For the past three weekday mornings, against his better judgment, Isaac showed up at Nat and Olivia’s door to take them both to the 7:00 a.m. run. Which, surprisingly, had become popular among the girls. Taking precautions against any potential weirdness between him and Nat, Isaac had also offered to collect Rangi-Marie on the way there. His extroverted little cousin had proved the perfect antidote to the initial strained silence that greeted him on Monday morning when Natalie opened her front door.

“Morena, Auntie,” Rangi-Marie had sung out, sailing past her down the hallway to the kitchen.

Nat shot Isaac a glance and then shrugged. In Māori culture, any older, respected female or male became ‘Auntie’ or ‘Uncle.’ While Isaac made coffee, Rangi-Marie chatted easily with Olivia about school stuff, dragged Isaac into a three-way discussion about the latest Marvel superhero movie, and generally eased the unspoken tension zipping between him and Nat.

He’d seriously considered giving Rangi-Marie a raise until the third morning when she’d turned to him in the car and said, “Still need me to run interference between you and Nat?”

He’d death-gripped the steering wheel. “What?”

“You know, because you’re all tongue-tied and nerdy around her now.”

“Tō waha, Rangi-Marie.” And he’d only been half joking.

His little cousin shot him a cheeky grin. “Shut up yourself, cuzzy-bro. You know I’m right.”

Screw it, she was.

Six hours and three coffees later, Isaac rolled his chair away from his office desk and spun in a one-eighty until he faced the couch.

“Dude,” he muttered in a poor imitation of his younger brother. “You’re way overthinking this.”

Because aside from their morning runs together—in which Nat, having already become fitter, stuck like glue to the slower girls—it’d been four days since he’d kissed Nat in the locker room and they still hadn’t spoken about it.

And he’d now racked up four restless nights. His couch had never looked more inviting.

Isaac cocked his head, picking up distant muzak from the showroom floor, the sound of a tour bus exiting the parking lot with a hiss of brakes, and the thuds and bangs coming from behind Kauri Whare’s main building. Construction was nearly complete on the new building, with everything running to schedule for the next phase of plumbing and electrical to begin in a few weeks’ time.

He swiveled back toward his desk and the blur of numbers dancing across his laptop monitor. Isaac got up from his office chair and stretched out on his couch. A ten-minute power nap, fifteen max. He shut his eyes but his mind, as it so often did these days, shot straight to gnawing over the problem that was Natalie Fisher. The problem part being, he couldn’t stop thinking, and overthinking, about her. How her lips tasted so sweet. How each of her curves had fitted jigsaw-perfect against his body. How she’d moaned softly into his mouth as he’d ground into her softness, the remembered sound still with the power to make him hard.

A hesitant knock sounded on his door, followed closely by a feminine throat clearing. His brain swam groggily to the surface of consciousness and he cracked open an eye.

“Isaac? Sorry, I’ll come back.”

Natalie’s voice.

Isaac folded upright like a sprung trap and swung his feet to the floor. “I’m awake. I’m awake.”

And the sudden tightening of fabric across his groin informed him that a part of him was very awake.

He grabbed a throw pillow, dropped it on his lap, and rested his elbows on it while he scrubbed his palms over his face with an Oscar-worthy yawn. “Come on in, Nat, and shut the door. Sam’ll give me hell if he catches me napping.”

“I bet,” she said.

She entered his office and closed the door, hesitating in front of it while her gaze zipped between him on the couch and his empty office chair. He could almost read her thoughts from the crumpled lines on her forehead to the way she hugged her purse close to her chest. Risk sitting beside him, or take the less intimate option of commandeering his chair?

Chair, he figured—and then was proved wrong when she strode over to sit one seat cushion space away from him on the couch. Her freshly showered scent of fruity body wash layered beneath her signature light floral scent was reminiscent of lazy summer days, and a direct contrast to the sparkle of raindrops in her hair. She wore a belted trench coat, and when she crossed her legs, half-turning toward him, the lower half split open to reveal a figure-hugging knit dress that stopped a few inches above her knee-high boots.

“I wanted to talk to you in private,” she said, dropping her purse at her feet.

Isaac wanted to do things to her in private, ones that didn’t require conversation. “Go ahead. I’m all ears.”

And all aching cock, which was trying to get to Nat by boring a hole through his pants. He shifted on the couch cushions, trying to find a comfortable position that wouldn’t look as if he was obviously trying to hide one hell of a boner. Resting a casual hand on the throw pillow, he laid the other arm along the back of the couch and fixed what he hoped looked like a neutral I’m listening expression on his face.

A face that said I’m listening with full male attention because I respect you as a woman with something serious to discuss and not because I can’t stop thinking about what you’d look like wearing that coat and nothing else apart from stilettos.

Tō waha, Isaac. Just tō waha, right now.

“I, um…well, I wanted to talk about…” Natalie pressed her lips together and shot a glance at his throw pillow and then at her hands.

Perhaps he hadn’t been as subtle as he’d hoped. He crossed his legs away from her—fucking ouch—and smiled helpfully. “About the scheme Rangi-Marie and Olivia are cooking up to ask you and Vee to make the team new sports uniforms?”

She blinked at him then her forehead crumpled. “Oh. No, that’s not what I’m here for. I guessed what they were up to and talked to Vee this morning. We’ll figure out some fund-raising the girls can help with, both for the uniforms and for travel and accommodation if the team makes it to the semifinals in Whangarei.”

“They’ll make it.”

If she wasn’t here to talk rugby, why was she here? In his office. Looking hot enough to singe the leather couch beneath them, and ahhh—radiating the kind of intense energy that could mean she was either planning to run, or to crawl onto his lap and kiss him senseless.

He prayed for the latter.

She gave him a tentative smile. “I’m glad you’ve found some confidence in the girls…” There was a drawn-out pause. “And yourself.”

Lack of confidence on or off the field hadn’t used to be an issue for him. He knew what he was made for and where he was headed. Knew the sacrifice and sweat necessary to get to where he wanted. Knew that if he desired a woman, it wouldn’t take much more than a smile to draw her to his side, and later into his bed. But now he didn’t know where he fitted in his new reality and he had no clue where he was headed. He was still prepared to sacrifice and sweat for what he wanted, if only he knew what that was. And the only woman he’d wanted in his bed for longer than he was comfortable admitting was right in front of him. And he didn’t think a come here, baby smile would have the slightest effect on her.

“What do you want to talk about?” he asked.

She lifted her chin. “Us. I’m here to talk about us.”

His stomach went into free fall, but not the way it did when a woman usually started a conversation with the I want to talk about us phrase. Because Natalie referring to whatever it was that hummed like a live wire between them as an ‘us’ caused the free fall to reverse and his stomach to suddenly feel all floaty and girlishly expectant.

Mouth desert-dry, Isaac swallowed hard to moisten it. “I’m a little out of practice talking about relationship stuff.” An understatement.

Her eyes widened with what he could only describe as panic, and spots of color stained her cheekbones.

“Oh no, I’m not talking about a relationship. I mean, not a relationship relationship. I was thinking about us kissing, and how it was nice—I mean, it was good, really good—and we seem to have some chemistry and maybe we could, I don’t know, see where that could go and…” She dropped her gaze to the fingers she’d laced together in her lap.

Not a relationship, relationship. And see where that could go…

Nat was proposing what? Sex? Because that’s the only direction it could go if they got their hands and mouths on each other again. Isaac winced and resisted the urge to adjust his pants, currently cutting off circulation to his groin. Parts of him were still responding with enthusiasm to the idea of seeing where things went with Nat. Even as a less vocal part of his body, one that hadn’t been used in a long time, gave a little twinge in his chest at the thought of a meaningless fuck.

Beggars couldn’t be choosy.

She drew in a long breath then met his gaze again. “I’m screwing this up completely, aren’t I?”

“Not at all.” His mouth curved into a slow smile. “Not unless we’re not on the same page and you’re not meaning sex.”

Her spine stiffened, pulling her shoulders back and emphasizing the swell of her breasts beneath the coat. “We’re on the same page.”

“Good.” Isaac scooted along the couch until his knees bumped hers. The throw pillow plopped to the floor and she glanced at his empty lap, gaze snagging on the bulge straining against his pants.

She sucked in a breath, the stain on her cheekbones darkening. Beneath the open collar of her coat, he spotted a telltale throbbing of her pulse in her throat.

“I, ah, don’t mean right now, though.” She glanced at his unlocked office door.

He chuckled. “Pity you didn’t close the blinds and lock the door on the way in.”

“Yeah.” She faced him again, a smile tugging up the corners of her mouth. A sexy, knowing smile with something more powerful than sheepish embarrassment reflected in it. The kind of smile a man could lose himself in and never want to find a way out of.

“Another time, then,” he said.

She grabbed her purse and rose abruptly. “I need to go.” She shot him a wary glance. “Should I come to your place? Um, one night when Olivia’s having a sleepover at a friend’s?” Her nose crinkled and she rubbed a spot between her eyebrows. “I’m sorry. I have no idea what to do or how to seduce a man anymore.” She gave a wry laugh. “Scratch that. I’ve never known how to seduce a man, period.”

Isaac stood, closing the distance between them until they stood toe to toe. He cupped her jaw, stroking his thumb along the silky skin. She quivered under his touch and leaned into it, her eyelids fluttering closed.

“You already seduce me, Nat. Just breathing you in, tasting you, touching you is more seduction than I can stand. It makes me want to do something reckless like take you hard and fast on my office couch. To hell with who’s walking past outside.”

Her hand floated up between them, hovering mere inches from his chest.

If she touched him now he’d be a goner. “And as for you doing something to seduce me, the only thing you need to do is show up at my place in that coat, and I’m a sure bet.”

“Just the trench coat?” she asked.

“Just the coat.” And before he acted on impulse and flipped her onto his couch, he took a giant step away from her and returned to his desk.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

And with that she left him alone in his office, still stunned, still hard, and still wanting her with a thirst he was scared wouldn’t be sated after one night.

* * *

Friday night, with Olivia at a sleepover birthday party at one of her classmates’, Nat stood in front of her bedroom mirror in lacy panties and bra, waiting to see if feathers would sprout out of the goose bumps covering her skin.

That’s right, she was a chicken trying to convince herself she was a mighty eagle in charge of her own destiny. Bird poop all over that. She was a woman torn between fear and horniness, and a complete novice at the whole easy sex thing. Easy was the kind of sex she’d had with Jackson—up until Olivia was born. Then things had gotten a little less easy and spontaneous, and a little more planned and infrequent. But that was normal in any relationship. Especially when you had a husband who was away a lot and training so hard that when he did come home he was exhausted.

Nat ran a hand down her almost flat stomach, and took stock of her reflection. Nice boobs, not too big, not too little, not too saggy. Legs that were stronger from all the running she’d been doing. Waist the right size for Olivia’s arms to slip around when she wanted comfort, and hips that curved where a woman was meant to curve. Body image wasn’t the problem.

Having sex with someone who wasn’t Jackson was.

The flutters in Nat’s stomach grew stronger and she turned away from the mirror. She flipped open the little jewelry box on her nightstand and eyeballed the two wedding bands inside. Heart pumping like she’d just completed five laps around the school field, Nat slapped the lid shut and crossed to the back of her bedroom door. Trench coat or fluffy pink bathrobe?

Jackson was the first and only man she’d made love with. She’d met and married and gotten pregnant so young—she certainly wasn’t complaining that she hadn’t slept around before or during their marriage. Just…what if she’d forgotten how to be with a man? What if she didn’t know how to please Isaac—and what if he didn’t know how to please her? And what if it was awkward and awful? What if it was only mediocre; would she feel obligated to act otherwise? And perhaps scariest of all, what if it was really, really good? Better than good?

She went for the bathrobe, then froze mid-reach.

“Who the hell are you, Natalie?” Tears stung the corners of her eyes. “The little mouse still hiding from the world in Jackson’s shadow? Or a woman who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to ask for it anymore?”

Nat swore and grabbed the trench coat. She slipped into it, dug out the highest pair of heels she owned from the bottom of her closet, grabbed her keys, and left her house before she could change her mind.

She parked along the street from Isaac’s house and kept her head down as she walked. Her heels clicked a brisk staccato, the sound muted by the drifts of fog rolling in from the ocean. A chill worked its way down her spine, and beneath her skimpy lace bra—purchased discreetly with a couple of other more boring underwear items at the department store yesterday—her nipples budded and ached. The realities of wandering around Bounty Bay in only a coat and your underwear. Fortunately, the lights were on in Isaac’s place so soon she’d have a big, sexy-as-sin, and more importantly, hot male to warm all her body parts up on.

She strode up Isaac’s driveway, shot a glance at his front door, then decided that even though it was full dark out, a booty call should probably be carried out with some discretion, considering how Bounty Bay, like any other small town, could instantly turn into a hotbed of gossip. Nat followed the driveway down to the rear of the house. She’d never been inside Isaac’s house before—he’d moved into a new one since the accident—but the security lights switched on and lit her path to the back door.

Cocking her head toward the house, Nat listened to the faint noises coming from inside, her mouth curving up as she recognized the sound of a fast-speaking sports commentator. Friday night watching a rugby game on TV—Isaac’s evening was about to get a whole lot more exciting. She knocked on the back door then arranged herself into the most confident I’m here to sex your brains out pose she could manage, which was a little tricky as her feet felt encased in blocks of ice and she was pretty sure the metal underwire in her bra had frozen to her—

The back door swung open to reveal a hotter-than-hell Isaac wearing ripped blue jeans and a black tank top which exposed miles and miles of delicious muscular arm porn. His dark eyebrows shot up at the sight of her, and the transformation in his expression from surprise to shit, you’re sexy gave her a different kind of shiver altogether.

“Hey,” she said, and while his jaw still sagged, tugged on her trench coat belt so that it loosened enough for her to part the unbuttoned front, giving him an eyeful of crimson lace and cold nipples.

She’d planned something witty to say next on the drive over there, but the words got tangled up in her throat when a distinct male voice from farther inside Isaac’s house suddenly bellowed, “Are you bloody blind? That was a penalty!”

Oh. Crap.

Owen’s voice.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. Who the hell does this ref think he is?”

Another raised male voice Nat recognized. Sam.

Nat’s gaze shot to Isaac. “You’ve got the guys here?” It came out more of a squeak than actual articulated words, but Isaac seemed to understand.

“They’re watching the game—hey!” He lunged for her as Nat tried to spin around to make a quick, mortified exit. “Oh, no you don’t.” His big, warm hands caught her by the waist and tugged her close into his body.

Instinct had Nat burying her icy nose into the warm, delicious-smelling skin beneath his collarbone while she wrapped her arms around him. She was right about how warm the man would be, but, sheesh—worst faux pas ever arriving in the middle of a boys’ night.

“I should go,” she said, then let out another yelp when Isaac picked her up and swung around to deposit her inside his house.

“No bloody way.” He grinned at her, then his gaze shot to the right, down toward a short hallway and the continuing sounds of the game.

“What’s taking the beer so long, bro?” Sam’s voice sounded way closer than it had before.

Isaac swore and flung open the door closest to him, quickly ushering her inside. “Wait in here. I’ll get rid of them.” He shut the door behind her.

Nat blinked in the inky blackness of the room, which judging by the clean, fresh smell of lemon soap powder, was probably the laundry. Nat ran her fingers along the wall until she found the light switch—yep, it was Isaac’s laundry room which contained a washer, dryer, and a long sorting counter. Nowhere to hide should one of the guys have a sudden urge to sort coloreds from whites.

She bit back a smile and pressed her ear to the door. She needn’t have bothered as the cursing and complaints that followed the sudden silence of the TV being switched off were easily heard.

“Really? You’re kicking us out to do your freaking laundry?” Nat heard Sam grumble.

“Are you going to braid your hair and paint your toenails afterward?” Owen added.

But it sounded as if the two men were on the move through Isaac’s house. Nat couldn’t hear Isaac’s reply, but moments later, a heavy door slammed from somewhere near the front of the house. Any moment he’d be coming back. He’d be—

The laundry door banged open and Isaac strode through the doorway, multitasking by pulling his black tank top off over his head and tossing it into a waiting laundry hamper. Before Nat could say, “Black’ll make your whites go gray,” Isaac had scooped her off her feet and lifted her to sit on the nearest horizontal space—the long white countertop running the length of the room. He pressed his big body between her legs, palms flat on the counter either side of her thighs, effectively trapping her.

Oh my. She wasn’t complaining.

Nat dug her fingernails into the inflexible bulges of his biceps, trying desperately not to melt into a pool of hot lust. “Am I the laundry you’re about to do?” Please say yes, even though that totally didn’t make sense.

“Yep.”

Isaac’s voice was gruff, ragged even, and his nostrils flared as his gaze swept down her face to her throat, then back to her mouth. Without breaking eye contact, Nat dropped her hands from his arms and unknotted the belt of her coat so it gaped open. Her nipples throbbed in a slow aching rhythm, the sensitive tips rubbing against her bra cup as she leaned back a little to shrug the coat off her shoulders.

His gaze zeroed in on her breasts like a homing signal, and deep inside her, her womb gave a little squeeze because she couldn’t tear her eyes away from him either. The flex of muscle twitching in his arms, the sprinkling of dark hair across his sculptured chest that tapered down his flat stomach and disappeared beneath the waistband of his jeans—there suddenly wasn’t enough oxygen in the air. The crisp fabric rustling as she pulled her arms out of the coat was the only sound in the room, other than the harsh inhale of Isaac’s breath as she was finally free, all but naked in crimson lace and stilettos.

For a moment, she coasted on a wave of doubt. Did he like what he saw? Maybe the fancy lingerie and heels were too much and said I’m desperate to impress you because I’m scared that if I wore my usual sports bra and bikini brief instead of this thong, which is trapped in my butt crack, you wouldn’t want me.

His roughened palms skimmed over her knees and up her parted thighs to rest lightly on her waist, his thumbs stroking slow circles on her hip bones.

“Nat.”

Isaac’s voice cracked on the one syllable of her name.

He dipped his head, the warmth of his breath on her shoulder causing another womb squeeze and a shiver to traverse her body from scalp to toes.

“Nat, tahu,” he whispered. Lips, soft as the caress of a silk scarf trailing across the skin, dropped kisses up her throat in a fiery line.

She hadn’t expected such restraint from him, such tenderness in his touch as his hands continued to trace a languid pathway up from her waist to her rib cage. Her breath caught, held in delicious anticipation as his dark gaze trapped hers and his fingers finally, finally reached satin to sensuously brush across her nipple. Her spine arched, pushing her breast further into his palm. Sensation—pure, heady, I’ve forgotten how to breathe sensation—flared through her, and she once again gripped Isaac’s arms as if doing so would stop her from drifting out of herself and floating up to the whitewashed ceiling.

His mouth joined hers, hot and demanding, bringing her back to the here and now. Firm lips coaxed her into a dance of kiss after kiss, a soft duel of tongues where there were no winners, just ever-growing heat. She wriggled closer to the counter edge and locked her heels together around his butt to hold him right where she wanted. Right where she needed him the most.

He was hard and thick and straining against the fly of his jeans, and she was like a deprived chocoholic faced with the sudden choice of white, milk, or dark—she couldn’t decide what she wanted to feast on first. If she leaned back in order to release him from the confines of his jeans, she’d lose the delicious pressure notched between her legs. If she stayed where she was, letting each and every one of his kisses shimmer hotly through her, melting her inhibitions one at a time, they couldn’t get naked, ergo, precious seconds were being wasted in which all that thick hardness could be inside her.

Desperation punched into her, and her nails raked down Isaac’s biceps in the rush to get to the button of his jeans. She fumbled briefly at the ridge of his hip muscles, then he drew in a sharp breath, allowing her fingers to slip between the jeans’ waistband and his skin. One of them—and she couldn’t be certain if it was her or Isaac—moaned as her fingertips brushed over something even harder and smoother than his stomach.

She unbuttoned and unzipped him, arching away so she could see the harsh rise and fall of his labored breathing, the dusky-colored head of his cock rising above stretchy black boxer shorts. Nat swallowed in an attempt to moisten her dry mouth.

Cock. It’d been a long time since the word had passed through her brain in anything but a flicker of a thought, and longer still since she’d been this close to one.

Isaac used one hand to free himself from his clingy shorts and gave one slow, firm stroke. The sight of his hand wrapped around his cock had her panties growing damp. Damp-er.

“Touch me,” he said.

She traced a fingertip down his length, from tip to root where her fingers bumped against his fist. He removed his hand and hers closed around him, the intoxicating feel of him hot and silky smooth in her palm drawing a soft moan from deep inside her. One big hand cupped her nape, bringing their mouths together again as she continued to explore every delicious inch of him. His other hand skipped up her spine to unclasp her bra, and when her breasts fell free of the satin cups, he teased and caressed her pebbled nipples until the pleasure was so great she released him and gripped his hip.

He took advantage of the gap between them to push aside the crotch of her lace panties and traced a finger through her wet folds. Nat squeaked, her face instantly flaming at the sound and the upward jerk of her hips. The up-until-now moderate current of arousal transformed into an electrifying jolt of pleasure.

“You want me to stop?” he asked.

“No. Don’t stop.” Her body would mutiny if she said anything else. “It’s just…been a while.”

He offered her a crooked smile. “For me, too.”

“Do you have…protection?” Frankly she was amazed her brain could still form more than a single syllable, since Isaac had taken her at her word and continued to touch her, the pad of his thumb sliding through her slickness to rub gently over her clit.

“Yeah. Made a pit stop to my room on the way back.” He twisted his hand and thrust a finger inside her, his heart-stopping smile growing wider as she squeaked again. “I didn’t know if we’d make it down the hall in time.”

“We won’t,” she assured him on a gasp as he added another finger to the first. “I can’t wait that long.”

“Best thing I’ve heard all year,” he said and lifted her high enough to drag off her panties while she clung to his shoulders.

“Hurry,” she demanded.

He tore into the small foil packet, suited up, then returned to her with a toe-curling kiss that had her quaking with need. His big hands squeezed her bottom, sliding her back to the counter edge—which, praise the laundry room designers, was at the optimal height for spontaneous sex—and positioned himself at her warm, wet entrance. She broke the kiss as he nudged the head of his cock inside her, arching away at the delicious but unfamiliar intrusion and squeezing her eyes shut.

“Open your eyes. Don’t hide from me, tahu.” His labored breathing puffed against her throat.

Her eyes fluttered open to find his dark gaze intense and fixed on hers. She needed a moment—something—to distance herself from the overwhelming sensations spinning out of control within her at the feel of this new intimacy. This wanted but terrifying connection.

“What does tahu mean?” Her voice came out fast and breathless.

He pushed inside her a little more, and stilled when she whimpered with the sheer bliss of being stretched to surround him. Dipping his head, he brushed his lips along her jaw.

“Sweetheart. Lover,” he murmured against her lips. “Which we are now, since I’m inside you.”

His fingers unerringly found the little bundle of nerves that required his attention, and he stroked and manipulated her until the words he whispered in her ears had no meaning and her whole world was focused on Isaac’s crazy, talented hands. Nat writhed beneath his touch, bracing her palms on the counter and leaning back to give him the space to drive her out of her ever-loving mind. Suddenly, the sweet fullness between her legs was gone and her eyes popped open as Isaac dropped to his knees.

“Isaac?”

The look he gave her as he leaned into the apex of her thighs stripped away the last of her inhibitions. Raw, unrestrained desire, with an intensity that said he’d do anything to have her. To claim her as his tahu with his mouth and tongue. To make it so good for her that he’d ruin her for any other man.

He didn’t answer whatever question might have followed his name, but instead dipped his head to taste her with the most deliciously male sound of satisfaction rumbling up in his throat. His tongue flicked through her folds and circled her clit with delicate strokes. Her hips arched with pleasure so intense it was almost pain, and he responded by devouring her with his mouth, licking and stroking her endlessly. He held her hips firmly in place as she writhed beneath him, her climax building until its ferocious arrival had her bucking and screaming his name.

He stood while she was still trembling with aftershocks, a boneless wreck that he gathered into his arms and kissed again. She tasted herself in the musky heat of his tongue stroking along hers, and moaned into his mouth as he seated himself within her with one firm thrust. Her blood fizzed in her veins and she clung to the broad width of his shoulders.

More, her body silently ordered, the fullness of him stretching her to accommodate his thick length, triggering the beginnings of a second orgasm. He thrust into her again, and then again, his gaze growing darker as his control finally began to crumble. She wrapped herself around him, melting into lax surrender. Slow delicious friction peaked as Isaac moved faster, his need driving her own to heights which would’ve been unbearable except for the exquisite knowledge that he was right there with her. Willing her to release and let go.

So she did. Nat let go of every thought, every worry, and every denial, and let the forces of her orgasm wring every last drop of pleasure from her body. Moments later, Isaac ground out her name into the hollow of her throat, his beautiful body shuddering within her.

Sometime later—minutes or hours, she wasn’t sure—Isaac raised his head from her shoulder and brushed another whispery kiss across her mouth. Laugh lines radiated out from his gleaming dark eyes as he continued to grin at her.

“What?” she said finally. “What is so damn funny?”

He pulled a nothing’s funny frown and shrugged. “I feel as if I should thank you.”

Thank her for the most spectacular sex in the history of ever? “Oh…well. You’re welcome.”

He threw back his head and laughed, a great big belly laugh that backhanded her out of nowhere in the heart region. God, he was beautiful when he laughed…

His belly laugh trickled down to a rough chuckle. “Because I’m never, ever gonna complain about doing the laundry again.”

Then he kissed her again, until laundry was the very last thing on Nat’s mind.