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He stared at the ceiling and wondered what circumstances had brought her to this particular residence.
The neighborhood was questionable at best. Dangerous at worst.
Her trailer was small, but then she lived alone, so Maker didn’t suppose she needed much space.
The locks on the doors were tight, and he’d watched to make sure that she secured her car before they’d come inside.
He’d looked around for any added security. Firearms. Baseball bat. Dog.
None that he could see.
So even though he’d relaxed once Lizzie had ditched her apron and shoes and crawled into bed and he’d wedged himself in beside her, he hadn’t slept.
But he’d held her like he’d promised he would.
And he’d kept her safe.
Like he’d promised he would.
And he’d puzzled over the phenomenon of Lizzie living alone and feeling scared.
Aside from creeps who followed her in the diner parking lot, he hadn’t asked her why yet, but he planned to get to the bottom of that deep well the first chance he got.
Maker turned his face toward Lizzie, and the scent of strawberries and vanilla washed over him.
He closed his eyes and breathed deep, rubbing his free hand up and down his cock, at once loving and hating the throb he felt there.
He was alive.
He was aroused.
He was in bed with beauty.
She wasn’t a small woman. She’d be more than a handful for most men.
But Maker wasn’t most men.
And for the first time in years, Maker smiled.
************************
Ryder
Classic country music flowed over the back deck of thecastle, as Holly had called it, and looking back at the monstrosity of the house behind him, Ryder couldn’t argue with her.
The place was huge, and the way Lowe fawned over her, Ryder couldn’t help but think of the mansion as a monument Harlowe had built for the woman he loved.
And that was a labor of love Ryder could identify with.
He hoped like hell he’d end up with that kind of beauty in the house he was restoring on the Savannah River.
He tipped up his beer and watched them over the rim of the bottle.
Lowe reached out to touch Holly every time she walked by. Mostly playful. Sometimes lingering.
And Holly returned each touch with one of her own. Trailing her fingers down Lowe’s arm, across his shoulders. Stopping to kiss his cheek.
The two of them turned a simple backyard barbecue into foreplay, and Ryder let the stab of envy he felt burn through his chest and settle there.
