, and that was okay.

The damn kiss was for her, not him, anyway.

“It’s okay, Claire.”

“God damn it!” She swore. “I can't believe this.”

She stared at him a moment as if having a silent argument behind the scenes, then with a sudden steely gleam in her eye, she slid her fingers into his hair and yanked him forward, slamming her lips against his. His dick jumped to life with demand on contact, and his heart joined in, hammering in his chest. She tasted like his favorite kind of sin. Every decadent treat he’d ever tasted, all rolled into one solid punch.

Indulgent, heady, the kind you couldn't think through but could only feel.

With a soft moan, she eased her hold and slid her lips against his, exploring each edge with her own. Her tongue took a tentative sweep of his mouth, and he dove in after her, prepared to drown and not caring if he ever breathed again.

He knew her taste would be sweet, but he never imagined it would create an instant addiction. Though this kiss might allow her to open up to the world, it left him completely and royally fucked.

He held himself in check as she ran her hands over his shoulders, gripping his biceps. It was everything he could do not to push his straining erection hard against her stomach to help ease the urgency there. She swept her tongue along his lower lip, following it with a gentle bite. Then with a whimper, melted in for more.

That soft, helpless sound was his undoing. On a growl of his own, he swept her up into his arms, encouraging her to wrap her legs around his waist. Gripping the back of her head with his hand, he held her still while he took his turn exploring and tasting, wanting to drown in the flavor that was uniquely and deliciously Claire.

She clung to him, kissing him back as passionately as any wet dream he'd ever had. The scent of her enveloped his head, the taste of her filled his mouth, the feel of her in his arms left him wanting more.

More of something he could never really have.

Somewhere deep in his soul, he found the strength to ease back, breaking away from the urgency of the kiss with smaller, gentler pecks until he was able to look into her eyes. She'd already faced so much pain, and the last thing he wanted to do was inflict any more.

This wicked intelligent, generous and soft-hearted woman who had so much love and passion tied up within her heart had found a way past his defenses.

But she deserved more than a memorable moment.

He had to stay her safe bet.

He had to be the one man who would never hurt her.

And it would be the hardest damn thing he'd ever done in his life.

She whispered, “What just happened?”

Forcing his tone to be light and playful cost him dearly. “I think we ripped your Band-Aid off.”