She shrugs. “Well, my parents know that I’m working on your family’s estate, and . . .”

“Ahhh, and they don’t like you associating with the likes of me,” I finish for her.

“It’s not really that. I mean, I told them it was just work, but . . .”

“But what?”

“But they don’t believe me, of course. At least not after Sunday.”

“Why? What happened Sunday?”

“Well, you dropped me off at the curb and I had to walk in wearing a hoochie outfit, carrying my church clothes. It doesn’t make a very convincing argument for professionalism.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Those were hoochie clothes?” I nod. “Good to know.”

“To me they are. To my parents, they definitely are!”

“So the parents think I’m corrupting you?”

She shrugs. “I suppose so. They know I’m not that girl.”

“The kind that wears hoochie clothes,” I say, trying to hide my grin.

“Right. And goes to fun parties and indulges in meaningless flirtation.”

“Maybe they don’t know what kind of girl you are. ’Cause Sunday, you sure seemed like you were okay being ‘that girl.’”

“That’s exactly the problem. They know it’s not like me. So . . .”

“They think it’s me.”

“Right.”

“And the preacher disapproves.”

“Very much so.”

“And this is why you’re in my bed? You’re sticking it to the preacher by making it look like I’m sticking it to you?”

She gives me the stink eye, and I grin.

“No one is sticking anything to anybody.”

“That’s a damn shame, too.”

She looks surprised when she giggles, like she wasn’t expecting it. Couldn’t control it.

When her smile dies, she asks, “Are you gonna let me finish?”

“Of course. You have my full attention,” I say, narrowing my eyes on her. She gives me a dubious look then rolls her eyes and continues.

“Anyway, after my parents and I discussed where I was, who I was with, and why, we got into an argument. You see, they don’t know why Shane and I broke up.”

“Shane’s Mr. Perfect?”

Another withering look.

“Anyway, long story short, they didn’t like that we broke up, they didn’t like that I was with you, and they took it upon themselves to fix it. So after I came here and worked on the estate all day Monday, I went home to find that they’d invited Shane for dinner. Without even asking me. They totally ambushed me. Wanted us to talk so they could all tell me how stupid I’m being and how wrong I am to throw what we had away. So I left. And I haven’t been back since.”

“They brought the guy in behind your back?” She nods solemnly. “Damn, that was a pretty shitty thing for them to do.”

“I thought so, too. It’s like they just can’t understand. Or don’t want to. They see what they want to see, no matter how wrong or biased,” she says bitterly.

“Over the years I’ve learned that most people are judgmental as hell. They may think they’re not. And some probably even try not to be. But most are. It’s human nature.”

“I try really hard not to be like that.”

“And I think you do a good job. The fact that you’re here right now shows that you’re not as bad as most. Especially in this town.”

She raises big, sorrowful, blue eyes to mine. “I’m sorry people have been so unfair to you and your sister.”

It’s my turn to shrug. “Nah, don’t be. We’ve earned most of it. I’ve pissed off enough people in this town to get that ‘trouble’ label fair and square.”

“Is that all you did? Piss people off?”

I reach out to glide my fingertips up one of her smooth calves. “There might’ve been a few corrupted daughters and compromised wives in the mix. I can’t remember just now.”

“Compromised wives?” she balks.

“Hey, I was young. And they were . . . needy.”

“Oh my gosh! You really are a bad boy.”

“Don’t wilt on me now. You were so close.”

“Close to what?”

“Coming to the dark side.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were. You can sense how much fun it is to stop worrying about what other people think, to just enjoy life as much as you can. We only have a handful of short, sometimes painful days on this earth. You’ve gotta take your pleasure where you can get it.”

“Is that what you’re offering me? Pleasure?”

I sit up and lean toward Laney. She doesn’t back away, just watches me. I can hear as much as feel that she’s holding her breath. “Isn’t that enough?”

I edge in closer and lick over her bottom lip with my tongue.

“I don’t know,” she says softly.

“It can be. You just have to let it. You just have to realize that you’re better off without love. It makes people weak. It makes people lose their common sense and they end up hurting each other. Listen to you! Love has brought you nothing but pain and suffering. But I can make all that go away. I can take your mind off the hurt. Make you feel better than you’ve ever felt before. You just have to let me.”

“I don’t know if I can just jump right in like this,” she whispers.

“That’s okay. Jumping can be fun, but so can . . . exploring. As long as we’re on the same page, with the same expectations, we can’t go wrong,” I assure her, reaching forward to circle my fingers around her upper arm and tease the curve of her breast with my thumb.

“So where do we go from here?”

As much as I’d like to go straight to banging her head against my headboard, I know that’s not the smart move right now. So, I bite back my frustrated sigh and opt for a long kiss instead. When she feels a little more relaxed, a little more pliant under my hands, I lean back.

“We go to bed,” I declare, biting her chin and giving her thigh a teasing slap. She yelps playfully and I wink at her. “And we see what we can get into tomorrow.”

“So just fun? No pressure, no promises?”

“Just fun. Lots and lots of fun.” I scoot to my place in the bed and lift an arm, waiting for her to curl up against me, which she does. When she snuggles in and I hear her contented sigh, I smile.

And lots and lots of sex.

That’s my last thought as I drift off to sleep.

I growl at the skillet and pull it off the heat. The other one is already in the sink, sitting in hot water.

Laney, what were you thinking?

What started out as an attempt at cooking breakfast has morphed into a nightmare. First, I should’ve checked to make sure I could find everything I needed before actually beginning to cook anything. The kitchen looks like a demilitarized zone, and I’m pretty sure the house will smell like burnt bacon forever.

Coughing draws my attention toward the doorway. Jake is standing there in jeans that hang perfectly on his hips, a bemused grin on his face and not a scrap of anything else. His hair is sticking up at weird angles and I’m positive I’ve never seen anything more mouthwatering.

“There are easier and much more pleasant ways to wake me up than trying to smoke me out of the bedroom.”

“You said you’re a fireman. I’m testing your skills. You passed,” I say with a cough, my eyes watering so badly I can hardly see.

Jake walks around the island and props open the back door. Einstein, his giant, white-haired dog that I met last week, is sitting on the back porch, whining.

“Quick! Grab a Milk-Bone from the jar on the counter. You’ve deeply offended Einie’s delicate sense of smell,” Jake says. “You must make amends.”

I can’t help but grin as I grab the treat and head for the door. I step outside, give the dog his bone, and drag in a gulp of fresh air. Jake follows. Puffs of thick gray smoke are wafting out the door.

“Sorry about your bacon.”

“Is that what that is?”

“Part of it. It began as an omelet, toast, and bacon, but it quickly deteriorated when I realized that I had no idea where anything was in your house.”