“Ah, shit! Sorry!”

The familiar male voice rang out, but it took a while for Cal to process. He was too deep in the moment, with a head stuffed with cotton and a raging erection from the woman beneath him. Nothing mattered except his readiness to dive deep and forget about anything else but claiming her for his.

But Morgan stiffened beneath him, going so still, he wondered if she’d become a statue. And then it hit him.

Son of a bitch. Tristan was home.

Slowly, he tugged down her shirt, removed his hand, and shifted so he covered most of the view. “It’s past midnight. Why are you here?”

Tristan slapped his hand over his eyes and backed away from the counter. “I’m not here. Go back to what you were doing, I didn’t see a thing. Hi, Morgan.”

Her voice came out strangled. “Hi, Tristan.”

“I came for my wine. Umm, is there leftover peach pie?”

Cal let out an irritated breath. “I ate it.”

“Dude, I only had a piece.”

“Dalton ate most of it. There’s a bag of Ruffles in the pantry. Take that instead, then go.”

His brother ducked his head to grab the bag of chips, keeping his eyes covered the whole time. This was ridiculous. The mood was completely broken, and he was screwed in an entirely new way. The bad way. Not the good way.

“Is there dip?”

“Tristan!”

“Sorry, I’m sorry, I’m gone. Carry on.”

His brother disappeared with the chips and a bottle of very expensive red. Okay, how was he gonna save this situation? “Sweetheart, let me—”

She threw her hand up in the air, halting him midsentence. “No, Cal, don’t. I’ve gotten arrested for prostitution, thought I hurt a dog, made out with my business partner on the kitchen floor, and found myself half-naked in a compromising position by your brother. I’m exhausted, embarrassed, confused, and still turned on from one of the best kisses I’ve ever had. I’m going to bed. Alone. See you in the morning.”

Pivoting on her bare heel, head held high like Queen Elizabeth, she stalked out and left him alone.

Cal grinned. Best kiss ever, huh?

Oh, yeah. Morgan Raines was gonna be a hell of a lot of trouble. But also a hell of a lot of fun.

chapter twelve

Morgan dragged in a deep breath and climbed out of the car. Gripping her clipboard way too tight, she tried to calm her galloping heart. With each step toward Caleb, the events of that night roared in her memory in vivid, blasting neon.

His body pinning hers. Legs tangled, mouths fused, that delicious pounding heat between her legs that drowned out every reasonable thought. She’d wanted to give him anything and everything, everywhere and every way. When was the last time she’d ever felt so needed? Like she was the only thing in the world that would slake his hunger? That type of power was addictive. And it had only been a kiss. If he took her to bed, would she lose not only her body but her mind? Soul? And, God forbid, her heart?

She shivered in the blast of sun. She’d played with the idea of engaging in an affair, but after that kiss, Morgan changed her mind. It was too complicated. She wasn’t a gambler with her love life. How bad she craved to be one of those kick-ass, fearless women who could take her pleasure and walk away in a few months unscarred.

But she wasn’t. She couldn’t lie to herself. If she took Cal as her lover, he’d end up sneaking past her defenses, and they’d both end up hurt. The project would eventually suffer—how could it not? Regret flooded her but there was no other way to protect herself. Better to know and accept her limitations than leap for something that would only cause pain. Her job forced her to live like a nomad, and she liked it. At the end of the project, what if she got attached to Cal? How would she handle it? Even worse, the possibility that she’d fall for him and he’d walk away without a backward glance sliced deep. No, the gamble held bad odds. She had four months left to build this house and needed to focus. Involving herself in a fling with a man who could snatch her heart wasn’t wise.

She reached the site. Her mouth dried up as she watched him swipe his forehead and stride toward her. Strands of umber hair fell messily over his forehead and stuck up in odd places. His navy-blue T-shirt was damp with sweat, his muscles solid and tanned from the endless sun. Worn jeans hugged every hard curve with loving efficiency. Now she knew how good those thighs felt pressing her body to the hard ground. His gunmetal eyes glowed fierce and hot, touching her with their gaze, reminding her of every hidden place his fingers had stroked.

He stopped in front of her and scowled. Those full lips turned down. “You snuck out. Didn’t even let me make you breakfast.”

Morgan tried nonchalance. “I had a lot to do.”

“How’d you get home?”

She blinked. “Cab.”

He leaned in. His jaw tightened. “I got worried. I would’ve driven you home.”

She loved his masculine code of chivalry, but she was used to taking care of herself. She’d freaked out a bit over the kiss. It was as if they’d formed a tight bond that went beyond a simple make-out session. The hotel seemed a much better place to wake up in. “Worried I didn’t get to sample your five-star French toast breakfast?”

He studied her face, then shook his head. Muttered under his breath something about stubborn women. “I’m sorry about my brother. Sorry if I pushed too far. I lose my head around you.”

Fascinated, she tilted her head to study his gorgeous face. No man had ever said anything like that to her before. She wasn’t a woman to inspire mad lust or impulsive kitchen-floor sex. “Is that a line?”

“I’ll prove it tonight. I’m cooking you dinner.”

She jerked back. “Tonight doesn’t work. I’m busy.”

His lower lip tugged. “No, you aren’t. Six p.m. We need to talk about some things.”

“I’m not sleeping with you,” she burst out. Then clapped her hand over her mouth. No, she hadn’t said it aloud. Had she? Was she insane?

He looked delighted at the outburst. “Fine. But you’re eating with me.”

She squirmed. God, she wanted to. God, she didn’t. “Can you actually cook?”

“Yes. Don’t worry, I’ll satisfy you.”