He covered her mouth with his broad palm. It stopped her words. But his touch drummed her heart rate into rollicking gallop.“I wasn’t wild about chewing the fat about my little brother. But fighting about feelings is even worse. Can we just talkabout the weather?”
Sadly, his hand left her lips. “No.”
“Are you sure? I have it on good authority that it’s going to storm tomorrow.”
Omigosh, that lightness in his voice. Was the always-stoic Flynn Maguire teasing? That was just about the sexiest thing Sierra had ever heard. “What good authority?”
“Mick’s arthritis is acting up. He ordered two beers with dinner to counter it.”
The retired colonel had been curt when ordering, so Sierra had gone out of her way to tease him out of the mood. That’s whenhe’d revealed his pain. “You were listening? You didn’t join in.”
“I’m not an orthopedist. Nothing useful to add.”
“Conversation doesn’t have to be useful. It’s just nice to have.” Conversating with Flynn was always the best moment of herday, even if it was usually over in a matter of minutes. “Like a foot rub.”
“Does your foot hurt a lot?”
Sierra lifted the mostly melted bag of ice from her ankle. “Nope. The ice numbed it up.”
“Still, you shouldn’t walk on it for a few days. Why do you ride a bike, anyway?”
Cars—even junkers—were out of her on-the-run budget. And they required paperwork. A paper trail was exactly what Sierra wasavoiding. “Bandon’s a small town. I like the exercise and being in nature.”
“More of your appreciating every moment thing.” He said it this time without any derision. Like he’d truly heard her. Wasn’t that interesting?
“Yes.” Because it was true. Sure, she’d like a car. Especially with all the ubiquitous Oregon rain. But biking to work wasn’ta hardship. “Oh, pull in at that mailbox on the right.”
Flynn slammed on the brakes only twenty yards down her long dirt drive. “What is that?”
“My house.”
He rolled the rest of the way up to her white front door. “You can’t possibly live in that oversized closet.”
“It’s a tiny house.”
“No fucking kidding it’s tiny. It only has two windows and a door.”
Along with weathered blue shingled siding. A two-shelf vegetable growing box with a little awning to protect from the relentlessrain. A sunroof right over the loft with her mattress. “There’s a whole nationwide movement. Tiny houses are less than fivehundred square feet. For people who want to live for themselves, rather than to accumulate things.”
“I don’t see where you’d have room to accumulate two rolls of toilet paper.” He unbuckled her seat belt. Then, instead ofgoing around to her door, Flynn just scooped her into his arms and pulled her across the bench seat. Sierra dropped the ice,she was so surprised.
Surprised and then turned on. Again. Because being cradled against Flynn’s rock-hard body was a treat.
Talk about needing to take a minute to appreciate the simple things. The heat burning through his cotton shirt. The cordingof the muscles in his neck as she looped an arm around it. Every single ripple of his abs against her hip and thigh.
Yes, Flynn was danger personified. Because he pushed every single one of her buttons. Because she could easily lose controlat his touch. At even the attention and care he’d already shown her.
Sierra knew in her bones that her ex had messed with her. Made her weak. Needy. Yearning for someone to treat her well. Makeher feel special. So that now she grabbed at even the smallest of gestures and pressed them into her heart the same way shepressed flowers to keep forever.
“Why do you live in a damn shoebox?” His breath whispered across her cheek and eyelashes. Even though it was warm, it chasedshivers up Sierra’s spine.
“One person doesn’t need much space. If this was a studio apartment in Manhattan, you’d call it both roomy and a bargain.”
“It’s supposed to be a whole house. I call it crazy.”
“The rent is affordable. I like being cozy.”
The look he gave her was so close and searing, it felt like those dark blue eyes had just x-rayed her brain. “Just so youknow, I don’t believe any of that. And you fought pretty damn hard about letting me drive you home. If I didn’t know better,I’d think you were hiding something.”
How did he know? Then Sierra remembered what one of her foster parents had told her. A football coach, he’d always spokenin sports metaphors. Most of which went right over her head. But he’d insisted that the best defense was a good offense.
So she lifted her chin, met his gaze with what she hoped was cool confidence, and said, “You won’t talk about yourself. Doesthat mean I should assume that you’re hiding something?”
Surprisingly, his gaze flicked to the side immediately. Had she hit a nerve? Sierra wished she had more experience—with men,and with life in general—to be able to read him better. Because she had the feeling that Flynn’s tiny tells probably revealeda lot about himself.
“Give me your keys.”
She scrabbled in her purse and handed them over. Without another word, he unlocked the door and carried her inside. Wherehe stopped one step into the living room and just gaped. His mouth literally fell open.
Admittedly, Sierra had done the same thing when Madalena first showed her the place. The living room that flowed right intothe galley kitchen was smaller than her old dorm room back at the Milwaukee Institute of Art & Design. That was pretty muchthe whole place, if you included the bathroom tucked into the corner and the bedroom loft. Windows on both sides let her pretendshe was living in a magical forest. The potted palm at the foot of the
