BLURB

Ward Andrade. Former Navy SEAL. Reluctant hero. Moody loner. Spectacular in the sack. At least, he had been before the only life he’d ever wanted chewed him up and spit him out. Now? Who the hell knew? It’s been three years and he’s still taking one day at a time.

Quinn Devlin. Old money. Unapologetic optimist. Complete klutz. Self-confessed black sheep. At least, that’s how she’s felt her entire life, especially by the people who mattered most. Now? Who cares? After years of battling her family, she’s finally living life her way, on her own terms.

Bookish and clumsy weren’t attributes Ward normally went for in a woman, but for Quinn, he’d make an exception. Quinn didn’t usually get the hots for banged up, surly bad boys either, but when Ward looks at her with those dark, tortured eyes of his, she can’t do anything else.

Ward is used to pushing people away, but that doesn’t work on Quinn. Besides, she makes him laugh. A first. She’s everything he never knew he needed and nothing he deserves, but… He could be hers. For good. All he has to do is let her close.

 

EXCERPT

“So, why are you here, Ward?”

Yeah. The main event. He took a deep breath. “Sit. Please,” he added when she just stared at him.

He shoved his hands back in his pockets when she walked past him to sit on the sofa, making sure he didn’t do anything dumb like give in to the urge to touch her. He fought back the smile when he noticed she had a big-ass stain of something right down the front of her shirt.

“I was a dick to you yesterday.”

“And?” she fired back without hesitation.

Christ. He never expected this to be easy, but…

“And I figured I owed you an explanation.”

“Why?”

Yeah, why? Fucked if he knew. It just was. He was pretty sure he wouldn’t have given it another thought if it were anyone but Quinn.

“Seems I care what you think. Go figure.”

She frowned. “If it’s about the kiss, you know, that I kissed you— And you didn’t— Well, it’s fine. Really.”

“No. Quinn. This is me trying to say I’m sorry I acted the way I did about it. I was an asshole.”

“Okay.” She inclined her head to him slightly, shrugged. “Forget it.”

“Yeah, see…that’s the thing.” He swallowed back the lump in his throat. “I can’t forget it. That kiss? Kinda blew my mind.”

How many women had he kissed and never fucked? He couldn’t think of one. Not a single one. Actually, sometimes the kissing was optional and most of the time the fucking came first. With Quinn, the kiss alone had almost been enough to get him off.

She frowned. “It did?”

“Yeah. And for the record? I kissed you back.”

“I know. So why did you—”

“There are reasons I—I have… Shit.”

He dragged in a deep breath. This explaining yourself stuff was for the fucking birds. He wasn’t used to having to account for his actions, had no experience with it.

“My injuries,” he tried again. “It— I can’t—” He scrubbed his hand down over his face. “I told you what kissing like that leads to and I can’t fuck you the way I’d want to and that pisses me off. Okay?”

There. He couldn’t get much simpler than that.

Her eyes went wide. “You mean, you have problems…” Her gaze dropped down, her face white, her expression just short of horrified. “You know…with…”

“No.” He ground his teeth. “No. Nothing like that.” Not really. “I get up. I get off. No problem. But I—I can’t… I’m not— Damn, Quinn, there are days I can barely bend it, okay?”

“Your…thing usually bends?”

“My leg,” he choked out. Thing? God. “My leg. I can’t put much weight directly on it. I can’t…”

Of all the things he’d thought about that he wanted to do to her since that kiss, the images that had tormented him, the positions. All pretty much impossible for him.

She tilted her head to the side in a move he was coming to recognize as trademark Quinn. “You’re worried about your performance?”

No. Yes. “Not exactly.”

“Then what?”

“It wouldn’t be… It’s probably not going to be…”

“So it’s an ego thing?”

“No.”

“You’re scared?”

“I’ve worked through scared before, plenty of times.” He shook his head. “It’s not about me. I have some…limitations. I’m not— I used to be…”

Aw, fuck.

“Well, I didn’t know you before,” she said, her voice quiet. “You mean your limited mobility hampers your…prowess? Cramps your style?”

He let out a rough breath, narrowed his eyes at the curve of her lips. “You could put it that way.” Christ, was she laughing at him?

“I mean…don’t you know?”

“No.”

It should only take a second.

Her mouth dropped open. “You’re kidding. Right?”

“As if,” he snorted.

She frowned. “But that’s… God, how long is that?”

“A hell of a long time.”

But who was counting? Shit. He was, that’s who. Three years. Three. Long. Fucking. Years.

Quinn stood. “But…why? I don’t understand. You haven’t had sex with a woman due to the injury to your leg because you’re worried you’re not as good in bed as you used to be?”

Put like that he sounded ridiculous, his concerns minor, and to some, maybe they were. He’d always prided himself on being good at sex. Hell, better than good. And more than part of it was pleasing the woman he happened to be with. Thoroughly. Now? He didn’t have a lot to give in that department these days so to him it was a big fucking deal.

“I get it.” She nodded. “This is expectation management 101, right?”

“Huh?”

“Well, you lead me to believe anything between us would be mediocre and then you rock my world with your hard body self and then I’ll be like ‘wow, didn’t see that coming’?”

“Yeah. I wish.” He shook his head, held back the smile that was the last thing he felt like doing, and tried to ignore the churning in the bottom of his gut along with the tension that twisted every good muscle he still had. If only that was all. If fucking only. He’d tried, tried to make her see, understand—over and over—and still couldn’t tell her all of it.

To hell with it.

He grabbed her hand and urged her toward him, pushed her open palm against himself, down low, hard, until she—