“Just taking an informal poll.”

He laughed softly.

Her brief attempt at humor vanished quickly and the cab became somber again. Tanna didn’t push him to talk. But the death of the animal left a lingering sadness around him, almost like guilt, despite the fact that nothing he could’ve done would’ve made a difference.

As soon as they crossed the threshold at his house, Tanna jumped up and wrapped her legs around his waist, plastering her mouth to his.

He couldn’t help but grin, given the ferocity of her kiss. “Lucky you’re a little whip of a thing or you would’ve knocked me over. Not that I’m complaining, but what was that for?”

“Because you’re amazing. Because you’re you.” Because I couldn’t be more crazy about you if I tried.

Fletch rested his forehead to hers. “If you’re trying to sweet-talk your way into my bed, sugar twang, it’s working.”

Tanna slid down his body and grabbed his hand, leading him to his bedroom. Once they stood beside the bed, she slipped her fingers beneath his T-shirt, letting her palms rest on his hard, ripped abdomen. “Take off your clothes and lie facedown.”

“Why?”

“’Cause I’m fixin’ to give you a massage.” Her fingers inched up and she squeezed his pectorals before placing a kiss on his chest, over his heart. “Any other questions?”

He shook his head and stripped, releasing a soft sigh when his overheated body met the cool sheets.

She sat on his butt and dug into his shoulder muscles, earning a heavy sigh of satisfaction. “You always wound this tight? Or are you sore from your stint as a midnight grave digger?”

“A little of both. Goddamn. Yes. Right. Fucking. There.”

“I take it I hit a good spot?” she murmured in his ear.

“Yes. Where did you learn to do this?”

“Lainie. I had a massive girl crush on her whenever she gave me a massage. I insisted on a play-by-play, so I could learn all her tricks.”

“It worked.” He released a deep groan when her thumbs pressed and rubbed his triceps. “If you decide against chasing cans for a living again, you could make a killing doing this.”

Fletch never said too much about the snail’s pace of her recovery since she’d started running barrels again. When they were together it wasn’t about their careers. It was about being a man and a woman who enjoyed each other. Yet, their connection had gone beyond being strictly about sex.

Tanna wasn’t sure if she’d ever been so completely herself around a guy. She didn’t have to pretend to be too wild or too tame. No curbing her raunchy sense of humor. No feigning interest in a subject that held zero appeal. She looked forward to sharing the stupid little stuff from her day. She looked forward to hearing about his day.

She refocused on his massage. Paying special attention to his hands and forearms. Such strength in these sinewy muscles. Yet, such tenderness. The TV droned in the background—because he always left it on. He’d told her the noise made it seem like he wasn’t alone in his house. A mind-set she understood. During her years on the blacktop, she’d constantly had the radio on.

When she finished the massage, she brushed the hair from the side of his face. “Better?”

“Uh-huh. But I need to hit the bathroom.”

“Oh.” She slid off his body, letting her hand linger on the curve of his butt.

Then Fletch rolled over and his cock—his hard cock—was right there.

She reached for it only to have him snatch her hand midair. “Hey. I just wanted to massage it too.”

He snorted. “Hold that thought. Stretch out and make yourself comfortable.”

Tanna lifted an eyebrow. “Is that a command?”

“A request.” He disappeared into the bathroom.

She’d just settled into that happy, almost smug place where she knew she was about to get laid, when the bed bounced and Fletch started to hike up her dress. “I can take it off.”

“Maybe I wanted to help.” His fingers inched up the outside of her thigh and he rubbed his full, soft lips on the scar on her knee. “You have a problem with that?”

“Yes.” She sat up to pull the dress over her head and tossed it on the carpet, leaving her in a skimpy bra and boy short panties. “You can help with the rest.”

“Take off the bra.”

Tanna let the tips of her fingers follow the plunging lace-edged cups. She watched Fletch’s avid gaze as she unhooked the front clasp, whipped the bra aside and stroked her br**sts.

“I love it when you touch yourself for me.”

“I know. Do you want me to get myself off for you?”

“Another time. Right now, I want you to lie back,” he said gruffly.

As soon as her shoulders hit the mattress, his work-roughened hands skated up her belly. His hands covered the fleshy mounds of her br**sts. He stroked and caressed, occasionally allowing his thumbs to rasp over her ni**les. But he didn’t use his mouth.

His hands followed the curves of her body, as he tugged her panties down her legs. His touches on her naked limbs and torso were featherlight. Then she swore she felt his nails scraping her flesh hard enough to leave marks. She tried not to squirm or rub her legs together because she suspected he’d go slower yet.

She must’ve made a disgruntled sound because he chuckled and kissed the hollow dent above her navel. “Where do you want my mouth? Between your legs or on your tits?”