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He wanted to grab her hand, suck the pe
ach juice off her fingers and from her lips. Wanted to kiss her until she begged him for more.
Instead, he talked about counters and backsplash tile and range hoods, all the while drinking in her excitement as though it were an elixir.
This was the real Tasha Summerfield—he’d learned her last name today when she’d made her purchases at his store. She was enthused about life, about new projects. She loved to talk, loved exchanging ideas. She would have been the girl who always raised her hand in class, the cheerleader of her study group, the one voted most likely to succeed.
Yet here she was, living alone in a run-down cabin in the woods.
Again, he thought as a dark cloud shrouded his head, nothing added up.
“I love it!” She was practically beaming, her face lit by her excitement. “I can’t wait to get it all installed.” She looked down, holding out her hands as if she knew they were capable of anything.
All he could think was that he wanted her hands on him. And his on her. Touching her everywhere.
Driving her absolutely wild.
“You suggested so many things I never would have thought of,” she went on, seemingly oblivious to the heat building to a fever pitch inside him. “I know you said to stop saying thank you, but I just can’t stop. Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
In her exuberance, she threw her arms around him, and it was so natural that he knew it was another clue to the woman she’d been trying so desperately to keep hidden away.
He wanted her to let out her true self, to break the bonds of fear that had made her run away from her life and her career. He wanted to set her free.
And he wanted her to be his.
Time seemed to stop as he instinctively pulled her against him. There was nothing but her soft curves nestled close, the sweetness of her breath against his ear, her silky hair caressing him. He raised a hand, pulling back far enough to stroke his fingers along her chin. Her eyes were a radiant blue, as bright as the real Tasha struggling to get out.
Everything stilled around them, even the hammering above. He let his gaze rest on her lips—a sweet offering, lush, kissable. Nothing on earth could have stopped him, not even his own chivalry, as he lowered his head for that first glorious taste of her.
She tasted like the peach she’d eaten just a little while ago, sweet and ripe and luscious.
She could have stopped him, lifted her head, ended it all. He prayed she wouldn’t.
Then she angled her head.
And consumed him.
* * *
Daniel’s kiss lit a wildfire inside her.
His muscles were rock hard, and she swore she’d never felt anything so wonderful in all her life as she kissed him with everything she’d buried deep inside all these months.
It was a kiss like no other. It was fire and it was light. It was a spot in heaven far from reality. It was sweet sensation and sinful desire.
In that glorious moment, he was hers completely. And she was his.
She kissed him until she couldn’t breathe. Her legs moved restlessly, wanting to wrap around him, feel him, every hard line of him. His arms were strong, but his hold gentle. She could stay this way forever.
But she’d forgotten that she couldn’t have forever. Not anymore.
Too late, she remembered exactly who she was: Natasha Summerfield, daughter of a con man on a national scale.
She didn’t deserve such a beautiful, perfect kiss. She didn’t deserve Daniel. Or his friends. She didn’t deserve their help. She didn’t deserve how nice they were to her.
They thought she was just some poor girl who’d been foolish enough to buy this wreck of a cabin.
But she knew better.
