Rescuing the Bad Boy (Second Chance #2)(82)

She bristled.

He noticed.

“Help if I told you I had decided to leave before the night in the library?”

Twisting her lips, she shook her head.

“Didn’t think so.” He gave her a sad smile. “Aless didn’t need a cook, but he did need a mason. So he put me to work with this guy, Vic, who was in the process of building a wall around the back of Alessandre’s property. I helped. Took to it.”

“All those visits to the quarry,” she pointed out. “Who knew they would lead to a career?”

“Who knew?” His smile was less sad. “I started doing stuff on my own, too. Alessandre introduced me to his ridiculously wealthy friends. They liked my work. Several of them have vacation houses all over the states. I started traveling to them, building whatever they needed me to—fireplaces, mostly. I’d stay for a few weeks, or until the job was done. When I got back to the Hamptons, I’d crash at Alessandre’s guesthouse again. It’s a small place, nice though, behind his house. Has an attached garage where I can park Trixie. Gives me a place to build, store materials. Practice my next design.”

“Sounds like a home to me.”

“Other than my clothes and my Jeep, nothing there is mine.”

A shiver climbed her spine. She moved closer, propping her chin on his shoulder.

“Sounds lonely.” And it did. His life in New York, and elsewhere when he traveled, sounded incredibly, horribly lonely. Seven years of a nomadic lifestyle. Work followed by more work.

“Sometimes.” His arm closed around her and he pulled her close, his hand resting on her hip. She melted into him, thinking how nice it was to talk to him, to be here with him. To be held by him.

Once he left, she would be lonely, too. Lonely for him. Hell, she was lonely for him now and he was sitting right next to her.

Which was not good. Not good at all.

“Hate when you feel for me, Scampi.”

“I can’t help it.” And that was the problem. She couldn’t help feeling for him. She couldn’t help thinking of him.

She couldn’t help loving him.

“I don’t know about you,” he said, his tone lighter, “but I could go for s’mores.”

She looked up to see one of his eyes close in a seductive wink. He wanted her, and she wanted him. Even though she knew the physical temporary wasn’t enough.

Well, it would have to be. She wasn’t anywhere near ready to give him up. And so she returned his wink with a saucy one of her own.

“I’ll get the chocolate.” She kissed him before standing.

He caught her wrist before she raced inside.

“Dark chocolate or”—he closed his eyes and pursed his lips, sucking a breath between his teeth—“oh yes, oh God… milk chocolate.”

Teasing her. Again.

She play-shoved him and he chuckled. The sound rattled through her chest like thrown dice. At the patio door, she paused at the entrance to the kitchen, but before she went in, admired his profile lit by the fire behind him.

The way his black hair hung too long and covered part of his face. The way his nose pointed down to full, talented lips. Long lashes swept over eyes with the ability to see right through to her soul.

She etched this moment into her mind, knowing she’d need it when the nights got long and lonely.

And knowing those nights would come sooner than she wanted.





CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR




You good?” Donovan nodded at Connor, who was carrying an armload of canvas, poles, and other tent paraphernalia to help the Open Arms kids set up camp.

“Good,” he answered.

With a nod, Donovan headed over to Trixie. Ant had cut a sizable pile of wood in preparation for tonight. Donovan needed to load it up and bring it back to the pit.

“Can I go?”

He turned to find one of the older boys next to him. He guessed the kid at twelve, maybe thirteen. Maybe eighteen. It was getting harder and harder to tell how old any of them were. They all looked like babies to him.

The boy’s hair was overly long, dark, almost black. He chewed on his bottom lip while waiting for the answer, and turned equally dark eyes up to Donovan.

“Sure, kid.”

The boy tried to climb into Trixie twice before he successfully scaled her height, then they were off.

“What’s your name?” Donovan asked as the Jeep rumbled and rolled through the bumpy field.

“Ben.”

“Ben, I’m Donovan. You an outdoors man?”

He gave a careless shrug, not making eye contact. “I guess.”

Okay. Well, he could deal with the strong, silent type. Looking at Ben was a little like looking at a mirror. Donovan hadn’t been a chatty or happy kid.

He parked next to the maple, having a fleeting thought about the last time he parked here. He was with Sofie. And just like everything else he did with Sofie, the night was memorable.

“Leave the big pile to me.” Donovan pointed around at some of the branches the tree had shed. “But gather some of those sticks and twigs. We’ll need them for kindling.” Ben picked around the field and Donovan started loading the back of Trix.

Minutes later, his phone rang. He lifted it to his ear. “Yeah?”

“How is my house?”