She didn’t turn around when he walked through the open door. A good thing because the sight of her in frayed jean shorts, sexy lower back exposed, wielding a torch was just about the hottest thing he’d borne witness to in his twenty-six years. If her stiff shoulders and anxious energy weren’t telling him loud and clear she wouldn’t be receptive to touch, he’d already be working the button of her shorts, begging in her ear to let him give her an orgasm. His new favorite pastime.

Beck gave her wide berth as he circled the worktable, avoiding the blue sparks vanishing as they hit the concrete floor. She wore a mask, so it took an extra second for her to spot him in her peripheral vision. When she did, the sparks ceased immediately and the mask was pushed back onto her head.

“Morning,” she said, with an impatient swipe at her face.

Avoiding his eyes, huh? Okay. Might have been expected, but it still made something spiky stick in his stomach. “Morning, Kenna.” He started to ask her how she’d slept but a metal sculpture to his left, shining in a patch of sunlight, grabbed his attention. It stood nearly as tall as him and resembled a tree. The trunk had been fashioned from what looked like a car bumper whose edges had been rounded, reshaped to zigzag side to side. Pieces of metal in various shapes were attached at intervals, making him think of palm fronds. They’d each been painted a different vibrant color, and broken glass shards had been fashioned to the edges. Each component of the sculpture was striking on its own, but all together, the effect was extraordinary. “This is one of yours?”

A shuffle of boots behind him. “Yeah. It’s mine.”

He walked closer, seeing subtle nuances as he went. “Where do you get the parts?”

“Here at the garage, mostly. Scrap metal or discarded car parts.” He turned to find her staring at him, but she quickly averted her gaze and began straightening tools on the worktable. “It’s part of the reason I chose this place. Easy access to materials.”

“Did you explain that to your father?”

“No.” Her surprise at his question was clear. “He didn’t ask.”

Beck approached the bench, much the way his grandfather approached the filly all those years ago. She seemed to be bracing herself to run if he tried to reach out for her. And damn if he didn’t want to touch her so bad his palms itched. Keep her talking while you figure out how to get the privilege again. “Why do you enjoy doing this?”

Her gaze snapped back to his. “What do you mean?”

“I want to know why you love it.”

“I never said I loved it.”

“Kenna, no one makes anything that beautiful unless they loved every minute of the process.”

A hand flew to her mask, as if she was considering flipping it back down to cover her face, but it dropped to her side after a beat. “Thank you. I do love it,” she mumbled. “I guess I don’t think pieces should be tossed in the trash because they have a dent. Or they’re not perfect like the shiny new parts. They still have a use if you take some time to look.”

I am looking. The words brushed the insides of his throat, seeking escape, but he swallowed them. They burned going down. Standing so close to her without speaking his mind got harder by the minute. It wasn’t him. He might have an iron will when it came to most things, but apparently it didn’t extend to her. There was a sense of urgency gaining strength, too. Leaving in two days. He was leaving in two days. Something needed to happen here and while he didn’t know what just yet, a wind pressed at his back, telling him forward was the only acceptable direction.

“I’m seeing you again, Kenna Sutton. Don’t try and pretend different.”

Her mouth fell open. “Pretty confident for a one-timer, aren’t you?”

Beck ground his teeth together, commanding himself to be patient. “Respectfully, darlin’, it might have only been once for me, but if I counted correctly, it was three times for you.”

A grin started to transform her mouth, but she banished it. “Look, Major—”

“I’ve slept in your sheets and seen my sweat cooling on your gorgeous skin. I’ve spent myself in your mouth and between your legs.” Attempting to reel back his irritation, he very carefully placed his hands palm down on the table separating them. “You’ll call me Beck.”

“Beck, then,” Kenna said, voice hoarse. She snatched up the torch, as if she had a mind to use it on him. “It’s natural to get attached to the person you’re with the first time. I certainly didn’t, but I’ve heard that.” Her smile was tight. “It’ll fade, I swear.”

Patience, do not desert me now. Every instinct screamed at him to drag her across the table, remind her of how deep their attraction ran, but he knew it would be a mistake. It would give her a reason to keep him away. “How long until it fades, you reckon?”

Kenna shrugged. “Probably when you go home and meet another big-haired, big-busted blonde. Probably.” She dropped her torch as if it were on fire. “God. I don’t know why I said that.”

All right. Safe to say she’d seen the photo in his wallet. “Kenna, I didn’t keep that picture because I still have feelings for Mary.” He sighed when she picked up a pencil and started to sketch on an oversized notepad. Scratch. Scratch. “It’s a fond memory, a simple one. I needed as many as I could get over there. Didn’t feel right throwing it away, even after what she did.”

“We had one night together, Beck. No big deal. I don’t know why you’re even explaining this to me.” She shoved the pencil behind her ear and fidgeted. “You don’t see me going into detail about all my past boyfriends.”

He saw it coming. Saw she’d located the weapon in her arsenal and was prepared to use it. “Don’t—”

“You’re not the first soldier I’ve brought back here from base, Beck. Far from it.” She wouldn’t look at him. Good thing, because in two sentences she’d managed to invoke jealousy and resignation he was nowhere near ready to feel. Not because her having partners before him made him want her any less. No, he’d just hoped she wouldn’t try to distance him with that knowledge. And like any man who felt for a woman, thinking of her with other men didn’t sit well. At. All.

“So, what you’re telling me is I’m a notch in your bedpost.” His jaw was bunched so tight it hurt to speak. “I just want to be clear.”

Her hesitation was brief. Too brief. But at least it told him he’d live to fight another day. “That about sums it up, Beck.”

Not trusting himself to speak, he nodded once. It took every ounce of his will not to look back as he walked out the door. Back to his empty apartment on base.

He’d give her until tonight. No longer.

Chapter Seven

Kenna stared out at the milling patrons of Bombs Away, her drink gone warm in her hand. The bar was packed tonight thanks to the live country western band currently playing “Sweet Home Alabama.” For the third time. The crowd consisted almost entirely of Black Rock soldiers, most of them men, which made Kenna and Darla veritable celebrities. Neither of them were feeling very chatty, however, and their expressions must have mirrored that, because after two rounds of drinks had been sent their way and rejected, they’d been left alone. Alone. Just the way she liked it.

She took a hefty swallow of room-temperature bourbon, hoping it would douse the guilt and anxiousness burning in her stomach. It only kindled the fire. God, she felt like pond scum.

“Why do we come here?” Darla grumbled beside her. “They don’t even have Wi-Fi.”

“They have cheap liquor.”

“Oh, right.”

Kenna twisted a red cocktail straw around her middle finger, the movement restless. She didn’t want to be at Bombs Away tonight any more than Darla, but avoidance had always been her knee-jerk reaction to anything uncomfortable, so why switch it up? If she stayed at her apartment, Beck might come over. And although she’d done her damnedest to sever their connection, if he showed up, she would drag him inside and ride him like a mountain bike. The best sex of her life just had to be with a stand-up guy, right? He just had to hold her so tightly while she slept that she woke with her heart lodged in her throat. At the very least, he could have been dismissive or ambivalent toward her work, right? No. No, he couldn’t. Major Beck motherfucking Collier.