Roaring up the 101 North toward the privileged community of Healdsburg—with its quaint town square, obscenely wealthy citizenry, and abundance of passionate animal lovers who donate generously to my brother’s non-profit—with Carrie’s arms around my waist makes it hard to keep my mind off all the filthy things I want to do to her as soon as I’ve fulfilled my brotherly duties. But I do manage to clear my head enough to realize there’s a flaw in my plan that I failed to notice when I was thinking with my dick.

Tristan knows me better than anyone else on earth.

Tristan also isn’t blind, and he will realize immediately that there’s something going on between Carrie and me.

And yeah, I could ask him to keep the situation on the down low—he’s a vault, and I trust him with my life, let alone my secrets—but I don’t want to burden my little brother with something he’ll be obligated to keep from Dylan and Emma. Tris doesn’t like secrets.

He’s not a fan of lies, either, but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

“You’re looking for a cat,” I murmur to Carrie after I’ve parked my bike and we’re clipping our helmets to the handlebars. “Or a dog. An emotional support animal. That’s why you asked to tag along with me today.”

Carrie squints up at me, her eyes lighting with immediate understanding. “All right. But I don’t actually have to leave with anything, do I? I love animals, don’t get me wrong, but I’m living in a tiny cottage right now and my condo HOA in Berkeley doesn’t allow pets.”

“No, you don’t have to leave with anything.” I lead the way up the path, past the outer buildings that serve as the meeting rooms and food storage, toward the large main structure where the smaller animals are housed. “Just look interested and torn about making such a big decision. Maybe a little sad, too. Whatever it takes to keep Tristan from catching on to how desperate you are for me to fuck you.”

She snorts. “Desperate, huh? I’m not the one with a semi, buddy.”

“That’s not a semi, I’m just hung like a horse,” I say, fighting a smile.

“Care to duck behind one of those buildings and let me call your bluff?”

I laugh. I can’t help it, though half of me thinks ducking behind an outbuilding is an excellent idea and the other half is ashamed of myself for having this much trouble getting my dick under control. “Fine,” I mutter. “I’ll cop to the semi if you’ll admit your panties have been wet since you woke up this morning.”

“So wet,” she whispers as we near the main entrance. “In fact, I’m wet right now. Hot and wet and oh-so-ready…”

Instantly my semi swells to something much more serious, something that strains the front of my jeans and makes further progress into the shelter impossible. “You did that on purpose,” I grit out as I grind to a halt beside the entrance, grateful that Sunday mornings are slow and there aren’t any other people around to observe my inappropriate-for-the-animal-rescue situation.

She claps me chummily on the shoulder. “I did. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry that you’re not sorry is more like it.”

Carrie laughs, a throaty chuckle that makes me want to bite her bare shoulder while I walk my fingers up her ribs, summoning more of that sexy sound from her lips. “Take a second to pull yourself together, Slick,” she says. “I’ll introduce myself to the lady at the front desk and express to her my deep, desperate need to acquire a sweet little pussycat to pet and stroke all day long.”

“Evil woman,” I force out through a clenched jaw.

More wicked laughter trails behind her as she disappears into the shelter.

But when I join her inside a few minutes later, her pretty face is pulled into a fretful expression as she flips through a binder showcasing the photos of pets available for adoption. “Thanks so much for letting me look,” she says to a familiar freckled girl behind the counter. I vaguely remember meeting her a few months ago when I was here to help Tristan fix the transmission on one of the shelter’s vans, but sadly her name didn’t stick in my memory bank.

“Of course,” Freckles says, smiling up at me before turning her attention back to Carrie. “Thanks for being understanding about our policies. The animals get so worked up when new people come in that we try to limit in-person pet browsing as much as possible. But if one of our buddies catches your eye, I can absolutely get you guys set up for a visit in one of the playrooms.”

“I don’t know how I’ll ever choose,” Carrie says. “They’re all so adorable. Aw, look at this little guy!”

I glance over her shoulder, brows lifting. “Little? That dog’s bigger than you are.”

“Bear’s about one hundred and eighty pounds of pure Saint Bernard,” Freckles confirms. “And sheds and drools like it’s his job. Super sweet guy, but probably not the best bet if you’re living in a smaller space.”

Carrie’s nose wrinkles. “I am. Very small. Tiny, in fact.”

She resumes flipping, and Freckles jabs a thumb over her shoulder. “Tristan’s already out back pulling up the rotten fence posts, Rafe. Just head down the hall, all the way to the end, last door on the left.”

“Thanks.” I nod and start around the desk, leaving Freckles and Carrie discussing the barking tendencies of miniature pinchers vs. Chihuahuas, feeling awful that I can’t remember the woman’s name.

But I’ve always struggled with names, even with women I want to sleep with, and Freckles isn’t my kind of girl. She’s cute in a wholesome sort of way—glossy brown hair, pink cheeks, sparkly blue eyes—but she’s obviously the sensitive sort, the kind who would get attached or hurt or both, and I don’t mess with breakable people. I prefer women who are like me, with a thick skin and a sense of humor, who don’t take life or love too seriously.

Women like the vixen leaning over the counter, granting me a heart-stopping glimpse down the front of her shirt as I pause at the end of the hall.

Damn, she’s sexy. I can’t remember the last time I was this eager to get a woman home, in my bed, under me and over me and—

Focus, man. Focus, finish, and head for home.

Determined to repair faster than I’ve ever repaired before, I push through the door and head toward the edge of the property.

Back here, the air is warmer than it is in front of the building, the morning sun already baking the exposed earth on the treeless hill. I find my brother at the far side of the paddock, surrounded by a pile of weathered old wood.

“Termites?” I kick an uprooted post that immediately cracks under the slight pressure.

“Or wood-boring beetles. Pain in my ass.” Tristan runs a gloved hand over his short hair, making it stick up in spikes. Tristan and I are both the spitting image of our Italian mother—dark hair, dark eyes, and olive skin—but my brother is usually far more pulled together. I’m the shaggy, scruffy before picture, and he’s the polished, well-manicured after shot.

But today, in a pair of old jeans and a sweat-stained T-shirt with wood dust in his hair, Tristan is channeling his inner farm boy. Though, he looks skinnier than the last time we hooked up in Mercyville to throw together a shed for my dad, and his jaw is spotted with uneven stubble.

“You taking care of yourself, baby brother?” I ask, slapping him lightly on the shoulder. “Remembering to eat and sleep and shit like that?”

Tristan sighs. “You sound like Zoey. I’m fine.”

Zoey. That’s it. I pull up a mental image of Freckles and do my best to slap a label on it so I won’t forget her name next time, then return my focus to my brother’s face. “You don’t look fine. You look tired and like you could use a burger. Maybe two.”

He shakes his head. “The board decided we need a big summer fundraiser. In three weeks. And they still haven’t found an event coordinator.”

I grunt. “So, work stuff. Nothing to do with Kim?”

“Yes, work stuff,” Tristan says, crouching down to pick up a freshly cut post. “Kim moved last week.”

“Moved where?”

“Australia.” Tristan jabs the stake into an empty hole in the earth. “She took an assistant winemaker job in Coonawarra, sold her car, and left. And if all goes well, she’s never coming back.”

“I’m sorry, man.” I grab the bucket of pre-mixed concrete and fill in the hole around the post.

“Don’t be sorry, just don’t give me anything else to worry about,” Tristan says, voice dropping as he adds, “I saw you ride up with Carrie on the back of your bike. You two looked pretty chummy.”

Inwardly, I curse myself for not taking the view from the back of the property into consideration. Outwardly, I shrug. “Just trying to cheer her up. She’s pretty down about those pictures her ex leaked to the press. I thought a ride and some time with the animals would cheer her up.”

“Just make sure the ride doesn’t end in her pants.”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” I say.

Tristan shoots me a hard look over the top of the post he’s holding in place while the concrete sets.

“Fine.” I lift my hands to my sides. “I promise, Carrie and I are just friends, and that’s all we’re ever going to be.”

Friends, who sleep together, I add—silently, because I know better than to try to explain the situation to Tristan. As far as I know, Tris has only slept with one woman—Kim, his high school girlfriend and the one true love of his life.

Or at least she was the one true love until she told him she wanted to see other people and moved halfway around the world.

He’s never experienced sex without emotion, and he certainly wouldn’t believe me if I assured him that Carrie and I are a zero-risk proposition.

Better to tell a white lie and spare him the stress.

“Good,” Tristan says after a beat, apparently satisfied. “Everything’s solid with the family right now, and I’d like for it to stay that way. And I don’t want Carrie to get hurt, either. She’s sweet.”

A soft grunt of laughter escapes my throat before I can swallow it down.

“She is. Have you read her books?” he asks, a challenge in his voice.

“No, I don’t read fiction. Especially kid fiction.”

“Well, you should. You’re missing some good stuff. And I think Carrie’s stories would give you a window into who she really is.” Tristan grabs another post from the freshly-cut pile. “I’m telling you, the tough girl act is just that—an act. She’s sensitive, and I’m sure she’s even more so after all the shit that’s going down right now. So, either be her friend, or leave her alone. I don’t want to be pissed at you. I’m already pissed off enough.”

Ignoring the irritation sparking in my chest—I don’t appreciate being painted as a womanizing monster, especially since I’ve always done my best to be good to the women I’ve been involved with—I nod. Tristan is going through a hard time himself, and he has a right to take his turn being a cranky bastard. Dylan and I have certainly done our share of grousing over the years while Tris remained the steady, thoughtful, even-handed brother.

“I hear you,” I say. “And I’m glad you’re pissed. That means you’ve moved on from feeling miserable and depressed, right?”

“Hell, I don’t know.” Tristan adjusts the post, making sure it’s straight as I pour in the concrete. “I guess so. At least for today. It helps that it’s already Monday where Kim is. We’re not even living in the same day anymore. She’s in a future that’s not my future, and I’m just…going to have to make the best of it.”

“Want to go grab beers later? Maybe play some pool?” I ask, even as my libido howls in protest. It wants to spend quality naked time with Carrie in our blanket fort of silence, not hanging out with anyone with a dick. But Tristan is on my list of people I’ll pass up getting laid for.

It’s a short list—very short—but he’s on it.

Thankfully, however, he shakes his head. “Thanks, but I’ve got to take Luke to the vet in town after we’re done. He broke into Zoey’s apartment above the exam room again and ate one of her socks.”

I arch a brow. ‘This is a common occurrence?”

“Sadly, yes,” Tristan says. “He’s got a hardcore dog crush on her, and it manifests in a compulsion to break into her place and eat her clothing. At least he didn’t get her underwear this time. Last time, he got a pair of pink briefs. She was so mortified, poor thing. I’ve never seen someone blush that red. I was afraid she was going to quit and force me to hire three people to take her place. No way anyone else would get as much done as she does and agree to live on site so someone’s always here in case of an emergency.”

“Want me to take a look at the lock on her door while I’m here?” I ask, figuring I can spare the time since the paddock repair is going faster than I expected.

“That would be great. Thanks, man. I picked up a new lock at the hardware store this morning, but you’ll be able to install it faster than I could.”

We finish with the paddock, and while Tristan cleans up, I head up to Zoey’s and swap in the new lock, but I can already tell this is going to be a continuing problem. The mounting screws in the door jamb are too short. Until they’re replaced, Luke is going to keep shoving his way inside and laying waste to Zoey’s panty and sock collection. I make a note of the size screws I’ll need to grab for a final fix and head back down to the main office to find Carrie behind the desk, flipping through a small mountain of paperwork.

“Don’t tell me,” I say, “you caved and adopted a Saint Bernard we’re going to have to figure out how to get back to your place on a Harley built for two.”

Carrie looks up with a distracted grin before squinting at something on the page in front of her. “No, I did something worse—I got a job.”

“Carrie’s going to coordinate the summer fundraiser,” Tristan says, popping out from the office on the other side of the desk. “Thank you again for agreeing to help us out, Carrie. You’re a lifesaver. I might actually be able to sleep a few hours tonight.”

“My pleasure,” she says, clicking a window closed on the computer. “And we shouldn’t have any trouble pulling something together in three weeks. In my old job at the bookstore, I pulled off fundraisers in less time and we always had great turn outs, even without adorable animals to suck the public in. This will be even easier. I’ll send Zoey a list of everything I need to build the web page tonight and get back to you tomorrow with a few options for event themes.”

“Perfect,” Tristan says, giving her a thumbs-up. “Zoey popped out to go grocery shopping, but I’m sure she’ll get back to you quickly—she always does—and I’ll send over your independent contractor paperwork tonight so we can make sure you get paid before the end of next week.”

Carrie shakes her head. “No way, Tristan, I don’t need—”

“We insist on paying you,” he cuts in with a warm smile. “So don’t even try to argue with me. We don’t take advantage of people around here, especially family.”

“Well, thank you.” Carrie rises from the chair and gathers the stack of folders into her arms with a smile. “You Hunters are a generous group of people. No doubt about that.”

Her tone is pure innocence, but her words are pointed enough that once we’ve said our goodbyes and are ambling down the path to the parking lot, I can’t resist asking, “I agree the Hunters are generous as a rule, but I’m the most generous, right?”

She grins. “You were so generous yesterday that I’ve felt guilty all day.”

“Ridiculous.” I stop beside my bike, opening the saddlebag. “You shouldn’t feel guilty. I enjoy being generous.”

“But I do, too,” she says, sliding her folder collection inside the bag and snapping it shut again. “I love it, in fact, so I insist on going first today.”

“Going first?” I ask, though I have a pretty good idea what’s on her mind.

“Going down first,” she clarifies, sending a bolt of awareness surging between my legs. She steps closer, tilting her head back to hold my gaze as she adds, “I want you in my mouth, Valentine. I want to know what you taste like when you lose control.”

“Rafe in public,” I correct, but my heart isn’t in it. My heart is in my throat and my balls are heavy and pulsing and my dick is trying out his Incredible Hulk impression, determined to burst through my jeans if that’s what it takes to get to Carrie ASAP.

I’m dying to wrap an arm around her curvy body, pull her close, and devour her mouth with mine, giving her a taste of the way I intend to claim every inch of her as soon as we get back to my place. Instead—aware of the prying eyes that could be watching from the main building—I make meaningful eye contact.

Hot, intense, I’m-going-to-fuck-you-so-thoroughly-you’ll-be-screaming-my-name-before-the-night-is-through eye contact and whisper, “Get your helmet on. Now.”

“Why? Are we in a hurry?” she teases, but her voice is breathy and her nipples are hard beneath the thin cotton of her tank top.

Soon, they’re going to be in my mouth and she’s going to be squirming beneath me like she was last night, but this time I won’t have to be a gentleman.

This time, I’ll be able to keep going until we’re both wasted on each other and feeling no pain. Not even a little bit.