way. Her
life
made her feel that way, and had since her grandma had died.
Amy hadn’t handled that scene too well. She was the first to admit it. By that time, her mom had pulled herself out of the gutter and had snagged a really great guy, the measurement of “great” being the size of his bank account, of course. Coming from the wrong side of the tracks to the only side that mattered, Amy had become the poster child for Poor Little Rich Girl, bumping up against a society she’d never been a part of and couldn’t possibly understand. She’d chafed at the rules and had behaved textbook predictably, acting out with all sorts of mayhem. And she’d been good at it.
Until the day she’d run into real trouble. Bad trouble. Holy-shit trouble, and for once, it hadn’t been her own doing. No, that honor had gone to her stepfather, who’d decided she needed to give him a little of what she was so freely giving to the boys her own age.
But he’d been no boy.
Amy had always been able to intimidate anyone who’d invaded her space without permission, but not him. Scared for the first time in her life, she’d tried to get help. But no one had believed her.
She’d been on her own.
She’d been on her own ever since, and it’d worked out just fine for her. She didn’t need anyone.
But once in a while, like now, she felt a little flicker of need. Just to be held. Touched.
Wanted.
Matt had amplified those feelings, in a big way. And if they hadn’t been interrupted this morning, she’d have acted on them. She had no idea where that would have left them.
Well satisfied, no doubt, as Matt had a magic mouth and magic hands. Her reflection sighed in remembered pleasure. She wanted more. That wasn’t a surprise. What
was
a surprise was how badly she also wanted to run her hands over Matt’s tough, sexy body. She’d felt him vibrating with that same need, every single muscle, and he had a lot of delicious muscles.
Mutual pleasure. They needed it. She wasn’t looking for more, and after what he’d told her about his ex and how he didn’t do love, neither was he.
Could it be that simple?
No.
Nothing was ever that simple. Which meant she needed to steer clear of one sexy Matthew Bowers. Very clear.
Matt wasn’t much for cooking. He could do it—his mom had made sure of it—he just preferred not to. But there were limited dining options in Lucky Harbor: the Love Shack, the only bar and grill in town, or Eat Me, the diner. The Love Shack had great beer on tap.
Eat Me had Amy.
The day after their overnight adventure, following a long ten hours on the job, Matt entered the diner. He sat at a booth, and Amy brought him a soda. He could have kissed her for that alone. She was wearing a black tee with a silver zipper running amuck in a zigzag between herbreasts, the kind that could open from the top or the bottom. Her jeans were low riding and faded, with a hole on one thigh, the denim there held together by a few threads across her taut skin. She was wearing the Ace bandage on her wrist. “The usual?” she asked. “Burger, fries?”
“Yeah. How are the injuries?”
“Fine. The thigh’s a little sore but my wrist’s a lot better.”
“And the other injury?”
She raised a brow. “You are
not
asking me about my ass.”
He smiled.
“You aren’t smiling at the thought of my ass either,” she said.
“Not funny yet?”
She just looked at him.
“Okay,” he said, letting a smile break loose. “Not funny yet.”
Lucille walked by the booth and stopped, touching Amy’s wrist. “What happened, honey?”
“I fell hiking. It’s nothing.” Amy slid a long look at Matt, daring him to say a word.
Matt wasn’t a complete idiot. He wanted this woman, naked. So he held his silence.
Lucille hitched a thumb at him. “You fell in Ranger Hot Buns’s forest?”
This had Amy flashing a rare
real
smile. “What did you just call him?”
“Ranger Hot Buns,” Lucille said. “Are you telling me you
life
made her feel that way, and had since her grandma had died.
Amy hadn’t handled that scene too well. She was the first to admit it. By that time, her mom had pulled herself out of the gutter and had snagged a really great guy, the measurement of “great” being the size of his bank account, of course. Coming from the wrong side of the tracks to the only side that mattered, Amy had become the poster child for Poor Little Rich Girl, bumping up against a society she’d never been a part of and couldn’t possibly understand. She’d chafed at the rules and had behaved textbook predictably, acting out with all sorts of mayhem. And she’d been good at it.
Until the day she’d run into real trouble. Bad trouble. Holy-shit trouble, and for once, it hadn’t been her own doing. No, that honor had gone to her stepfather, who’d decided she needed to give him a little of what she was so freely giving to the boys her own age.
But he’d been no boy.
Amy had always been able to intimidate anyone who’d invaded her space without permission, but not him. Scared for the first time in her life, she’d tried to get help. But no one had believed her.
She’d been on her own.
She’d been on her own ever since, and it’d worked out just fine for her. She didn’t need anyone.
But once in a while, like now, she felt a little flicker of need. Just to be held. Touched.
Wanted.
Matt had amplified those feelings, in a big way. And if they hadn’t been interrupted this morning, she’d have acted on them. She had no idea where that would have left them.
Well satisfied, no doubt, as Matt had a magic mouth and magic hands. Her reflection sighed in remembered pleasure. She wanted more. That wasn’t a surprise. What
was
a surprise was how badly she also wanted to run her hands over Matt’s tough, sexy body. She’d felt him vibrating with that same need, every single muscle, and he had a lot of delicious muscles.
Mutual pleasure. They needed it. She wasn’t looking for more, and after what he’d told her about his ex and how he didn’t do love, neither was he.
Could it be that simple?
No.
Nothing was ever that simple. Which meant she needed to steer clear of one sexy Matthew Bowers. Very clear.
Matt wasn’t much for cooking. He could do it—his mom had made sure of it—he just preferred not to. But there were limited dining options in Lucky Harbor: the Love Shack, the only bar and grill in town, or Eat Me, the diner. The Love Shack had great beer on tap.
Eat Me had Amy.
The day after their overnight adventure, following a long ten hours on the job, Matt entered the diner. He sat at a booth, and Amy brought him a soda. He could have kissed her for that alone. She was wearing a black tee with a silver zipper running amuck in a zigzag between herbreasts, the kind that could open from the top or the bottom. Her jeans were low riding and faded, with a hole on one thigh, the denim there held together by a few threads across her taut skin. She was wearing the Ace bandage on her wrist. “The usual?” she asked. “Burger, fries?”
“Yeah. How are the injuries?”
“Fine. The thigh’s a little sore but my wrist’s a lot better.”
“And the other injury?”
She raised a brow. “You are
not
asking me about my ass.”
He smiled.
“You aren’t smiling at the thought of my ass either,” she said.
“Not funny yet?”
She just looked at him.
“Okay,” he said, letting a smile break loose. “Not funny yet.”
Lucille walked by the booth and stopped, touching Amy’s wrist. “What happened, honey?”
“I fell hiking. It’s nothing.” Amy slid a long look at Matt, daring him to say a word.
Matt wasn’t a complete idiot. He wanted this woman, naked. So he held his silence.
Lucille hitched a thumb at him. “You fell in Ranger Hot Buns’s forest?”
This had Amy flashing a rare
real
smile. “What did you just call him?”
“Ranger Hot Buns,” Lucille said. “Are you telling me you
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