He gave her a long look. “My definition of ‘party’ doesn’t seem to be in the same universe as the rest of y’all’s.”

“It’s going to be great. You can’t have a house, grounds, a view like this and not throw an awesome party.” She smiled as he brooded. “How about I make mac and cheese?”

He gave her another long look, this one considerably less broody. “From scratch, like before?”

“You look like you need a little comfort.”

“I do. In fact…” He tapped his list of assignments. “I need more than a little. It calls for an appetizer.”

“My two no-fail appetizers are opening a jar of olives or spraying Cheez Whiz on a Ritz. If I go all out, I put an olive on the Cheez Whiz on the Ritz.”

“We can do better.” He rose, tugged her to her feet.

As he backed her into the house, her smile turned sly. “My Spidey sense tells me you’re not thinking about food.”

“I don’t know. You’re pretty tasty.”

“That’s true. I am.” Willing to prove it, she shifted, began backing him toward the great room sofa. “And it’s a good thing I am, because dinner’s going to be late.”

He started to mention the patio doors were wide open, but then he was on his back on the sofa with Darby straddling him.

He decided a man’s home was his castle.

“We’re going to find out if sex whets your appetite or sates it.” With that, she pulled off her work tank.

Before she curled down to him, he trailed his fingers over the fading bruises on her shoulder. “Still sore?”

“Not enough to worry about.” But since the look in his eyes clearly said worry, she cupped his face. “Don’t go there,” she murmured. “Come here instead.”

She laid her lips on his, taking the kiss deeper, still deeper, degree by degree.

Just us, she thought as his hand slid over her. Just you, just me while the late evening breeze slipped over the skin, with the light a gilded sparkle.

What she’d intended as a quick bout of fun turned slow, turned tender as they comforted each other.

Even as pulses quickened, they took time to give, to let the moments spin out as they touched, as they tasted.

She unbuttoned his shirt, spread it open to glide her hands over his chest. Then to press her lips to his heart.

A good heart, she thought, generous and open despite all he’d been through. Or maybe because of it. She wanted to tend that heart, to help the deep, underlying scars heal.

He rose up to meet her, to watch her eyes as he slowly, carefully peeled her bra away. He skimmed his lips over the bruises. He, too, wanted to heal.

She was strong and fierce, but he understood the hurts buried inside her. He needed to show her, above all, he’d always protect her, always defend her.

And now, in this moment, he’d give her peace in pleasure.

He cupped her breasts, thumbs whispering over her until those depthless eyes closed. Her body moved against his, slow, sinuous, as sensations layered and built with the stroke of hands, with the brush of lips.

She shifted, moaning, as he slipped her clothes away, as he paused to take her mouth. Her breath caught as she took him in, as their eyes met, then again their lips.

He filled her, body and heart, so beautifully she wondered how either of them could bear it. They moved together, riding slow, undulating waves. Giving and taking in equal measure while the light sparkled and the air spilled over them warm and sweet.

And holding fast to each other, caught in each other’s eyes, they crested.

Tears stung the back of her eyes. She couldn’t say why so she lowered her head to his shoulder until she’d fought them off. She tried to think of something fun and flippant to say, but couldn’t, and stayed curled to him while his hands stroked up and down her back.

“It’s different.” He spoke quietly. “It’s different between us.” When she didn’t respond, he traced a finger over her infinity symbol, thought of her reasoning for it. “Does that scare you?”

“Maybe. Some. Yes. I made such an incredible mistake before.”

He drew her back enough for her to see the quick flash of anger in his eyes. It mirrored in his voice. “This isn’t a mistake. I’m not Trent.”

“Zane, you’re nothing like Trent. You’re pretty much his opposite. And that, stupid as it sounds, is part of what scares me a little.” To soothe them both, she rubbed her cheek to his. “How could I have believed I loved him, how could I have married him and now feel what I feel for you? But I did, and I do.”

“I want to say it does sound stupid, but it doesn’t, at least not entirely. But this is you now. This is me. I wasn’t looking for you, for this. But here we are, Darby.”

“I like where we are.”

“So do I. That’s one of the reasons I want to ask you to move in here, with me.”

“Oh.” She wrapped hard around him, squeezed her eyes shut. “Don’t ask me yet. I know it’s more stupid. I can hear how stupid especially since I’m here more than I’m there. But I need my own place for now. I went from my mother’s house to Trent’s—because that place was never mine—then back to my mom’s. I just need my own for now.”

“I can swallow that for now. You know, when for-now’s over, it’s still your place. Just like I’m going to be in love with you whether you’re ready for it or not.”

He filled her up again so her heart swelled, thudded. “So much stupid coming out,” she murmured. “Can you give me a little time? I need to feel like I’m solid, steady on my own.”

“Are you kidding me?” Sincerely baffled, he drew back again. “Not about the time—we’ve got time—about the rest. You’re about as solid and steady as they come.”

“Not much more than a year ago, I was barely able to go through the motions. We’re both rebuilding our lives, and we’re doing a pretty good job of it. Let’s just get a little farther along.”

“I can work with that.” Lightly, he trailed his fingers down her back. “Especially since you’ll cave.”

“Will I?”

“Guaranteed. You’re crazy about me.”

She laughed, nudged away. “Listen to you.”

“Crazy about me,” he repeated as she reached for her clothes. “Then I have the winning ticket with this house. You’ll cave.”

She stood holding her clothes, dressed only in the boots he hadn’t been able to get off—and the necklace he’d given her. And made him want all over again.

“The house is a draw, I give you that one. Maybe that’s the reason I have sex with you.”

He just smiled. “Crazy about me.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m going to grab a shower.”

“Good idea.”

The look in his eyes as he got up had her backing away.

“Just to clean up. Do you want to eat tonight?”

That look stayed in his eyes. She found herself laughing as she dashed away. He scooped her up halfway up the stairs.

Dinner was very late.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Darby got in most of a day’s work before afternoon storms banged and boomed over the mountains. Rain meant switching from outdoor, client work, to indoor, personal work.

After a trip to the hardware store for paint.

She’d gone bright and cheery in her kitchen with canary yellow walls, bold blue shelves and cabinets. Because she accepted she wasn’t quite that handy, she’d hired a local to replace the ugly countertops, opting for pure white to pop her colors.

Eventually, she promised herself, she’d replace the hideous flooring. But when she let herself into the kitchen, out of the rain, she could look around with considerable pleasure.

She’d found a cute little bistro set at the flea market just outside of town, had painted it the same blue as the cabinets with some yellow trim. All that color after the gray rain said happy.

She stripped off her wet hoodie, her work cap, hung both on one of the three sunflower hooks she’d screwed into the wall, then took off her boots. Her herbs—mostly for looks and scent rather than cooking—sat in their little white pots on the windowsill over the sink. After testing the soil, she gave them all a drink.

She started to grab a Coke out of the fridge, stopped, frowned. She’d have sworn she’d had four bottles, but only three stood next to her quart of milk. With a shrug, she took out her phone, added Cokes to her shopping list.

After sticking her bottle in the cargo pocket of her pants, she carried the paint and primer to the living room. Or what would be the living room one day.

At the moment it served as storage for paint and painting supplies, household tools, some planters and other garden accessories she’d picked up on sale, all organized by category.

She grabbed her painter’s tape, a tarp, then stood baffled.

Why in the world would she have put the fairy statue—one she intended for a fairy garden she’d plant the following spring—over with paint supplies? And what was the wind chime, still in its box, doing in tools?

More annoyed with herself than disturbed, she put things where they belonged, then hauled the tarp, the tape upstairs.