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Maverick’s jaw tightens.

My heart twists as I remember the expression on my sister’s face. “I imprinted that guy’s teeth on my fist. I had to learn how to fight just like my sisters did. Because we didn’t have anyone else. So no, there wasn’t anyone to stand up for me or them during that time.”

“I’m sorry,” he says softly.

I believe him. I believe had he been there, he would have stood up for me. For my sisters. That he’s not a stay-on-the-sidelines kind of guy.

“Then after dealing with your family issues, you met a guy like your ex.”

I nod.

“You sure you’re okay?”

I nod again.

“I get concerned when you’re quiet because you’ve always got something to say.”

I laugh, not offended in the least. I’m glad it feels like we’re getting back on familiar ground. I shouldn’t be picturing Maverick as a would-have-been hero.

The timer dings for the cookies and he blocks my way when I step forward. “I’ll get them.”

“Okay. While they cool, I’ll redo my makeup.”

“You look good already,” he says.

I stop in my tracks. “You think I look good?”

He turns off the oven and glances at me. “You always do.”

I raise my eyebrows and give him a doubting look. “Like I did the day we ran into each other at the hardware store?”

He seems surprised by my question. “You looked good then, too.”

“I was a mess. My makeup had worn off, my hair was tangled….” I drift into silence. There’s a look in his eyes. One I recognize as desire but can hardly believe what I’m seeing.

I blink, but it’s definitely there. Has the world turned upside down? Maverick Calhoun wants me.

Chapter 6

Maverick

Feeling awkward, I walk out of her aunt’s house carrying the cookies. I’d nearly drooled all over the kitchen floor.

My body made it aware, painfully so when my dick pressed hard against the front of my jeans, that I want Tempest.

If that was all, I’d be okay with thinking like that. With the want. But my heart feels…squiggly. I don’t know how to describe it.

I learned that beneath her prickly shell, Tempest isn’t as bad as I thought. It never occurred to me that she’d been deeply hurt.

And it makes my heart ache that she was. The ache bewilders me almost as much as the desire to hold her and wipe away all the hurt.

I juggle the containers and open the passenger door for her. When she looks at me, I defend my action by saying, “It’s hard to open.”

She climbs into the seat and swings her legs in. Those long, gorgeous legs in that short dress. I get a mental picture of those legs wrapped around my waist as I fill her up. I can imagine working up a sweat and losing myself in her body. She’d clutch my back, raking her nails down my skin and she’d moan and say⁠—

“Are you going to close the door?”

“Wha…yes. I’ll shut the door.” I hand her the containers and turn away, hoping to keep my boner out of sight.