I was still floating ten feet off the ground about Fynn's reaction to my art. Even though I let myself entertain the notion that he was just being nice, it seemed genuine. The most incredible part was how much he could read about the person in each picture. Fynn was so different than any other guy I knew and not just because he was breathtaking to look at and he could fix fountains. I couldn't believe how quickly I was falling for him.

I pushed open the screen door leading out to the back porch. It was an especially quiet night under a rich blue and silver blanket of stars. Crickets had started their evening symphony, and the only other sound was the low murmur of my neighbor's television set.

"Wow, an entire wall of tall shrubs," Fynn noted as he sat on the top step. "Lots of privacy, which means you can sit right here." He took my hand and led me to sit down in the circle of his long legs. I leaned back against his hard chest, and his arms cradled me like a shawl.

Boone trotted down the back steps to take a tour of the yard.

"My dad planted these shrubs for ornamental reasons back when I was a kid. He thought they'd lend a nice green border to the yard. It turned out this particular shrub grew at warp speed and could reach twenty feet in height." I laughed, thinking about my dad out in the yard with his clippers, furiously trying to keep control of his monster shrubs. "Eventually, we kind of liked the idea of having a thick wall of shrubs between us and the neighbor's house. So my dad retired his hedge clippers and let the shrubs grow."

Fynn casually slipped his hand under my shirt. I had no intention of stopping him. I wondered if he could feel my racing heart beneath his palm. "This is my favorite kind of night and my favorite setting. And crickets are my favorite tune. My grandfather always says that he can't sleep unless the crickets are singing. I took that to heart once and decided to make a recording of crickets for those nights when they weren't chirping. I gave him the disc for his birthday, but it was an epic fail. He said crickets coming through the shoddy speaker of his radio were just noise. He really can be a grumpy old man sometimes, but he's my favorite grumpy old man."

Already bored of the yard, Boone rejoined us on the steps. He stretched out on the bottom landing, extending his back legs out behind him like a bear rug. He lowered his head and fell right into a snore.

"And there goes the peace and quiet," Fynn noted.

I rested my head back against his chest. Whatever soap he used, it was quickly becoming my favorite scent. "Is your grandfather the reason you're so grounded at the age of—" Without lifting my head from his chest, I turned my face up to him. "How old are you, anyhow?"

"I'm twenty-four. And yeah, Grandpa had a lot to do with it. But I've really only recently found my grounding. For a lot of years, I let anger affect my decisions. Working on the farm helped me cool my heels."

I reached up and rubbed my hand along the worn denim on his legs. "What were you angry about?"

The question rattled him enough that I felt the muscles in his arms and chest tighten. "Everything," he finally answered.

A squirrel in a tree temporarily startled Boone from his sleep. He lifted his head and wiggled his flat nose for a second, then dropped back into a deep slumber.

"When I think about it"—Fynn's muscles relaxed again—"Boone had about as much to do with me finding the ground under my feet as my mom and grandfather. About eight years ago, I was driving my truck along the stretch of road leading to the farm. It had been raining for days, and mud crept along the road like a river. The wipers on my old truck were hardly able to keep up with the downpour, but somehow I caught a flicker of movement on the road. Boone was just half the size he is now. He was sitting patiently in the icy downpour, hoping that someone would pick him up. I pulled over, hopped out of the truck and walked cautiously toward him, not wanting to scare him into the raging river of mud flowing right behind him. His tail wagged and he smiled up at me with those big eyes, and I could swear he was telling me—I was waiting for you, buddy. He was tiny and hungry and nearly drowned by rain, but he never lost hope that things would get better. Whenever things don't go the way I want, I always think of that day."

"I love that story." I wrapped my hands around his iron hard biceps and brought his arms closer around me. "And I love sitting here with these incredible arms wrapped around me."

Fynn lowered his mouth to my neck and kissed it. "That's good because I was just thinking that I could hold you in my arms all fucking day and night."

I rested my head back and lifted my chin to give him more access to my neck. His facial hair tickled me provocatively as his mouth pressed against my skin. The hand he had resting under my shirt swept up and cupped my breast. His thumb rubbed my nipple beneath the bra. He hooked his thumb on the fabric and pulled it down to free my breast. My bottom was nestled against his crotch, and I could feel his erection pushing urgently against me as his thumb stroked my nipple into a tight bud.

"It's going to be awfully damn hard pulling myself away from you tonight," he muttered against my ear. "I want to touch and kiss you every damn hour of the day."

"Stay." My mind went straight to it. Patty was right. I was lacking every inhibition needed to be a proper lady, but the last thing I wanted from Fynn was propriety. He had my mind and my emotions dashing in every different direction and my body was following right behind. "I have the house to myself. You could stay."

"Something tells me that your neighbors are already sitting at their front windows waiting for my van to leave. I don't want to be run out of town by a posse."

"I hadn't thought of that," my voice trailed off as he slid his hand down along my belly. "But then, with the way you're holding me and touching me, I'm surprised I can remember my name, let alone my nosy neighbors."

His fingers fiddled with the button on my shorts. I heard the zipper slide down as my eyes drifted shut. My chest rose and fell with short breaths, and my thighs parted as his hand slid beneath my panties. I clutched at his arms, worried that if I didn't hold on to him, I might slide right down the steps, pooling at the bottom in a hot liquid puddle.

His fingers slid between the folds of my pussy into the hot moisture that had begun to pool there. I sucked in a breath as his thumb stroked my clit.

"So exactly what is your name?" His voice was gravelly and low as he whispered against my ear.

"Huh? Twinkie?"

"That works." He nibbled my ear as his thumb worked magic on my clit. "You are sweet and tasty." A gasp shot from my lips as his fingers slipped inside of me. "And so fucking beautiful, Starshine. So fucking beautiful."

His fingers impaled me as the callused heel of his palm massaged my clit. I drew my thighs together to hold his hand tighter against me. My fingers dug into the flesh on his solid arms as I writhed against the pressure of his hand between my legs.

"Fynn, yes, Fynn." My breathy pleas circled the yard as he brought me to climax. As my pussy clenched around his hand, a groan rolled up from his chest.

"Fuck, Ella, I'd do that again and again just to hear you say my name like that." The words squeezed out of his throat. Wrapped in his arms, I could feel the tension in his entire body. It sent a thrilled shiver through me, a delicious finish to it all.

My heartbeat and my breathing slowed as my body rolled back from the orgasm. I crumpled against him like a rag doll. He held me against his chest.

"You are the last thing I ever expected to find in this town, Starshine."