Roarke straightened, stretched, tried to ease out the kinks in his back. It was damn hard nailing window trim while balanced on crutches. It was taking him twice as fucking long to do everything today.

It didn’t help that every time he stopped work, the shocked look on Marina’s face forced itself into his head. He still couldn’t believe he’d kissed her. In anyone’s book it’d been a dick move.

That kiss might have been the most selfish thing he’d ever done. It also might have made him the biggest jerk alive, but he hadn’t been able to force himself to walk away without a single touch, without a taste of her at least.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d kissed a woman, the last time he’d even wanted to. He’d fucked. A handful of brief, unsatisfying hookups until he’d finally given up on those too. It was fucking pathetic, but one kiss from Marina was so much more than all of those combined. And yet it still hadn’t been enough.

She’d kissed him back, there was no question of that, but it’d been soft, tentative. He’d wanted her tongue in his mouth, her hands fisted in his hair, he’d wanted her to grind herself against his hard-on until she came.

What he would have done if she had, he had no clue because he’d had no intention of taking it any further. They’d been standing in front of the fucking hospital for starters.

So they had some insane chemistry or whatever the fuck it was. He could have asked her out. Like a normal guy. Except he wasn’t a normal guy. Maybe he didn’t even know what that meant anymore.

He’d accepted a long time ago something had been ripped out of him, severed, and he had no clue how to fix it. He still didn’t. And maybe he didn’t want to. There was safety in being emotionally paralyzed. He’d have to be a moron not to recognize that.

He’d played around with the idea of apologizing. Nixed it just as fast. Anyway, none of that mattered now. He needed to get his head back in the game. He’d had a shit load of work to make up even before he’d decided to be a damn hero.

He raised his hands above his head and tried a light stretch of his side, wincing at the twinge. Living in whatever flip had a finished bathroom had always seemed so practical. No commute and he could work all hours of the day and night on his own schedule. And he didn’t need much, certainly not all the hassle that came with a fully decked out house, but getting up and down from his mattress on the floor tonight was going to be a bitch. He swallowed against the immediate heat that surged through him because he’d thought about him and Marina on that bed all fucking day. Her soft body under his. At how it might feel to pump into her, hard and deep. How she’d wrap herself around him, maybe dig her nails into his back.

He frowned when he heard the knock. He had people coming and going from the site all the time and not one of them had ever knocked. Besides, he always left the front door wide open.

He put the nail gun aside, snagged the crutches and made fast work to the front of the house. He still had shit everywhere, but he’d spent some of the day reorganizing his equipment and supplies so that he had enough clearance to get around.

He froze when he reached the front door.

“Nice place you have here,” she drawled.

“Marina,” he breathed. Yeah, to the untrained eye it must look like a disaster zone. “What are you doing here?”

It was the first time he’d seen her in anything other than the blue scrubs. The black stretchy pants emphasized the shape of her legs, the snug white tank the shape of her breasts. Small, curvy and compact. His throat went dry.

Her gaze swept over the big open room with its new drywall. “This is some hard-core renovating. You wouldn’t know anything about roofs, would you?”

“Roofs?”

“Yeah, apparently I need a new one.”

“Ouch.”

She sighed. “Yeah.”

There was a lot simmering in that one word. He should mind his own business, stay the hell out of it.

“Where’s your house?”

Too late.

She frowned. “Why?”

“Maybe I can take a look?”

At her raised eyebrows, he cursed under his breath. There was nothing he hated more than trying to explain himself. Unless it was talking about himself.

“I’m a general contractor. I’m not just renovating this house. I flip houses for a living. I might know a thing or two about roofs.”

“Oh. I’m over on Gibson. It’s—”

“The house with the yellow mailbox?”

She frowned. “How did you know that?”

Shit. She was close, practically in his backyard.

“I look at all houses that go on the market within a fifteen mile radius between a certain price range.”

He was always looking for the next house. Plus, he needed to keep a close watch on what houses were selling for. He’d looked at her house himself when it was for sale, discarded it because there’d been too many unknowns.

“You don’t need a new roof,” he bit out.

“What? Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. The roof on that house was in great condition. You probably have a leak. I have a roofing guy who can come by to take a look at it. Fair warning, though. Mike will arrive in a beat-up old truck. He’ll be wearing dirty work clothes. He’ll scribble a bunch of stuff in an old notebook. But he’s the best roofing guy there is. He’s honest and fair. He’ll tell you exactly what you need. Or don’t need. Okay?”

“Um…sure. Thank you.”

He heard the relief, the hope in her words. It shouldn’t have mattered to him, but the burn in his chest told him it did.

“So what are you doing here?” he repeated.

His stomach clenched when she pulled the small envelope out of her bag. He ground his back teeth together until his jaw popped. He didn’t need her to tell him what it was.

“Didn’t we already have this conversation?” he bit out.

And they both knew how that’d ended.

“I don’t want thanks, I don’t need gratitude and I’m not looking for any fucking accolades,” he added.

She kept her arm outstretched, her gaze steady. “I promised I’d give it to you, so I will. Take it. Even if you trash it, burn it, whatever.”

He let out a rough breath. “You always keep your promises?”

She frowned. “Always. Don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

Because she probably didn’t realize how rare that was, he reached out and grabbed the envelope, stuffing it in the back pocket of his jeans before he changed his mind.

“How did you find me?”

“I—” Hot color flooded her cheeks. She cleared her throat. “You put this address on your discharge paperwork. I—I couldn’t help notice. I only live a few streets over, so I thought…”

“Thought what?”

He was being an ass, because he could see it in her eyes—attraction, interest. Hunger.

All of a sudden all those fantasies he’d tormented himself with all day didn’t seem so far-fetched after all. And that was a problem. A big problem.

She lifted her chin a fraction. “I want to know why you kissed me.”

Fuck.

“Are you here for an apology?”

Because he would. If she wanted him to. She deserved a lot more than that.

“No. Unless you’re sorry about it.”

Yeah, he couldn’t claim that.

“I was thinking…maybe you could do it again. You know, when I’m not caught off guard. Or on duty.”

Holy. Shit.

All the air left his lungs. His usually steady heartbeat kicked into high gear. Need burst in his gut and lower until he hardened in an instant.

Kissing wasn’t his thing, so why did he have the urge to grab her to him and do just that? Just when he thought it was the dumbest idea he’d ever had, he leaned forward, convincing himself none of it mattered. And that he’d just take a taste. One taste. Because no way could it have been as good as he remembered.

“Wait.”

He froze. Was she kidding?

“Last time I wasn’t ready.” She took a deep breath, licked her lips, rubbed them together.

If need wasn’t a pounding, roaring drumbeat inside him he might have smiled.

“Okay.” She nodded. “I’m ready.”

When he didn’t move she frowned. “Or did that just destroy the spontaneity?”

She was close, so close he could smell her hair. He bent toward her and his breath caught when she stepped forward, tipped her mouth up to his.

As balanced as he was with the crutches he could only use one arm. He slid a hand around to her lower back, eased her the final few inches until she was pressed up against him.

She sucked in a breath. Yeah, no way she could miss the hard-on, but he wanted to be sure she knew what she was dealing with. Full disclosure before he put his hands on her.

He wanted to crush his mouth against hers, take what she offered, take it hard and fast from the get-go. Instead, he leaned down and sucked her bottom lip into his mouth until she gasped. He swept his tongue over it, tugged on it again, was rewarded with another gasp.

Her tongue touched against his, soft and gentle at first, the second time more daring. The third time she whimpered and thrust into his mouth, bold and forceful.

Yeah. Fuck.

He groaned, angled his head and covered her mouth with his, taking over control, sucking at her tongue, sweeping his own against and over hers, dominating it and her.

Her hands fisted in the t-shirt at his waist when he ground her lower body against his. She trembled, arched further against him. And then her hands were under his shirt, against the skin of his lower back, hot and soft and smooth.

Damn. He wanted his hands on her skin. Now. He pulled back, swallowed back the shaft of satisfaction at her moan and edged his fingers up and under her own shirt.

Everything in him stilled when movement behind her caught his attention.

“Shit.” He sighed at the familiar truck at the curb. “My guys are here.”

Her eyes opened, slow and dazed. “What?”

“My crew. They just pulled up.”

“Seriously? Now?”

Her lips were red and swollen and wet from his, her eyes glazed with need, her cheeks flushed.

“Yeah.”

Perfect fucking timing. Today, of all days they had to check in here before knocking off.

She stepped back from him, her eyes flicking down to the bulge he had no hope of hiding. She was breathing heavy and damn, her nipples were hard points against her tank. What he wouldn’t give to have had a chance to see them, take them in his mouth, suck on them until—

“I get off work tomorrow at the same time.” Her voice was low, husky and it sent a shiver down his spine. “I could swing by here and—”

“Marina,” he breathed, running an unsteady hand down over his face because what the fuck was he really doing? “Do you even see me?”

“What do you mean?”

He spread an arm wide.

“Look at me. I’m a loner. A moody asshole. A mean son of a bitch if you like. If you called me anti-social that’d be a huge fucking under-statement. The last thing I want or need is a girlfriend.”

There. Up-front. Blunt and to the point.

“Good. I’m not interested in being one.”

He frowned. “I’m just trying to be honest.”

She gave him a long, pointed look. “Try harder.”

His lips tightened at the implied criticism, the challenge in her words. What the fuck did that even mean? He didn’t get a chance to ask because she turned to go. He couldn’t have stopped his eyes dropping to the curves of her ass if his life depended on it.

He gave her more leeway than he would any other person. And just why the hell was that?

* * * * *

Marina didn’t knock this time. She wandered in the open front door, stepping over and around…stuff. Construction stuff. Everywhere. It was hard to imagine Roarke living in this mess.

He’d taken out some walls, stripped out everything down to its shell. It’s what she’d imagined doing to her own house. She’d had a bunch of grand plans to open up the living room, renovate the kitchen, the two bathrooms, build out a room as a playroom for Sam. That was, before the bills piled up and living week-to-week was as much as she could manage.

She ran her hands down each thigh as she wandered through to the kitchen. So she was nervous. So what? It wasn’t everyday she decided she was going to go for it with the hot, sexy guy. The hot, sexy guy who didn’t want anything permanent. What could be more perfect?

God, she’d never done anything like this before. Not even close. She didn’t even have a regular sitter for Sam. Luckily, she’d swallowed the guilt and organized a last-minute sleepover for her, tried to convince herself it didn’t make her a bad mommy.

She’d agonized over what to wear. In the end she’d gone with simple—a simple black top and flowy black and white knee-length skirt. Heat flooded her face. Simple and easy to take off might have factored in to it. She’d even rummaged for nice underwear she hadn’t worn in longer than she could remember. She might have had to dust those off.

“Hey.”

Marina jumped when Roarke appeared out of nowhere. He hadn’t made a sound, even with the crutches.

Oh boy.

He’d just showered, his hair still damp. He was wearing jeans and another of those snug t-shirts, the ones that hugged his chest, showed off his muscled biceps and hinted at the ink that covered him. It was almost as good as the sight of him with the dusty cargoes and the tool belt yesterday. Almost. His beard was cropped close to his hard jaw as if he’d recently trimmed it. Her stomach starting flip-flopping. Hard.

“Hey yourself.”

Even her voice sounded shaky, mirroring the tiny tremors that chased up and down her legs.

Was there some type of etiquette in these situations? Should she do something? Say something? Should he?

“Mike went by to take a look at your roof today.”

God, as if she needed the extra jolt to her stomach. “And?”

She swallowed, reminded herself it couldn’t be worse than the eight thousand she’d already been quoted.

“The flashing around a pipe and a couple vents needs to be replaced. He said about five hundred. Looked as if it’d been leaking for awhile. Maybe a little more if he needs to replace any tiles or plywood once he starts.”

“Dollars?” she breathed.

“Yeah.”

God. The guy she’d gotten the quote from had arrived in a fancy new truck, had been wearing a button-down shirt and had taken notes on a tablet. He’d emailed her the quote before he left. That should have been her first clue.

“I— That’s great. Thank you.”

His gaze raked over her and her heart beat kicked up again.

“Marina, I’ve been thinking,” he ground out. “This was a mistake.”

“I—” Marina frowned. “What?”

“I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”

“This?”

He waved his hand in her general direction. He still hadn’t looked her in the eyes.

“Are—are you serious?” she managed. She should have felt embarrassed, awkward, but fuck all that.

“I’m sorry, I—”

“Do you realize I’m wearing my most uncomfortable bra?”

“What? God, why?”

“Because it makes my tits look perky. And I shaved my legs for you, damn it.” She swallowed back the sting at the back of her throat. “And not just my legs. Not that you’ll ever get to see that.”

Heat flooded her cheeks when his gaze dropped between her thighs.

“Do you know how many dates I’ve been on? Ever?”

His eyes met hers. Finally. “Marina—”

“None. A big fat zero. And this was going to be a first for me too. Goddamn it, I took a chance on you, Roarke. I stepped out of my comfort zone and took a chance on you and you blew it.”

His eyes narrowed on her. “So, you’re here for a quickie? Is that it? You’re cock hungry and you think I can do something about it?”

If she hadn’t gotten to know him so well she’d say his look was detached, even cold, but there was heat in his dark eyes. For her.

So she came to sleep with him. No strings, just hot sex. So what and why not? Why couldn’t she just own it? She was a grown woman. With needs. Adult woman needs. And her pussy wanted him to satisfy those needs.

She felt hot color flood her cheeks, fought to keep from slapping her hands up to cover them. God, even just thinking a word like that made her blush.

One of his eyebrows lifted. “Must have been a good thought,” he drawled.

She lifted her chin. For one, she had to if she wanted to look him square in the eyes. For another, it just might help with projecting the confidence she didn’t have when it came to stuff like this. Or not.

“Yes,” she managed.

“Yes?” He frowned. “Yes what?”

“Yes, I’m here for a quickie. Not my choice of expression, but yes, technically you could say I’m cock hungry and yes, I absolutely think you can do something about it.” She glanced down at his crotch, at the bulge she couldn’t miss. That more than anything gave her the courage to continue. “In fact, I know you can.”

He closed his eyes for a split second, shook his head. “I’m a coward, Marina.”

Was he kidding?

“I know for a fact that’s not true. In so many ways.”

“Then I’m a coward about stuff like this.”

She took a step toward him and frowned when he inched back with the crutches, the move awkward. “Stuff like this?”

He waved a hand in her direction. “Man, woman, dating stuff. I’m not wired for it. Not anymore.”

“That’s such bullshit.”

His brows shot down low over his eyes. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with here.”

She took another step, wanting, needing to touch him. He eased back out of her reach. Again.

“Why are you moving away from me?” she murmured.

“Because you scare the hell out of me.”

She froze at that. “I do? Why?”

“Dammit, Marina. Because you deserve more than a hard fuck and no follow-up and yet that’s exactly what I want to give you, that’s all I can give you.”

“Roarke—”

“I won’t call you, Marina. Even if we screw and it blows my mind, I still won’t call you afterward.”

“Why not?”

He looked at her for so long she thought he wasn’t going to answer.

“I just won’t,” he finally ground out. “When I came back…”

“Came back? Came back from where?”

His features hardened.

“Never mind.”

She wasn’t sure she wanted to know, not really. Who knew what hell he’d seen, experienced? She couldn’t hope to imagine, had no context to be able to understand.

“Look.” He pushed out a rough breath. “You deserve so much better than that. I thought I could, but I can’t. I’m really sorry. I am.”

“God, if you say that one more time I’ll—”

“What? Throat punch me?”

Marina smiled—sort of—although it was the last thing she felt like doing.

He ran the fingers of one hand up over his face and into his hair, clenching it in place in the thick strands. The muscles of his biceps bulged.

“Honestly? I’ve been a loner for so long I don’t know how to be anything else.”

“Oh, Roarke.”

His eyes flashed dark. “I’m not looking for a pity fuck either.”

She burst out laughing this time. “Are you serious?”

He scowled at her.

“God, Roarke, look at you. You’re…” she borrowed his gesture and waved her hand in his direction.

“I’m…?” he prompted.

Muscled. Tatted. And sexy as hell. Just looking at him did things to her she didn’t think possible.

“Hot. Trust me, no one is going to fuck you because they feel sorry for you.” She sighed. “Do you know how long it’s been since I had sex?”

“Marina—”

“Do you know the only man I’ve ever been with is my ex-husband? We met in high school. I never did the whole dating thing. He was my first boyfriend. My only boyfriend. I’ve never so much as kissed another man. Except for you.”

And how pathetic did that sound?

He swallowed. “Not my problem.”

She pulled at her bottom lip with her teeth, watched his dark gaze flare at the movement. “I ache, Roarke. I ache for someone to touch me, really touch me.”

A pulse ticked at his temple, his jaw flexed. “I’m not that guy.”

“So I should find someone else?”