 
# Major Renovations

## Vanessa M. Knight

### Contents

Untitled

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Epilogue

Extras

Other Books by Vanessa

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Major Renovations Copyright © 2015 by Vanessa M Knight

Published by Inked Publishing

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Cover Design by Okay Creations Ebook Designed and Produced by Nancy Canu

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Edited by Nancy Canu

Major Renovation is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and events are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this work may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations for use in critical articles or reviews.

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ISBN: 978-0-9962172-0-0
To my sister Kelly for reading and rereading

and being an overall awesome friend.

# Acknowledgments

There are so many people who made these books possible; it truly does take a village and a hunk (or two) of chocolate.

First and foremost, I'd like to thank my husband, Spyder, for supporting me and my dreams emotionally and financially. He's putting his money where my pen is... Does that sound kinky, or is it just me?

I also want to thank my darling son for being my reality-check resource for the current college student. He always finds time to help, and I appreciate that immensely.

I could never forget to thank my fabulous family and friends. You have seen me through the good, the bad, and the ugly (remember that Little Orphan Annie perm...ick). Thank you for your support and understanding while I try to finish just one more book so I can relax. (Mom, I promise to relax after I write the next one.)

To my editor Nancy Canu for "getting" me and my writing style. You help make these books into something I can be proud of, and I thank you for that.

Thank you to the best critiquers in the world... J Leigh Bailey, Kelly Garcia, Nicole Leiren, and Stephanie Scott, and also to my wonderful friends, Sonali Dev, Cheryl Huth, and Cici Edwards. You all have talked me off ledge after ledge. You have given me strength and sometimes just a stiff drink, inspiring me to keep going when I wanted to quit and join the circus (thankfully, I was reminded I don't have circus-quality talents before I made that mistake). You make me laugh when I want to cry, and you make me write when I just want to watch TV. You are truly awesome.

And last but not least, I'd like to thank all of the readers. I can't wait to see where this series will go, and you allow me to continue writing so we can find out together.

# Chapter One

_Ski_

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Another box. Another electrical cord. Walking through the Psi Rho fraternity house while it was under construction was definitely hazardous to one's well-being. Between the crap lining the floors waiting for someone to trip, to the dust-encrusted air, Andrzej Kaminski's home away from home was a combined obstacle course and deathtrap, an epic journey pitting man against boxes and abandoned nail guns.

And so far, the nail guns were winning.

Ski barely heard his cell phone chirp from his pocket with the way the whirring and screeching of power tools rattled around in his head. He pulled the phone out and checked the screen. _Tata_. He didn't have the energy to fight with his father, or worse, deal with the guilt. _Tata_ would never understand. How could Ski explain what he hadn't done or, even worse, what he had done?

He hit Ignore and slid the phone back in his pocket. He was busy. _Call of Duty_ wouldn't play itself, right? And his Xbox was practically screaming from the other room—"Come play with me, bitch." All he wanted was to hang around and relax this summer. Play video games. Maybe watch some TV. All the things he never had time for from September to May, between the craziness of his pre-med classes, the fraternity, Ritter University football season, and wrestling. Besides,

the family's annual pilgrimage to the homeland was mainly his father consulting with fellow doctors and his mother sightseeing and visiting relatives. No surprise Ski had volunteered to stay here in Indiana, watching over the frat house during construction.

It's not that he didn't like spending time with his family, or that he dreaded making the trek to Poland, but he needed a break. A break from his family. A break from responsibility. A break from the freight train _Medicine_ , barreling toward his inevitable career as a doctor.

He needed time to think about his future. He needed to make some decisions without his father breathing down his neck, telling him what he liked and didn't like.

"Ski!"

He turned toward the voice yelling for him over the roar of construction.

"Ski, where do you want the new tiles for the kitchen?" Barry O'Brien's balding forehead glistened with sweat, and what was left of his hair stuck out in curly gray branches.

"They're here?"

Barry stared at him, bushy brows furrowed. "What did you say?"

Ski shook his head. Sometimes his Polish accent led to a huge communication gap. He'd thought about speech training, but he was hoping his mouth would just get the hang of English on its own. He'd been in the country for over four years, and his mouth still wasn't cooperating.

"They. Are. Here?" Over-enunciation seemed to be the key, and Barry nodded. "Does Samantha know?"

"I thought I'd tell you first." Barry awkwardly hefted the small but apparently heavy box he was holding. Ski tried to relieve him of the oddly weighty hot-potato, but the old man pulled it back to his chest. "Thanks, but she's running this show."

Ski eyed the box in Barry's hands. There had better be a huge

stack of those little boxes somewhere, since they were tiling the whole top half of the wall. That kitchen fed thirty-five guys. It was _big_. "You might want to run it by her."

"Run what by whom?" Samantha walked into the room. More like sauntered, or whatever you called that gorgeous sway of female hips. He definitely wanted fries with that shake. Hell, that milkshake could tempt a Vegan until he had a white-rimmed mustache.

She dropped her stylus on the floor, and when she bent to pick it up, her rounded ass was on glorious view as she bent over. Oh yeah. Milk—it does the body good.

She was gorgeous everywhere. Brown skin. High cheekbones swabbed a faint pink from hard work. Form-fitting jeans and T-shirt hugging that tight body. Straight black hair tied up in a ponytail.

"I was asking Ski where to put these." Barry held out the box. "The kitchen tiles are here."

"Why are you asking him? Last time I checked, I'm the manager." She shook her head back and forth, ponytail swishing with every movement. That hair was too fine to be tied in a knot. Tragic, really. Always in that damn ponytail. Just once, Ski wanted to yank the band out of her hair and see the dark strands surround her deep blue eyes. And don't get him started on those soft, pouty lips. Thank goodness he wasn't a Vegan.

Although, right now, those lips were hard and angry as she headed his way. Not so much soft and pouty. Those beautiful eyes? Narrowed nail guns glaring right at Ski. Somehow, he must have screwed up again. No matter what he did, he couldn't seem to get on her good side. And he knew she had one. She was pleasant to other people.

He should probably just take the hint. But...maybe he wasn't a Vegan, but a masochist?

"He's the owner." Barry ran a hand along his reddened face, and Samantha met his glare head on, fire burning beneath her long black lashes. Even angry, she was freaking hot.

Yep...definitely a masochist. But had he mentioned those hips, those lips? His pants shrank a size as he thought about that mouth and the things she could do to him with those hips.

"He's not the owner, the fraternity is. He's the babysitter. And I'm sure he has better things to do than decide where to put boxes of tile."

Barry turned an alarming shade of dark red, and Ski really wanted to tell him to calm the hell down before he was on the voltage end of a defibrillator. "Your father would never—" Barry began, nearly yelling.

"My father isn't here. I am," Samantha snapped back at him.

Who needed _Call of Duty_ when there was a war waging right here? Although if Barry launched an attack, Ski would kick the man's ass. He wouldn't feel good about giving the old man a beating, but he couldn't just stand here and watch him battle with Samantha.

"Where is your dad, anyway?" Ski slid in between their glares. If he had a red cape to wave, he'd do it just to get their attention off each other.

"He's on vacation. He needed a break," Samantha growled, her icy-hot glare now directed at Ski. _Great plan_. Still glaring, she wrapped her tablet closer to her chest. Sometimes Ski would swear that piece of technology was grafted onto her arm.

"Ha, _needed a break_. You made him go." Barry angled around Ski, his face growing redder by the moment. "He's miserable out there."

"His blood pressure was over—"

Speaking of blood pressure, Barry's face was now a dangerously deep shade of purple. Before Ski could interrupt, Barry took a step closer to Samantha.

"When is he coming back?" Ski stepped between them again, his hand sliding into his pocket and wrapping around his phone. The most important response to a stroke was getting medical attention ASAP. Time lost was brain lost. He looked the old man up and down, gauging his symptoms. Alarming color aside, Barry's face wasn't drooping, and his bulging eyes were focused and alert. He was still clutching that box of tiles, so no arm weakness. And the man hadn't shut up yet, so there was no problem there, either.

"Soon." A barely audible sigh passed her lips, but her spine stayed rigid. She flicked her glare at Ski. "Is there a problem?"

He shook his head. "Not at all."

"Should I put these in the kitchen, boss?" Barry sounded calmer, his skin returning to its normal paleness.

Samantha attempted a smile. "Yes, thank you, Barry."

Ski watched Barry skulk away. The man had been at the frat house a few times over the past couple of years, helping Samantha's father make changes and upgrades to the buildings on the Ritter University campus. Now Barry was working for Samantha, and Ski got the feeling the older man was not too happy about that arrangement. He was lucky Ski had been taught to respect his elders— although he was questioning that philosophy lately. Barry's attitude was itching at Ski's foot to boot him square in the ass. _Gowno_ , if he were the guy's boss, he would have sent him to the unemployment line a long time ago.

"So, trouble in the ranks, Sammy?" It wasn't his business, but the spark in her eyes told him he'd struck a chord.

"My name is Samantha." She pulled her tablet even closer and glared at him.

He knew that version of her name pissed her off, and he also knew he shouldn't be pushing her buttons when she was having a crap day with insubordinate employees. Somehow, neither seemed to stop him. "Sorry. So, how are things going while your dad's away?"

"Things are under control. We are on time with the completion of your project." She turned on her tablet, tapping and swiping at the screen.

Ski blinked. _Huh_. A computer-generated message would have been more warm and fuzzy. Apparently, he needed to be more direct. "Does Barry have a problem reporting to you because you're a woman, or because you're not your dad?"

She heard him. He knew she did. Her lips tightened when he asked the question, but she kept her eyes on the damn tablet.

"Sammy?" That always seemed to get her attention.

"Samantha. Why is that so hard for you to remember? Oh—" She put her hand to her cheek in mock sympathy. "Too many hits on the football field?"

He wasn't going to let this drop. "Samantha. I'll keep that in mind. What about Barry?" He still hadn't ruled out beating up the elderly. All she had to do was say the word.

"Probably a little of both. And taking orders from a woman— from a twenty-one-year-old woman—is not high on his list of things to do."

"He should quit, then."

"Who would hire him? He'd never leave." Ski shrugged. "Maybe you should fire him."

"I can't. He's been working with my father since he opened the company." Samantha gave him a narrow-eyed look. "Don't you have something to do? Vegetate in front of the TV or go to the gym? I mean, come on, those muscles didn't get that big by themselves."

Against his will, his mouth curved into a lopsided smile. "You've been checking out my muscles." He hadn't been sure if she even saw him—between the nonchalance and the glares, she played a good game. But she saw him, all right. She was even checking him out. _Nice._

"Yes. No. They're too big to miss. I mean, you'd have to be blind to miss them." Red crept up her neck and settled on her cheeks.

He should stop. He didn't want to embarrass her, but it was so damn enjoyable watching her try and talk her way out of this. She wasn't the type to squirm. She was strong and focused. And she was the type of woman that didn't take any shit. Not from him, and not from her crew. She was the type of woman Ski wanted to know better, if she'd just let him.

Like she'd ever let him.

But that red slowly sliding along her cheekbones told a different story. It told him that maybe—just maybe—she was interested. And hell, he'd take it. He couldn't stop his grin. "They are big. I'm a big guy—all over."

Heat burned in her eyes as she scanned him up and down. He could almost see her wondering. _How big was he? Where?_

Damn. Her gaze felt good. Better than good. Fan-fucking-tastic. He could practically feel the heat from her eyes slithering along his skin. And given the thoughts bouncing around his head... It took a lot of fucking strength not to reach out and run his hand along the curve of her waist, to see if— He took a deep breath. A _lot_ of fucking strength.

"I bet." Her interest disappeared as fast as it had appeared, and she turned her attention back to the tablet. "Too bad your ego is the biggest part of all."

Or maybe not. He shook his head. Who knew what was actually running through her head right now? "How do you know that's the biggest part?"

"Let's just call it a hunch." A cool stare replaced the heated gaze of seconds ago, and her rigid posture returned.

Temptation over. Damn. His skin pebbled from the newfound chill in the room.

"Um, we'll need you to stay out of the way today. The electrical inspector is coming." Her eyes were now riveted on the screen in her hand.

Damn tablet. He wanted to pull the thing away so she'd look at him just a little bit longer. "Good. Can you come get me? I'd like to be there."

"You don't need to be. I have it all under control."

"I know that, but I am here to babysit, so I might as well earn my five dollars an hour."

"You're getting paid to be here?" She glanced up at him, her brows raised.

He didn't buy her innocent look for a moment, but decided to let things go. For now. "No, it was a bad joke."

"Do you need anything else, Mister Kaminski?" she nearly cooed, and looked back down at the tablet.

Mister Kaminski? Even his father wasn't Mister Kaminski. So, no.

Just...no. "You can call me Ski."

"Ski. I'll keep that in mind." Her hips swung as she strode out of the room, ponytail swinging to the same rhythm. It was amazing. She could turn him to ice with one glare and then make his blood boil, all in two-point-five seconds flat.

# Chapter Two

_Sam_

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Samantha Thunder watched her crew hanging cement board on the kitchen wall. Her crew. She couldn't seem to get used to that. She was twenty-one years old, and running her own crew. She should still be learning and taking direction from someone with more knowledge, more years, more experience. Not running the show.

But with her father taking a much-needed health break, she'd had to take over—make sure the jobs got done, the bills got paid, and the men had a paycheck each week. Without her here? Well, either her father would be a walking heart attack, or the men would be out of a job.

Neither was a good option. Neither was acceptable.

"Ms. Samantha." Jordan leaned down from his ladder after he ran a screw into the concrete board. "We're almost done with this. Is the mortar here?"

"Let me check." Samantha swiped her tablet and brought up the day's schedule. Appliance delivery at one this afternoon. Tile delivery at noon. Mortar at seven this morning. Six hours ago. Shit. How did she miss that? "One minute."

She walked back through the house, and no matter how hard she tried, her eyes kept looking for Ski. Why was she even thinking about him? Especially right this minute—not one of the items on her schedule was _Ogle Ski_.

But wouldn't that be fun? Those muscles, that face. She'd love to take a few minutes and—dammit. She should be focusing on her job, her father's legacy—the missing mortar. His spiked blond hair and angular jaw were nice to look at, but the truth was that she wasn't into guys like him. He was a jock. End of story.

She shook her head and walked into the bright afternoon sun. It was just after lunch. They only had about four more hours of work today and she needed to focus on the job. Focus on things like the bags of mortar sitting in plain sight on the front porch. Her chest compressed as air whooshed from her lungs. She hadn't known she was even holding that in, but damn, she didn't have time for setbacks. Every step was important. Every task was dependent on the one that came before it.

She pulled at a yellow paper sticking out from the top of the stack—the receipt—and shoved it in her pocket. If she lost that, she was so screwed. She hefted a bag of thin-set mortar and carried it through the house to the kitchen.

"There's three more out there." She dropped the fifty-pound bag to the floor, dust spattering the air.

Jordan slid down the ladder. "Thanks, Ms. Samantha. Bryan and Pete, go grab the rest of them."

"Thanks, Jordan." She smiled at one of the few people that respected her newfound authority. Okay—maybe not _respected_ , but he didn't find it necessary to call her out on her many mistakes. And there were many.

She made sure she still had the rogue receipt and headed to her truck. Without every single slip of paper, the tally of actual expenses would be off. Her father would be pissed. She'd be pissed. Pulling open the passenger door, she stuck the receipt into a folder and dropped her forehead onto the door—repeatedly—until the sharp pain made her stop.

She was trying, really trying. She was giving one hundred percent—and she still couldn't get her shit together. How sad was that?

She was sinking in figurative wet concrete, kicking and flailing, her body slowly being consumed by gritty gray paste. She'd like to blame Barry and say he was pushing her head deeper into the muck, but dammit, she was screwing up all on her own. No help needed, thank you.

Of course, it might help if Barry got off his butt and helped her stay afloat. Yeah, right. Like he'd do that. She had a feeling he was waiting for the big screw-up. The massive one, the one that would force her father to put Barry in charge. She wasn't stupid. She knew the old man was calling her father and giving status reports behind her back.

She'd always known she'd take over her father's company someday. Hell, he'd put a hammer in her hand as soon as she was old enough to walk. But she never thought she'd be taking over so soon or so completely. Maybe in a few years, after she was established in her own career. When she could focus on both her dreams and his.

But with her father's health scare...? No. That wasn't something she wanted to think about right now. When her father finally agreed to take a break, she was surprised he hadn't put Barry in charge. Apparently, Barry was surprised he wasn't put in charge, too.

No, _surprised_ wasn't exactly the word. He was downright hostile.

She hated to admit it, but that hurt. Barry had been her father's most trusted employee for so many years. But it was more than that— he was family. He taught her how to use a circular saw when she was twelve. He let her drive the backhoe when she was fourteen. Her dad was royally pissed, but she'd loved it. And the two of them had shared a conspiratorial soda when Barry let her do it again, a week later, this time without telling her father.

So when she took over, she thought he'd be there to help her, guide her. She should be working on a way to get him on board. But how? Too bad they didn't have a human resources department that could help with employee issues. Because she had no idea how.

"Samantha!" Barry stormed out of house and over to Samantha's truck. "The plumber needs to talk to you. There's a problem."

Of course there was. "What kind of problem?"

"I don't know. He wants to talk to the manager." Barry hooked a thumb at her. "That would be you."

"Could you please find out what the problem is?" She attached her stylus to the tablet sleeve.

"Fine. By the way, half the boxes of tiles are the wrong color." Barry pulled a dark-brown tile from his pocket and handed it to her.

Of course they were the wrong color. What else was new? If it could go wrong, it would. She added _exchange tile_ to the list in her tablet of things that still needed to be done. That list seemed to grow longer and longer. Shouldn't it start to get shorter at some point? "I'll exchange them later."

Barry huffed and turned back to the building. "Later? They're about to start tiling. I need them to get as far as possible before they go home tonight. Can't you exchange them now?"

"I can't. I have to talk to the plumber." The knot behind her eyes pulsed and spread when Barry sighed heavily. She let her breath out and tried for calm. "Fine," she told him. "If you deal with the tiles, I'll talk to the plumber."

"Fine." He walked back into the house.

"Fine." Tears clawed at the back of her eyes. Barry slamming her at every turn was getting old. She hated thinking about letting him go. But, crap, what else could she do?

She ran a hand over her face. What else could she do? Tequila.

That would work. A couple hours more and she'd grab a beer. Or a shot. A little Cabo Wabo. Yeah, today was more of a tequila type of day. Between the job and Ski, she needed something to relax her, and a few shots of Cabo Wabo would do the trick.

Speaking of Ski... She rubbed her thumb over the dark brown tile. Dark brown with flecks of gold. She'd know this color anywhere. The color of Ski's eyes.

Disgusted with herself, she walked back into the house and found the offending boxes of tile, dropping the square into one of them.

_I'm not into guys like him. I'm not into guys like him._ Why couldn't her brain remember that? He was a jock. No—even worse. A frat-boy jock. He was everything she wasn't attracted to. He was a spoiled, brainless, college popularity-whore. She'd done his kind before. Dated the football star and even the frat-boy. Both experiences sucked. They not only ended, they ended badly. His kind liked to string along the townie until the next woman came along, and she'd been the townie left alone with a broken heart.

Of course, it could have been worse. Her best friend, Carly, dated one of those college pretty boys. Now she was six months pregnant. On her own, no pretty-boy in sight. He'd graduated, leaving her scared and alone with a baby to raise.

No. Thank. You.

Samantha refused to be a part of that statistic, unwed with baby dread. Not her idea of fun. Especially with a football player who'd taken one too many hits. He was probably majoring in alcoholism and coeds. Who needed that?

She had a plan. She was going to get her father's company on its feet, help it to be self-sufficient, and then she'd have time to do the kind of projects that interested her—namely, the electrical kind of projects.

Her father had thought it was cute when she said she wanted to take classes in electrical technology at a local college, and since she'd done it part-time, he couldn't really say it kept her from working. But he'd thought she was crazy when she apprenticed part-time with Bob, his electrical contractor, over the winter. That was their slow season, though, and Thunder Construction hadn't been busy, so he couldn't complain about that, either.

But after that winter, she hadn't been able to walk away. Well, she didn't _want_ to walk away. She wanted to finish her apprenticeship. She loved every part of learning how to safely harness electricity— from the creativity involved in planning the ideal placement of recessed lighting to the simple excitement of installing a new electrical outlet and then actually having it work.

When spring came, Bob had asked her to stay on and complete her training. But without her around, her father worked too hard, didn't take care of himself—and she almost lost him. So she came back to Thunder Construction.

She'd taken a winter off and the cost had been too high. No matter how much she might want something else, this was her reality— making Thunder Construction a success. This was where she belonged.

No more selfish dreams.

# Chapter Three

_Ski_

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The sound of the damn power tools the crew was using to fix the front porch roof buzzed and echoed in Ski's head. And no matter how loud he cranked the TV, he couldn't win the fight with the whirring and the whining and the pounding from outside.

Didn't they ever take a break? _Gowno_. Smoke a cigarette, eat some lunch, take a piss? Do anything that didn't torture his eardrums?

Granted, the porch roof had been a lopsided mess, and all due to his frat brother, Keith. The dumbass had done one too many shots one night, and decided to show everybody he could parkour. He'd jumped out his bedroom window and landed on the porch roof, putting his foot right through it. And as Keith had sat there, lodged in the shingles, one of the supports cracked and the roof nearly tore away from side of the building. One of the brothers secured the sagging roof, but there was no way it would last another semester. It was the dangling porch roof of Damocles.

_Bzzzzzzz..._ The damn saw screamed and screeched outside the window. He grabbed the remote from the table and jabbed the volume-up button. Fucking useless. The volume was already pushed to the extreme. He jabbed the TV off. What was the point?

Maybe if they had working AC in the house, he could close the windows in his room and muffle some of the sound pollution. He grabbed his water and downed half the bottle. One thing he'd learned in his pre-med biology class—hydrate. Even with all the windows open and a fan spinning in the corner, sweat still dripped down his back. No way was he closing a window. He'd stew in his own juices. Not that he wasn't already.

He dumped the rest of the water over his head, and cool streaks slid down his chest. One thing he learned in ten years of wrestling— soak.

He tossed the bottle in the trash. This was ridiculous. He wasn't even supposed to be here this summer. But with the frat treasurer hovering over his sick mother, and the president hovering over some horny hotties, neither could break away and—how did Samantha say it? _Babysit_. Yeah. That's it.

Not that he blamed Ryan. The treasurer had been watching his mother battle cancer for the past couple years. Now that she was finally in remission, he was a little overprotective. Who could blame him? That shit was scary. Ski wouldn't want to watch his mother fight for her life while he sat by, unable to help.

The helping part was one reason he'd wanted to go into medicine. At first. Now he didn't know anymore. He couldn't think of a time when he didn't want to be a doctor like his father. But lately, he wasn't sure if he was following the old man's dream or if he was following his own.

The applications for medical school were sitting on the table, the blank forms howling their need for completion. If his father knew he hadn't started filling them out...

He'd thought this time alone would help. Time to figure this shit out.

_Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz..._

Quiet would help. But that seemed unlikely anytime soon.

His cell phone chirped to life. _Tata_. His father's face filled the

screen again. Just what he didn't need. Maybe he should just let it go to voicemail. It wasn't like he could talk with all this noise anyway.

He wasn't the type to ignore the old man, though, and he'd already ignored him once today. He stared at the screen, heartbeat accelerating, and then jumped in the closet, kicking aside bags and trash before slamming the door. The low rumble of power tools persisted, but he could hear a helluva lot better.

" _Cześc, Tato_. How's Poland?"

"Fine. We missed you the other day. We had an interesting case over at the hospital..." His father rambled on and on about a mitral valve replacement. The words might have zipped by, but the awe in his father's voice didn't escape Ski. That's all Ski wanted, to feel that same excitement when he talked about something. Anything.

"How is class going?"

"Class?" Right—the only reason his father let him skip the yearly family vacation was because Ski was supposed to be taking Molecular Genetics this summer to get a jump on next term. "Class is fine. Learning a lot."

"Did you submit the application to Harvard Medical School?

Katia over in admissions is on the lookout for your application."

"Not yet, _Tato_. I'm still working on it." Ski could feel his nose growing with every lie. He looked around the closet for that chirpy little cricket, just in case. "But you know I'd rather go somewhere closer to home. University of Chicago has a great program..." _and other majors if I decide to drop med school._

"It's important to keep your options open. A degree from Harvard and you can sign your own ticket. We're always looking for a good heart surgeon, and that Harvard degree would guarantee you a spot."

"So, if I don't go to Harvard, I won't have a spot?" "It helps."

"I'm working on it, _Tato_."

"Well, work faster. This is your future you're messing with here." His father sighed. Yeah, Ski knew the feeling. "I need to get back to your mama before she falls asleep. We spent the day in the city so she's exhausted. _Do widzenia_."

"Yeah. Bye." Silence filled the line as he inhaled deeply, the burning stench of lies filling his nostrils. He drew in another breath. Nope. Even lies didn't smell that bad. How long had the closet smelled so foul? He stepped out into the noise and stared back into the half-empty closet. He picked up his suitcase and slid it past his nose. Nope. He sniffed the three hanging shirts. Nope. April fresh.

Well, maybe not April fresh, maybe more like a late June. He pulled out the garbage lining the floor and dumped it in the trash can. The one thing he hated about frat life was sharing a room with frat brothers, especially frat brothers who couldn't be bothered with throwing garbage away. Frat brothers that left their shit all over the room. Barbarians.

He slid back in the closet. Ah, _that_ smell. WTF? He peered at the top shelf of the closet. An old Nike bag was shoved into a corner. His own gym bag, no less. That it was his bag and not one of his barbarian roommates was not lost on him. _Gowno_. Okay, so he took back the barbarian comment, but they weren't around to hear it anyway.

Putting the bag on the floor, he yanked the zipper and gagged. Rotted sweat and musty death hit his nose. He reached inside and found running gear encrusted with a black moldy science experiment. Shit. Rummaging further in the scary darkness, he pulled out his iPod. Nice. He'd looked everywhere for that damn thing. He tossed it on the table, but there was no way he could salvage the clothes. He shoved the whole bag in the trash and tied it off. Next time he headed outside, he'd get rid of the thing.

The sun beat through the open windows of his room as the workman continued with their ear torture. A cacophony of random loudness banged against his head.

The water he'd poured on his skin earlier had dried, leaving him with a new sheen of sweat. He thought about begging Samantha to start on the AC, but knowing how annoyed she got with him—? Well, she'd probably leave it for last. Call a girl "Sammy" a few times and all of a sudden you were Public Enemy Number One.

Good thing no one was around, because Ski couldn't keep the dopey smile off his face. She was so damn fun.

The nail gun, power saw, and belt sander symphony kept up their never-ending tune. Between the heat and noise, he needed a break. He could head out, but sitting alone at the local bar wasn't high on his list. He could call some of the local brothers, but the noise-inspired headache made it impossible for him to be civil.

A shower. Showers generally didn't require civility, although he could muster up some civility with a dark-haired, blue-eyed shower companion. Just what he needed, another fantasy running in his mind.

Unfortunately, back in the real world, Samantha would slap the shit out of him for even thinking these thoughts. His head throbbed at the thought of the jarring thwap. No shower companion for him.

But maybe the closed door and falling water of a solo shower would block a little of the heavy metal concert outside. It would definitely cool down his body temperature. At this point, he was desperate. And maybe he'd even wash the stench of lies from his skin, because his father was going to go ballistic.

Ski not only wasn't taking that molecular genetics class this summer, he'd dropped pre-med altogether.

He was now majoring in business. And when his father found out, the pain he felt in his head today would be nothing compared to the pain of his father's disappointment.

# Chapter Four

_Sam_

* * *

Samantha stared at the exposed wiring in the hall and mentally crossed her fingers. Bob had signed off on the electrical work she had done in the kitchen—good thing she'd thought to double-check the hallway last week. It turned out to be the same problem, different circuits. The fact that the downstairs framing hadn't been charred was a miracle at best. Redundant wiring, overloaded circuits, and uncapped lines had plagued the entire floor.

They'd taken care of the last of the inside wiring before Bob had left last night. When she didn't finish the complete apprenticeship, she didn't get her license. So now she could only work on the wiring when she had a licensed contractor watching her every move. She could have had this done a week ago if she didn't have to wait on Bob all the time. She pulled out a pair of capped wires. She really could have done a neater job. If only she had—

"Ms. Thunder?"

"Yes?" Samantha jumped, poking the offending wires back in place before spinning around.

A middle-aged man, complete with paunch and thick rimmed glasses, leaned toward her, his right hand outstretched. The badge clipped to his collar told her she had better be ready. The badge also told her she had been caught thinking bad thoughts—by the inspector.

"Hi, Ms. Thunder. I'm Doug Johnson with the Building Commissioner's Office. I'm here to inspect the wiring." He shuffled through a stack of paper on his clipboard.

"You're on time." She sighed. This guy seemed to have his crap together. Maybe she needed to get a clipboard, and then she too could have her crap together.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "You _are_ ready for me."

There was no way she was paying for another inspection, not if she could help it. She pasted on a smile. "Yes. Yes—we're ready. Please come in." _Please, let us be ready. Please, don't let us fail._

He walked in the house and stared at the gaping holes in the wall for a long moment. "I was told Bob Schmidt was the electrician on this site. Where is he?"

"He had an emergency over at the animal shelter, but I'm the general contractor."

"Great." He looked around again, glancing at Samantha's crew as they taped and spackled at the other end of the hall.

She really needed this inspection over with as soon as possible. The painters were on loan from another project—she only had them through the end of the week, and they still had to paint the porch, patch the walls, and paint the downstairs hall once this inspection was finished.

_Crappity-crap._ There was too much to do and not enough time to get it done. Too many moving parts. Too many things to keep her eyes on. She rubbed her forehead, trying to dull the pain spreading from her eyes to her temples. She hadn't had this bad a headache since she'd been called Sammy. _Ski._ "I need to grab the property representative." _Babysitter. Gorgeous dreamy-eyed babysitter._ What the hell was that? "He asked to be included." She smiled at the inspector.

Johnson nodded. "All right."

"Barry." She waved her hand, and he hustled right over to them. "Can you please escort Mr. Johnson out to my truck? I have some water in the cooler in the back."

"Sure, boss." He grabbed the inspector's hand and pumped it. "Doug, how are the kids?"

The men walked outside laughing like long lost BFFs. Samantha looked for somewhere to stash her tablet, but everyplace looked like an accident waiting to happen. Coat closet. She opened the door and stepped in, placing her lifeline on the tippy-top shelf. She stepped back out in the hall and froze when she heard the inspector clear his throat right outside the house.

"Let's be frank here, Barry," Doug said after a moment of silence. "Was Bob Schmidt really on site for this project?"

Samantha's heart stopped. Why was he asking that? Barry apparently agreed with her—what a shock. "Why?"

"Your site manager was poking around with some of the wires when I got here. Let's just say I know Bob Schmidt's work, all right?"

Silence. Barry was silent. This was how he'd get her. He'd say she did the work when Bob wasn't here, and let the inspector assume the worst. It wouldn't matter she'd worked with Bob. It wouldn't matter she'd followed the rules. One word, and she'd never be able to work as an electrician again.

"She was checking Bob's work." No animosity or venom in his tone. Apparently, trying to destroy her was fine, but not in front of the inspector. Her stomach unraveled, and her breath left in a large whoosh.

"Checking Bob's work? He has twenty-seven years of experience. How old is she? Twelve?"

Samantha peered around the door to watch the men. Barry laughed, and then threw up his hands and sighed. "Now you see what I have to deal with without Bryan."

"Hopefully he'll come back soon."

The men drank deep from their water bottles. If she wasn't so damn thankful Barry hadn't stabbed her in the back, she'd slap him for that _now you see what I have to deal with_...

Whatever.

She ran up the stairs to Ski's room. Crap. He didn't technically tell her which room was his. Of course, she'd happened to see him walk into his room a few times. And maybe she'd seen him through the window once or twice. But it wasn't like she was looking for him or anything.

She knocked on the door. Silence.

She knocked again. She didn't have time to play hide and seek. She turned the doorknob, and it was unlocked. _Go in. Don't go in._ It seemed wrong to just walk into his room. But if she didn't, and Ski missed the inspector, she would never hear the end of it. She inched open the door, just wide enough to call inside. "Mister Kaminski?"

Silence. "Ski?"

_Crappity-crap_. She threw open the door and looked around. She could definitely see the masculine touches in the room. A small couch faced a large coffee table and a big-screen TV on one half of the room, with papers stacked on the coffee table. A half wall divided the room, and on the other side stood three beds. Two were stripped to the bare mattress. But one was immaculate. Military corners on the made-up bedspread. Surprising, given the stale beer and pizza smell embedded in the walls of the house.

She always figured jocks were the messy sort. But with the exception of the paperwork on the coffee table, this room was spotless. No food wrappers. No empty cans of beer. Really surprising. It was almost like a grown man lived here.

Too bad _grown man_ was an oxymoron, stressing the _moron_. "Ski?" she called one last time. She needed to get back to Mister

Johnson before Barry bored him with construction stories of old and he ran away.

Across the hall, the click of the bathroom door was followed by a large body—make that a large, almost-naked body—strolling out of the bathroom. She watched a drip slide off his chin— _my God, his shoulders are broad_ —and slither down his abs to the towel at his narrow waist. His abs. His abs were ridiculous. Six pack didn't quite explain it. She had an overwhelming urge to do an old-school load of laundry, running her hands up and down the hard ridges. The room was really warm, wasn't it?

"Hey." Did she really just say that? How pathetic. "Hey."

"Um...well. They're here."

"Dey?" His accent. It was so sexy. And kind of irresistible. "Who's dey?" Ski smirked. He looked so adorable when he smirked.

_Crappity-crap. Sexy? Irresistible? Adorable?_ Shoot her now. Time to focus. Focus on the job. Not on the David statue in front of her. "They. The inspector. He's here, and he's in a hurry."

"I'll throw on clothes and head down."

"Okay." She watched his muscles ripple. Who knew muscles could actually ripple? She rubbed a hand over her mouth. Was she drooling? Please don't let her be drooling. That would suck. She stared at him as he stood there, not moving.

"Want to watch?" He smirked.

_Yes. Oh please, yes._

"I can promise good show, but the inspector will have to wait." He picked up a pair of jeans from the arm of the couch.

_No, dammit._ "I'm leaving." Her eyes inhaled the body in front of her one last time. Maybe she should rethink the no-serious-relationships rule she had going on. She'd really like to get serious with them abs. Who wouldn't? She was only human. She turned to the door. Evil thoughts. The man would be her undoing if she didn't get her head on straight and lose these damn evil thoughts.

# Chapter Five

_Ski_

* * *

Ski watched as the inspector poked at the holes in the walls, pulling wires and writing things down on the clipboard. The guy made his way through the house, and ended on the new front porch. Ski hadn't been around for the inspection of the porch, but he wondered if it was always this intense.

"Well, I got some bad news." The inspector's pen worked frantically over the piece of paper. He sat on the step that led down to the front walk. "You used indoor conduit here on the porch."

"But it'll be covered by the overhang." She looked at the offending cable. "You can use indoor cable if it's covered by an overhang."

"Who told you that?" Doug Johnson laughed. "My school."

"Well, honey, you might want to get a refund. That's not how things work in Cedar Glen." He handed her a bill for today's visit. Ski couldn't make out the amount, but from what he'd seen so far of the construction business it was probably a lot.

_Anger. Frustration. Disgust._ All her emotions stomped across her face as she leaned against the house. "I can get this done tonight. When can we schedule a re-inspection?"

The guy rolled a finger over a calendar on his clipboard. "The earliest I can get back is Friday."

"Nothing sooner?" She tried to hide the aggravation, but her face was a wide-open book.

"Friday at three. Take it or leave it." The inspector stood up, glancing at his watch.

"Take it."

"Good. See you then." He walked toward his car.

Ski watched Samantha pick at the wires and drop her forehead to the brick.

"Dammit." Barry whipped out his phone and punched some numbers. He stomped toward the side of the house. "Your father would never let this happen. This is what happens when children are left to run a business."

Samantha cleared her throat. Was she crying? _Gowno_ , Ski was going to have to kick the shit out of the elderly today. "He was out of line," he told her in a low voice.

"No. He wasn't. I messed up. I installed this. I should have double-checked with Bob before I did anything."

"Ms. Thunder, we have the appliances you ordered." A man walked through the front yard, dodging plastic and tools.

She stiffened her back and made an attempt at a smile. A poor attempt. "The kitchen is at the back of the house."

"I'll show them where to go." Ski jumped at the chance to help. To help Samantha. To help remove the worry pinching her eyebrows together.

He led appliance guy around the house to the back door, and the guy pulled out a measuring tape and checked the opening. "Your new fridge won't fit through this door."

"How about the sliding glass doors?" Ski pointed to the glass doors further down along the side of the building. Two years ago they'd driven a go-cart through those monster doors. Only cracked one pane of glass. Samantha still hadn't fixed that yet, but he figured it was on her list of things to do.

"Perfect," the man said, so over they went to the sliders. They both stared at the dusty glass. On the other side, furniture was stacked to the ceiling. The pool table, ping pong table and the bar were shoved together. Metal and plastic chairs were stacked on top, forming a large pyramid covered with plastic sheeting. Okay, maybe not.

The delivery guy shook his head. "We'll never make it through there."

"There's the front door." Ski led the way back to the front of the house, back to where he'd left Samantha. "Would that work?"

The man measured the door and nodded. "This will work." He walked toward the truck, waving to his two helpers. They promptly put on gloves and loaded the behemoth fridge onto a hand truck.

Ski hung out and watched as they rolled the handcart up to the porch and popped it up one step. The trio of lifters popped it up another step and then onto the porch, rolling the handcart and fridge through the front door. They headed to the kitchen, stopping to move the old refrigerator out of the way.

"Will you be taking this one with you?" Ski twitched with the urge to help as the men swirled around getting the job done. Disconnect the old. Reconnect the new.

"Yep. We're full service." One of the men plugged in the new appliance and shifted it into place as another one handed Ski a piece of paper. "We need your signature saying you accepted the delivery."

Ski signed the form and the men and the handcart headed out toward the front door with the old fridge. A nice, excitement-free delivery. He could totally do this. He pulled the plastic and tape from the new appliance and opened the door. Cool air snuck up his arm. _Ahhhh_.

Samantha walked in the kitchen door. "Thanks for the help. I needed a break."

"No problem." He smiled and handed her the form he'd signed.

She seemed to be calmer. The stress behind her eyes faded as she ran a hand over the outside of the open door. "This is a great model. My last kitchen customer ordered the same one. She said it's the top of the line. Did you know that?"

"No, our president picked it out." But knowing him, next year the frat brothers would be paying for his need to have top of the line in higher dues. Jackass.

"It's nice." She smiled. Actually smiled at Ski. It was like the Loch Ness monster. He knew it existed, but he'd never seen it himself. It was amazing, and then it was gone, her head dropping to look down at her tablet. She'd gone for a whole hour without the damn thing, but now it was back.

"What the fuck!" Barry burst into the kitchen. "What the hell happened to the porch?"

_The porch?_

"What?" Samantha followed Barry out the door and Ski followed Samantha.

"Oh, no." She pushed the handrail back into place, but the thing had torn away from the porch support, and a crack ran for about a foot along the length. A couple of the things underneath—Ski had no idea what you called them—were cracked, too. "What the hell happened?" She turned to Ski. Her hardened eyes and squared shoulders said so many things. All of them R-rated, and not in a good way.

"I don't know. They brought the fridge in through here no problem."

"What about the old one? Did they go this way?" Her eyes stared right through him, picking him to shreds.

"Well, yeah..."

"So you signed this" —she shook the form at him— "but didn't make sure they took out the old appliance without any issues."

"Why is he telling you what happened? Where were you?" Barry's face was purple again, but this time Ski was having trouble caring. Barry's asshole tendencies might make the old bastard sick down the road, but right now? Right now, those tendencies were hurting Samantha and pissing off Ski. Because somehow Ski fucked up. Somehow this was his fault.

"I ran inside." Her voice was thin as glass.

"For the love of God, what is wrong with you?" Barry leaned toward Samantha.

"Enough!" Ski had to jump in. If this guy laid one finger on her head, Ski was going to lay him out. No questions.

But Barry didn't get any closer. "You're right this is enough. First you fail the inspection, and now this. It's like _Romper Room_ around here. This is going to put us behind by more than a day or two unless you planned on redoing the porch construction. I sure as hell hadn't planned on it. Dammit." He punched in a phone number and lifted the phone to his ear. "Bryan, I know you're on vacation, but we need to talk."

Barry walked into the house, growling into the phone, and looking at Samantha's drooping shoulders made Ski want to take back any good words about the man. He was an ass, hanging Samantha out to dry. He'd actually tattled on her. Tattled. Like a five-year-old. The urge to beat the crap out of the old bastard reared its ugly head.

"I'm sorry. It's my fault. I'll fix it." He really would do anything. Not that he knew how to fix it, but they had instructions for stuff like this online, right?

"No. It's my fault. I shouldn't have left you alone with the crew." She slid her fingers up and down her tablet. "I let my dad down."

She dropped to the top step of the porch, and the look on her face just about broke his heart. The porch and his heart, both broken now, and he had no idea how to put them back to together. He hated that most of all.

"Samantha. Your father needs to talk to you." Barry walked out the door waving his cell phone.

"Give me a minute." She pulled in a long gust of air. "Crap. Crap. Crap." A glare of volcanic proportions met Ski's innocent hand as he tried to help her up. "Why are you still here?" She stood and wiped her hands on her jeans.

"I want to help." Ski slid his hands into his front pockets. "You've helped enough. Don't you have somewhere else to be?"

The words cut, and the tone shriveled his—well, something. Why did he need a reason to be here? He lived here. "Just trying to find out what's going on with my home."

"Well, things are under control."

"Really? Because things don't look under control." Had he just said that? Pretty soon he'd be in line to kick his own ass.

"You know what? I get enough of that between my father and Barry. I don't need it from you." Her snarl grew. "I'll get my job done, Mister Kaminski. Of course, it would go a lot quicker without constant mindless interruptions from the babysitter."

"Well, don't let me interrupt you then, _Samantha_." He walked past her and stomped through the front door. The smell of chemicals and rubber filled his nose.

He needed out. Out of this cesspool of noise, stench, and anger. He was through with her. He tried. He failed. It was time to just move on. If it was only that easy.

# Chapter Six

_Ski_

* * *

The sun streamed in the back windows of the house on Friday morning, the construction noise a dull roar in the background, and the view of Samantha a dull blade in his back. He'd made a point of avoiding her—he didn't need to hear again how he was in the way or wasn't wanted. He got that message loud and clear the first time.

Her black hair shone as she sat on her bumper and wrote in her tablet. She looked amazing in this light. Hell, in any light. He was so screwed.

"Enjoying the view?"

Ski spun around to stare at his frat brother Ryan. "What are you doing here?"

"Hi to you, too. Yes, the ride up was nice, very scenic. Thanks for asking." Ryan waved a hand. "The place looks great."

"Yeah, Sammy has everything under control."

"Sammy?" Ryan asked, and of course that meant she walked in just in time to hear that. Could his luck possibly suck more?

"What have I got under control?" Samantha looked Ryan up and down.

Great. Ski could almost see her comparing Ryan to him. Ryan had on jeans and a button-up shirt and his perfect brown hair was in place—well, as in place as Ryan's hair got. He looked like he at least tried, though. Ski, on the other hand, was standing there in sweats and T-shirt, with bed head. Homeless men looked more put together.

"Hi—Samantha, right? I'm Ryan Kent. We talked last month."

"Ryan. The deposit guy. Nice to finally meet you in person."

Samantha was all business, playing cordial hostess. Ski recognized that particular tone of voice. His mom used it at every doctor-party function his father dragged her to.

"Would you like to see the progress?" Samantha smiled at Ryan and Ski tried not to growl.

"Sure. So how's it going with my boy here? Is he driving you crazy with his freakish intelligence?" Ryan's eyes went from Ski to Samantha. He saw something. He must. He was always way too perceptive.

Samantha's smile was more like a smirk now, or maybe that was just Ski seeing things. "No, not with his freakish intelligence."

Ryan laughed. "So, which part has driven you crazy? His face stuck in a book or his obsession with working out?"

"Or maybe it's his freakish strength after that time he beat the crap out of his best friend." Ski glared at Ryan. The glare said _shut up_ , if Ryan would just stop laughing and take a good look.

Damn Ryan.

Samantha shook her head and gave Ryan another party-hostess smile. Ryan followed along behind her while she gave him a tour of the kitchen, showing him the tile, the fridge, the freshly painted walls. They walked through the downstairs room by room, with her explaining what was done and why.

"What's left? It seems you have everything done." Ryan leaned his head in the general direction of the front door and laughed. "Well, except for the porch. Looks like someone took a bite out of it."

She laughed. _Laughed_. "Yeah, there were some—unforeseen issues."

Now he was an unforeseen issue. Real nice.

"I love that we'll have lights across the whole front of the house now." Ryan stepped outside, waving at the inside of the porch roof. "This is going to be great. We just have to make sure none of the barbarians we live with fall through the roof or do this again." He poked at the hanging rail.

"It _can_ be hard to control the barbarians," Samantha agreed, her gaze finding Ski. "But I will be double-bolting the railing to ensure stability."

"That's probably not a bad idea." Ryan stamped one foot on the decking. "You upgraded the joists to two by eights, right? It feels a lot sturdier."

"I did." She smiled at Ryan, and Ski seriously though he was going to be sick.

He narrowed his eyes at Ryan. "I didn't know business courses covered building construction."

"They don't." Ryan gave Ski an innocent look that Ski totally didn't trust. "It's a hobby. I took an architecture course."

Great—a hobby that got Ryan closer to Ski's woman. Not that she was his woman or anything, but that didn't mean Ryan and his name-brand jeans could come in and swoop her up. There were codes. Bro codes.

_Thou shalt not steal thy brother's woman._

Again, not that she was his—but he saw her first. Did he really just think that? Dammit. Just...dammit.

And Samantha was still smiling at that snake Ryan. "Well, we can always use some help around here, especially from someone with experience." She laughed. _Laughed_. Again.

He'd taken hits on the field that hurt less. Ski was a nuisance, and Ryan was the second coming of Christ, for fuck's sake.

The smiles. Ryan got a _smile_. Ski got scowls.

The laughter. Ryan got laughter. Ski got yelling.

Fuck. Ski bent over backward, and got nowhere. Ryan mentioned joists and suddenly was short-listed for best friend status. Or maybe more. Was Ryan trying for more?

"Don't you have a girlfriend or an arranged marriage or something?" Ski spit the words out before he really thought about them.

Ryan took a step back and stared. _Dammit._ Ski should've thought twice about throwing that out there. Ryan hated that his parents were constantly trying to throw the country club women at him. One woman in particular. An old family friend Ryan would never see as anything more than a friend. And Ski knew it. Knew how much it upset Ryan.

"Yeah." Ryan brushed nonexistent dirt off his jeans. "I should go."

"Wait." Ski's phone vibrated in his pocket and he automatically checked the screen. His cousin. His cousin was with his parents in Poland. What could he possibly want? Maybe there was something wrong with them. "I have to take this, but don't leave," he told Ryan.

Ski put the phone to his ear and walked around the side of the building. "This better be important."

"Andrezj, don't freak, everything is okay," his cousin Joe said. The hushed tone and slow words were not a good thing. No conversation ended well when it began with _don't freak_. "It's your mom, there was a small accident."

# Chapter Seven

_Sam_

* * *

Samantha watched Ski walk away, leaving her alone with Ryan. Not that it was a hardship or anything. Ryan was good-looking. Great smile. Adorably disheveled hair. Not quite as good-looking as Ski—not that she was looking. It was just a passing thought.

Ryan stepped down and sat on the porch steps, arms resting on his knees. The easy smile from earlier was gone, and before Ski had run off, Ryan looked like he'd been kicked in the—well, in a bad place by his best friend.

"So, arranged marriage." She moved and sat down across from him on the other side of the top step.

"It's not actually an arranged marriage. It's a highly-suggested life course with the added bonus of a chosen bride." He threw a hollow smile her way.

"Does anyone still do that?"

"When you're building an empire, you do."

"That's rough." She couldn't even imagine being told who to marry. "Who's building the empire?"

"My father."

She knew all about father problems. "I take it you don't like your selected woman."

He shrugged, and dropped his head until it hung almost between his knees. "She's a great friend, but she's just not my type."

"What's your type?"

Ryan lifted his head and looked around, probably looking for Ski to save him from her questions. Not that she blamed him. She hated talking about herself, too. But something about the practically- betrothed Ryan interested her.

Someone who joked so easily with Ski. Someone who so obviously pissed Ski off and got pissed off at his best friend, yet still sat here waiting. Not running. He definitely interested her.

"I guess my type is someone who's not afraid to have fun, no matter what anybody thinks. Someone who isn't counting my money or social connections before they'll even go out on a first date. Someone who just likes me—for me. What about you?"

"Oh no, this isn't about me."

"Come on. I showed you mine. You have to show me yours. It's only fair." He leaned back against the top step, grinning.

"Okay." She took a deep breath, and no, it wasn't her imagination—Ryan didn't check out her chest. Curious.

She ran her finger over her tablet, stalling. "I want—" _someone who will love me, will never let me down, will never leave._ In other words, a fantasy. "—to be alone." Hadn't some famous actress said that?

"Hmm... Alone. Sounds lonely." Ryan's nod only made her more aware she didn't do this. She didn't share. She didn't talk about herself. Not like this. What-if's were for dreamers, for girls who believed they were princesses and other romantic drivel encouraged by cartoons. That wasn't her. She was a realist.

"Not when you do it right." Her eyes searched for Ski to save her from Ryan, from herself.

"What's the right way to be alone?"

"Great friends. Great movies." _Occasional date with a good_ _vibrator._ She kept that last one to herself. Definitely TMI.

"I'm surprised you'd choose to be alone. I'm surprised guys aren't throwing themselves at you."

"Who says they're not? I'm just not catching."

"That's too bad," he drawled, and his smirk made her wonder what she'd just revealed. "You might miss a really great guy."

"What? Like you?" She knew that's not what he meant, but she figured she'd throw all of this back on him.

"No." He laughed. "Definitely not me."

"So, you're not great."

"I'm a mess. You don't want someone like me."

"Then what do I want?" She didn't mean to ask it. It just fell out of her mouth. But that wasn't even the most disturbing part. The worst part was she was hanging on Ryan's next breath, hoping he could tell her what she wanted. She'd been thinking about that for weeks, and still had no clue.

"I'm thinking a tall Polish Ritter student." Ryan slid her a grin.

"Yeah, well, he wouldn't want me. I'm the mess in that relationship." Her face flamed. "Not that there's a relationship. We're just friends. Not even friends. He's my boss. You know, never mix business and pleasure." She stood up before the embarrassment melted her into a puddle of goo on the ground. Or she babbled some more.

"I think he could overlook that."

"Overlook what?" She stopped in her tracks. What could he overlook? And why did it matter?

"The mess, the friends, the boss." Ryan's smile spread across his face, and really—why wasn't she going all melty over him? Why did it have to be Ski? Not that it mattered, they were both annoying fratties, so not her type. They were the opposite of her type, if she really had a type. Which she didn't.

Why was she still standing there again?

"I should get back to work." She pasted on a smile as she walked him to the parking area. "It was nice to meet you."

"It was nice to meet you too, Samantha."

She practically tripped over her own feet as she ran back into the house. Away from Ski and away from Ryan's prying eyes. _He could overlook that_. Yeah, he probably could. And didn't that just scare the crap out of her. Because he might be able to look past her faults now, but what about later?

What about after she fell in love and started to rely on him? Would he be so willing to see past her flaws then? Would he stick by her when she forgot to do some easy task, like checking her employee's work? Or would he walk away? Just get fed up?

Her mother did it. And she had that whole maternal thing. That thing that said she would love her child no matter what. Yet she walked away, without a backward glance.

Ski didn't even have that maternal thing to keep him around.

What would keep him from walking away?

# Chapter Eight

_Ski_

* * *

Later that afternoon, Ski sat at Barnacles pub listening to Ryan ramble on about bullshit. The mock porthole windows and wood- plank furniture made him feel like Jack Sparrow. A tall blond Jack Sparrow, without the guy-liner. Or an earring. He leaned on the table—a glass-covered ship's wheel—and grabbed his head, ignoring the overwhelming urge to beat his head on the table. Or beat the crap out of Ryan. Either would work. He'd really wanted to get out of the frat house, but why had he agreed to go to Barnacles with Ryan today? He had no idea. Although he had to admit, the sexy seafaring wenches that brought out the food and booze might have helped. Awesome wings and eye candy never hurt when drinking away one's problems.

"So, it was interesting seeing all the progress on the house." Ryan finally sat back and took a drink of his beer.

"Yes." Ski played with the label on the beer bottle in front of him. Sam had made a lot of progress. Great. Then she'd go away and stop tormenting him with that body. That should make him happy, so why did it only make his stomach twist?

"Ski!"

"What?"

"So, how long have you had a thing for the contractor?" Ryan raised his eyebrows, and Ski glared at him. Ryan only shrugged. "I get it—the way you eye-humped her when she showed us around. She's hot. You two will make beautiful babies and shit."

"Shut up. It's not like that." He only wanted it to be like that.

Dammit.

"Really?" Ryan grinned and raised his beer. "Then maybe I'll take a run at her."

"Back off, Kent." The growl left Ski's throat before he could stop himself. Ryan wasn't stupid enough to make a run for his girl. Was he? _Gowno_ , Ski was so screwed. His girl? He kept thinking that shit. He couldn't even tell reality from fantasy if his first thought was Samantha—his girl. She wasn't his. Hell, she didn't even like him.

Ryan laughed and raised his hands above his head in surrender. "Consider me backed off." He kept laughing while he snatched up the last wing. _Dupek_.

He didn't see why Ryan was giving him such a hard time. So he liked the way Samantha fit into a pair of jeans. She was nice to look at. That didn't mean anything had to happen between them. Ski was in college, going to be a business major. Dwelling on a woman who had no interest in him was stupid. And Ski was not stupid. "It's no big deal." He picked up his beer.

"No big deal? You've been burying that big head in book after book and only lifting your eyes long enough to catch a football. Please. You're finally getting a life. It's a big deal."

"Yeah. Well, it doesn't matter. She... Never mind."

"I get it. Love sucks." Ryan raised his bottle and Ski air-clinked it with his own.

He hadn't really talked to Samantha since the inspection—what was the point? She made it perfectly clear he was a nuisance. Shit, that still hurt.

"I heard what Samantha said, but what about you?"

Ski blinked. "Huh?" He hadn't said that out loud, had he?

"Samantha said they'd be done by the end of July. Do you think we'll be able to move in on time?"

"Yeah. It's coming along." Of course, Ski had no idea how she'd get it all done with the inspector setback, but Ryan didn't need to know about that. And heaven forbid they ran into any more problems. "It should be done before summer finals." He checked his phone. He'd overheard the crew talking about the inspector coming back this afternoon. Ski thought about dropping in, but he didn't want to be in the way. They seemed ready without his help, so why hover? "Hopefully, we'll finish the porch soon." Shit. _We_? As if he had anything to do with the project. As if she wanted him to have anything to do with the project.

"So, you're studying to be a contractor now."

"What?"

"Well, you seem to know all about the house and the boring details. Figured you were dropping pre-med and going into house building. Hell, we could go into business together. The architect and the contractor."

Dropping pre-med. If Ryan only knew. "I just pay attention." _Dupek_. "Why are you here? Checking up on me?"

"Schedule issue." Ryan shrugged and took a sip of beer.

"What could be wrong with your schedule?" Ski tried for an innocent look. "Doesn't your dad choose all your classes?"

"Yeah, I saw him at the registrar's, waiting in line behind your dad." Ryan smirked and raised his beer. "What classes did your dad pick for you?"

"I told him to surprise me." Ski smiled—Ryan got it. He'd had his life mapped out in perfect detail by an over-controlling father, too. He knew what it was like to have no say in your own future.

Ski watched Ryan peel the label from the bottle. This was his chance to talk to someone. Someone who might understand that even though he loved his classes, real life was a whole different game. Did he want to be a doctor? What if he hated it? What if the medical genius of his father skipped a generation?

What if he loved it? So far he'd excelled at memorizing the crap in a book. But his hands were too big, too clumsy to belong to a surgeon, and he didn't have the ass-kissing skills required to be successful in the political nightmare of a hospital.

Nope. Ski was on his own. Ryan would never understand that part. Anything he wanted to do, he'd do, and do it well. He didn't have clompy hands and an accent that confused people.

Ryan pushed back in his chair. "I should head home. I've got a three hour drive ahead of me."

"Yeah, I need to get back to the house." Why? Who the fuck knew. "By the way, how's your mom?"

"Good. My sister was able to help her get her hair into a ponytail. A very small ponytail. But just the fact that she was able to put the clippy thing in her hair was amazing. So we celebrated with wine and a huge Italian dinner."

"Nice. I don't know how you did it, man. I got that call from Joe today and I was scrolling through websites to fly to Poland. That shit's messed up."

"Yeah, but your mom is fine. Just a fall. They're just cutting the trip short."

"Exactly. You put up with that crap for almost a year."

"I'm finally able to breathe after all that shit." Ryan leaned back in the chair. He did seem more relaxed. Calmer.

"So, guys, can I get you anything else?" The pirate-wench-slash- waitress magically appeared at their table, her short skirt showing off long tanned legs, and her ample chest bouncing in his, and then Ryan's, face.

"No thanks, Mandy."

"Check would be good." Ski checked his watch again. Was the inspector done? Did they pass? There was that "they" word again.

"It's right here, baby." She propped her foot on the empty chair, displaying the black folder stuck through a wide elastic garter on her thigh. Ryan went to reach for the bill, but pulled his hand back at the last second, much to Ski's relief.

With all the hands that groped the plastic bill folder—and then she put it there? He wasn't necessarily a germaphobe, but he couldn't wrap his head around the bacteria likely being spread by that folder.

"Come on now, Ryan, it should be easy for a big strong Psi Rho man like you to get up my skirt."

"Now, Mandy, it should be harder for me to get into a prim and proper Alpha Nu girl's skirt. Wouldn't your sorority frown on that?" Ryan grabbed the check and reached for his wallet.

"I won't tell if you won't. Anyway, I can play hard to get when I want to." She grabbed the plates, her ass shaking back and forth as she walked away from the table.

Ski snorted in disbelief, and Ryan looked over at him and shrugged. "She seems nice," he said. "In an overly-friendly, check- for-crabs kind of way." He threw down a couple bills. "I got this. You get next."

Mandy walked back to the table, a big Styrofoam clamshell in one hand. She twirled her curly blond hair between her fingers. "Here you go, baby. If you change your mind..." Setting it down, she wrote her phone number on top of the clamshell and winked.

"What's in the box?" Ski asked after she flounced off.

Ryan lifted a corner, and a smile spread across his face. "Cherry pie."

"A for effort, but F for originality," Ski said as they headed for the exit.

"Amen, brother." Ryan laughed as he swung the door open.

"Gonna call her?" She was a little too rabid-dog for Ski's taste, but he hoped Ryan knew better.

"No." Ryan handed him the box when they got to his car. "You don't want it?"

"Nah, take it home to your hot contractor. Maybe if you share your pie with her, she'll share her..."

"Do _not_ finish that sentence."

Ryan spun his keys on his finger, silent laughter rolling through his frame. "See you next month, big guy. Can't wait for classes to start. Well, I can't wait to get out of the parents' house, anyway. Call me if you need me to talk some sense into your woman. She'll come around."

Ski laughed. His relationships with most of the guys in the house were so easy. They joked. They poked. They fought. But when the day was over and the dust settled, they always had each other's backs.

# Chapter Nine

_Sam_

* * *

The setting sun painted the sky orange as Samantha set up the ladder to attach the last strips of beadboard to the underside of the porch roof. She'd finally finished replacing all the broken wood on the porch this morning. It was a mess, but luckily no major structural damage was done.

The inspector had come by earlier, and given them a straight-up pass on everything. Bob the electrician had a few words for the inspector, none of them very nice. Like it mattered. The whole fiasco was over. She was back on track.

She climbed up, four lengths of beadboard in hand and the nail gun hanging from her tool belt. An easy install. Well, it would be if her father would stop yapping at her.

"That was a rookie mistake, Samantha." Did her father have to lurk under her while she worked?

A green sedan drove into the parking lot. Ski. Great. Not the man she wanted to see right now. She still owed him one huge apology for overreacting the other day, and she had no desire to do that bit of groveling. Especially in front of her father.

Not that she'd have time to beg Ski for forgiveness with her father pointing out all her faults. If he didn't run out of mistakes soon, he'd be doing it in front of Ski. This was shaping up to be a great day. Or not.

"How many times have I told you to double check your work?

Dammit—you're twenty-one years old. How are you going to take over when I retire?" He tipped his baseball hat up in the front, and then settled it back down before doing it again. And again.

Frustration snaked around her throat with every word, and she shoved the strip of beadboard into place. _Bam!_ She slapped the nailer against it hard enough to send a twinge up to her shoulder. You'd think she'd kicked a puppy or something horrific. _Bam!_ So she'd made a mistake. _Bam!_ She should have done a better job. She should have double-checked everything. She should have supervised the appliance delivery. So many "should haves". It was a minor setback. And it was over. Why couldn't he just let it die? She fitted the next strip, wishing she had more to cut—the saw would drown her father out more effectively than the nailer. No matter what she did, it was never enough. Sometimes it was hard being such a colossal disappointment. "I'm managing all three sites. What more do you want?"

"I want it done right." He sighed and flipped through Sam's tablet. "So how are you going to get this project done?"

"I'm going to finish the beadboard today, and maybe I'll install the wall lights tonight. I'll have the sliding glass door and outdoor painting done by Monday."

"The tiling's done in the kitchen?"

"Tile's done. Air conditioning is fixed. The indoor painting is done. I should be able to close out this site by the middle of next week." She wanted to feel pride as she listed off every completed task. But she knew it wouldn't be enough. It never was.

"Behind schedule, but there's never any shame in working overtime to get the work done."

Overtime? She'd been working nonstop to get the work done all week. Overtime. Under-time. All-the-time. How much time could one person devote to work? Well, she was finding out this week. Samantha turned and locked eyes on Ski. There should be a law that no guy should look that tasty all the time. He looked good enough to mount and nail.

Mount and nail. Oh yeah, she had issues.

"Ski, young man. How are the brothers of Psi Rho?"

Ski walked over to Samantha's father and shook his hand. "Can't complain, Mister Smith."

Interesting. Most people called her father _Mister Thunder_ —it was Thunder Construction, after all. Her last name was Thunder, true, but his wasn't. Her father had named the company after Samantha's mother, another attempt to woo her back to him. She never came back. Samantha shook off the melancholy before it could take hold.

"Please, call me Bryan." Her dad stared at the building and sighed. "You know, if I went to college, I would have been in a frat. I always wanted to join the brotherhood. This building's probably seen a lot of action." Her father leaned close to Ski and whispered, "I got my share back in the day."

_No. No, no, no._ Samantha got busy with the nail gun. She hoped if she focused on the work in her hands, she could lose the vision of her father—and action. She crinkled her nose. _Yuck._ Two concepts she never, ever wanted to put together. She wanted her father happy. She wanted him to find someone. She assumed the woman he found would give him action. That did not mean she wanted to hear about it.

"Probably. I'm too busy studying to be part of the action."

From her vantage point, Samantha saw the red crawling up Ski's neck. Apparently, he didn't like to be associated with the "action" that happened in the house. Interesting.

Ski cleared his throat. "I am looking forward to seeing this place done. Your daughter's doing an excellent job."

"Yeah, I taught my girl well."

She shook her head. _Taught her well_. Crazy, her father drove her crazy. One minute she was useless as a manager, and the next, he taught her well. This time, the nailer went _pfft_ instead of _bam_ , and she growled a sigh. Out of nails, and she didn't have another strip of them in her belt. She would have grabbed more, but she was distracted. Between her father and Ski there were always distractions. She slowly came down the ladder.

"So, I hear you're on vacation." Ski watched as she loaded the nailer. Not that she was watching him, but she could feel his stare— tormenting her, distracting her.

"Well, I was on vacation. It was interesting. Samantha, why don't we head out for a family dinner to discuss it? Ski, son, you could join us."

Son? Oh, brother. Wait no, not her brother. Family dinner with Ski and Dad. No. Just...no. Ski wasn't family, not her brother, and she had no desire to play house with the man. She had no desire to play house with any man. Just because something was fun to look at now and again didn't mean she wanted to carry it with her everywhere she went.

Hell, she wasn't exactly high on Ski's list right now, anyway. How could she be? She might have been a little harsh the other day. Damn—that reminded her. She still had a round of groveling to perform. That to-do list kept growing and growing, didn't it?

She faked a smile. "I'm too busy. I don't have time for dinner right now."

"You have to eat." Her father had the audacity to look upset. Two minutes ago he wanted her to work overtime to get back on track. Now, he wanted her to take time away from work to have a family dinner.

"I will. Just not now. I don't have time for family bonding." Or any other bondage. Bonding. Yes, bonding. "Fine. Ski?"

"I have a few things to do around here, but thanks."

"Darn. I have nothing to eat at home. I was hoping to get you two to join me and give me an excuse to go someplace good."

"Wait." Ski ran to his car and came back a Styrofoam box in his hand. "How about some dessert?"

"What you got there?"

"Cherry pie." Ski jiggled the box.

Her father grabbed it as if there was no other food on the planet, and not two grocery stores on the way home from the site. Two completely stocked grocery stores to choose from. Of course, they weren't drive-through, and they wouldn't make the food for him.

He lifted the lid and snickered. "Are you sure you don't want this? Someone named Mandy has drawn a very explicit picture on the inside of this box."

Mandy? Who the hell was Mandy?

Ski peered inside at the lid. Red crawled up his neck and didn't settle until it hit his ears. "Uhh...that's not for me."

"Sure it's not, son." Her father slapped him on the back and laughed. "I suppose I should get home and unpack. I was on this horrific singles cruise. My daughter insisted. But I had to come home when I heard about the problems on the site."

Oh, please. Samantha stomped up the ladder. He had called every day, three to four times a day. The singles cruise couldn't have been that bad—he came home because he was looking for any reason to escape. Stress put his health at risk, and she thought a week away would help. And a cruise where he could meet other single people— maybe he'd meet someone to take his focus off work. Two birds. One stone. And all. At least that was the plan. But no. Her phone rang nonstop. He did not relax. He did not meet a nice woman. He did, however, torment her till her phone limped home each night, the battery spent.

"Ugh. It was a scary place. Desperate people looking for summer flings. Not my scene." Her father walked toward his truck. "Don't let her work too hard." Famous last words from a man who worked so hard he made himself sick. His tires spit up rocks as he headed out of the lot, and then silence.

She turned her head to look at Ski, but he was staring at the building. "The windows are closed," he said slowly.

"Yeah, you have AC."

Ski smiled. Gorgeous pink lips...

_Bam_! She hit the trigger on the nail gun, holding it inches from her thumb. Crap. She liked that thumb and she was an inch away from losing it. _Focus_. She turned to him, and those lips had stopped smiling. _Stop looking at his lips_!

"So, how's everything going?" Ski shoved his hands into his front pockets.

She could see the muscles of his chest bulging through the tight cotton. Hard, well-defined ridges making way to a taut waist. Or maybe that was just from her memory. The memory of that naked chest, water making tempting rivulets down smooth skin and firm muscles. Sweat beaded and dripped down the side of her neck.

Well, at least she wasn't looking at his lips. Wasn't there a question in there somewhere? "Ummm..."

"How's it going? Did the inspection go all right?"

"Fine. He gave us the go-ahead, so we're back on track." She hated talking to the top of his head, so she stepped down from the ladder. "I was kind of surprised you weren't here."

"Seriously? After last time, I didn't think I was welcome." Ski rocked from side to side, his eyes on the floor. "Well, I'll get out of your way."

Ouch. Out of her way? Sounded vaguely familiar. She never should have gone off on him like that.

Ski turned and headed around the side of the building. She stared after him. Watching him from the front was a delicious view, but the back wasn't bad either. She couldn't decide which she liked best. But right now, it didn't matter which was best. She needed to stop him. She still owed him a grovel. Crappity-crap. "Um, Ski?"

He stopped, a sad excuse for a smile on his face. "Yeah?"

She was pure evil. Poor guy. His eyes looked so sad, his posture so defeated. How could she have hurt this beautiful man? Oh, right— the pure evil thing. "I'm sorry about the other day. I shouldn't have taken my frustration out on you. The job. The inspector. It was all my issue and I was a total bitch. I'm sorry."

He stood there. Dark brown eyes staring. His silence was a knife to her psyche. The sweat on her neck prickled. Crap. She ran a hand from her head to shoulders, trying to ease the discomfort.

"No worries. I understand. It was tough day and I'm sorry." A grin curved his lips. A real smile, not that fake crap he'd been selling the past week. "Thanks." He went around the back of the house and disappeared. Interesting. Words of understanding and a thanks, and then an immediate disappearing act. She shook her head. It was probably for the best. He was way too nice a guy to be looking for the type of no-strings relationship she wanted. Or needed.

She'd made a mistake on the job and she was still paying for it. But it wasn't going to happen again. She couldn't let her dad down. He was all she had left. And hell, her mom let him down enough for an entire lifetime.

She didn't have time for gorgeous Polish-speaking fratties with beautiful, sad eyes. She didn't have time for anyone long-term. The occasional good time was fine. A night on the town, a movie. No emotions. No attachments. No one to let her down—or leave—or both.

"Yeah." She sighed and looked around. The rough day looked more like a rough week. Rough year.

Alone. With hours of work staring her in the face. And more than mild curiosity as to why someone named Mandy drew explicit pictures on Ski's to-go box.

# Chapter Ten

_Sam_

* * *

Samantha batted away another mosquito. The floodlight was a necessary evil, since she couldn't see a darn thing without it, but all the bugs in the tri-state area were finding their way to its glow. And once they found the glow, they made their way to her sweet-tasting blood. She assumed it was sweet, because they kept trying to suck her dry.

The vampire books she loved were probably based on the humongous mosquitoes flying around the great state of Indiana. Unfortunately, the blood-suckers hanging around her weren't nearly as good-looking as the ones in the movies. Now, if they were—she wouldn't mind that they were taking a pint with every bite.

The lights were almost done. She'd planned on stopping a few hours ago, but she wanted it done. She needed it done. This was her time to show her dad what she could do. Before he did something stupid like try to return to work.

She was shocked he hadn't brought that up when he stopped by this afternoon. He would never admit it, but he wasn't well enough to work the long, grueling hours he liked to force on himself. Not after the collapse—the fall that changed it all.

She'd never been so scared before. Watching him crumple. Pale skin. Shallow breathing. No strength. Watching him being carried off

by the EMTs. Confusion in his stare. Fear in his shaky grasp. Watching him in the hospital. It had nearly killed her. She'd already lost her mom—she couldn't lose him. He was all she had left.

"T'irsty?" Ski, armed with a bottle of beer and a bottle of water, walked around the front of the building.

She loved that accent. Every dropped H sent tingles down her spine. She set the cordless screwdriver on the bench and wiped the sweat from her forehead. It had been a long night. As much as she wanted a break, she'd made a promise to finish and she couldn't fail. Not again. However, that bottle of water in Ski's hand looked so delicious, perspiration dripping off it slowly to the ground. Cool. Inviting.

"Yes." She grabbed the water and twisted off the cap. The cold liquid slid slowly down her sandpaper throat, and her stomach growled in disappointment.

"Hungry?"

"I'm fine."

"Did you even eat dinner tonight? I can t'row a few burgers on the grill."

"Are you sure you can pull yourself away from Mandy?" She hoped that didn't sound jealous. She wasn't jealous. She was just an interested third party. No bigs. Not like she'd spent all evening wondering who the large-breasted blond tramp was. Not at all. And yes, she assumed Mandy was a large-breasted blond bimbo. But really—who gave a guy cherry pie and decorated the box with drawings of—Lord only knew what? Not exactly subtle.

Ski smiled.

Dammit. She knew she'd sounded jealous. She must have. "Never mind."

"The box was for Ryan. He wasn't interested in what Mandy had to offer either, so he gave it to me. He thought, um, one of the crew might like the free dessert."

"Ryan's a nice guy. I like him. He seems to like you a lot, too."

"That's him. We've been friends since he started at Ritter's." He opened the beer he was holding and took a long drink. And no, she didn't stare at the way his throat muscles moved. Much. Ski smiled at her and licked his upper lip. "Now that that's settled, let's talk about dinner."

Dinner. A burger with cheese. She could practically taste the golden bun as her mouth watered. Too bad she didn't have time. "I need to finish first, and it's like, nine. Way too late to be eating."

"It's nine fifteen. And who cares? It's time for fourth meal." Just the thought of food had her stomach yapping up a storm. "Why don't you get this done and I'll fire up the grill."

She stared at Ski, the thought of food whirring in her mind, and her mouth watered some more, the gnawing in her stomach growing.

"I'm starving. Don't make me eat alone." He took another swallow of beer.

Another growl. Louder. More demanding. How embarrassing. "I'll take that as yes."

Oh, why not. "Sure." She tipped the bottle back and downed the last drop of liquid glory. Amazing how delicious water tasted when you were desperate. She capped the bottle and placed it in Ski's outstretched hand.

"Got it, boss." He turned and walked back around the house. Samantha pushed her bangs out of her eyes and grabbed her tools.

She still had one more light fixture, but she'd deal with that in the morning. It could all wait till the morning. Twenty more minutes and she was going to have a nice homemade meal with a gorgeous man. Things were definitely looking up.

# Chapter Eleven

_Ski_

* * *

Ski flipped a burger on the grill and took another sip of beer. Dinner at nine at night—hell, half past nine. Not something he usually did. Not good for the body. Not good for training. And with football and wrestling, he was always in training.

Heaven forbid he didn't make weight. He had to stay between one eighty-four and one ninety-six. Otherwise, he'd have to wrestle in a different weight class and his coach would have a shit-fit. And when coach was pissed, the whole world knew about it. Shit rolled downhill, and the wrestling team was at the bottom of that brown-sloped stank- pile.

Not that he'd complain tonight. His stomach needed real food. The small bag of corn chips he inhaled while playing Xbox wasn't enough for anyone. He was hungry. He had two burgers searing on the grill, one for him and one for Samantha. A burger and a babe. Not a bad way to end the day.

He'd gotten so involved in the video game, blowing shit up, shooting his friends. He loved playing online. Even though he was on campus alone, he could play with his brothers where ever they happened to be. And somewhere around eight, Ryan had joined the fun.

Too bad the frat brother was such a dick.

Ski had tried to be nice—at first—but then he knifed Ryan in the back over and over again. And he'd enjoyed every single time. Bastard. That's what Ry got for asking about Samantha again.

Well, _asking about_ implied an innocent concern for her well-being. Actually, he didn't ask about Samantha, he asked if Ski had given her his pie and if she'd...um, reciprocated. His language wasn't as G- rated, however. Justifiable kill streak right there. Little did Ryan know that Ski gave the pie to Samantha's dad. He would have loved that shit.

Ski flipped the burger, flames shooting around the meat when grease hit the fire. Figuring he could leave them unattended for a minute, he set down his beer and went in the back door to the kitchen. He grabbed the bag of buns, and checked the refrigerator for condiments. Ketchup, pickles, mayo, relish, jalapeños. He left them all out on the counter—she could pick what she wanted on her burger. She definitely needed something to eat. Between the gurgling stomach and the hollow eyes, she was a walking, talking zombie, complete with gray skin. The poor girl needed food and a long-ass nap.

He could use a few hours' sleep himself. It had been a long day, full of ups and downs. Although he could barely remember any of the downs. The best up was when Samantha apologized. He'd needed that. He hated to admit how much.

The whole thing surprised him. After a week of silent treatment and overall detachment, he'd figured she hated him. He didn't see any other option. But tonight, between the apology and the questions about Mandy, there was interest. Whether she'd admit it or not. There was. He couldn't help but smile as he grabbed a pickle slice from the jar and stuck it in his mouth.

Why the hell did it matter so much?

And it did. Dammit. It mattered. She mattered. Even though he'd spent the last week trying to pretend she didn't. Now he just needed to matter to her.

Music blasted from his phone speaker. Who the hell would call this late? He looked down at the screen. Ryan. What the hell did he want? Probably to cry about the spanking he took online. Well, maybe he'd learn not to talk shit about Ski's woman. He smiled. _My woman_. For the first time, there was a glimmer of hope.

Ski swiped the screen and brought the phone to his ear. "If you say one thing about pie, I swear, I'll kick the shit out of you."

"What the fuck, Ski?" Wait— "What?"

"Something you forget to tell me?"

What could Ski have forgotten to tell him, except...shit.

"I'm a mentor this year for new business majors. Guess who I have, Ski? Guess."

"I was going to tell you."

"So, this isn't some major fuckup by the admissions office." "Nope." Not a fuckup by the admission office. A major fuckup by himself. Maybe, that remained to be seen. Changing one's major junior year was a big risk. But wasn't this the time to take risks, in college?

"Shit. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because, well, shit." Ski really should have told him, but he was having a hard time grasping the reality of it for himself.

"Yeah—shit. Have you told your father?"

"Nope." That conversation would be ten times worse than this one, and this one wasn't exactly like kicking an extra point.

"Well, if the mentors have the list, then the deans have it. Your father's going to find out."

Ski snapped his head back against the cabinet. "I thought I had more time. Don't those lists come out the week before the term?"

"The mentor liaison is leading some exploration trip through Kenya starting next week, so all assignments needed to be done this week."

_Gowno_. Ski really thought he had more time. He'd put off talking to the med school dean, but now he'd know. He'd figure out Ski wasn't enrolled in medical school. He wouldn't be in any of the classes. The dean would notice and call Ski's father.

And _Tata_... He'd be so disappointed. So hurt. Shit.

Not that it mattered. With all the strikes against Ski, it was only a matter of time before he disappointed his father. Clunky hands, lack of passion— Better to get it over with now, rather than wait till later. The black sheep was never going to be a heart surgeon.

His mother would pray for his soul. His father would pray for his future. Both were going to freak.

"Thanks for the call, Ry."

"Are you sure you're okay, man?"

"Yeah." Ski was okay. Not great, but okay. And Samantha was the reason. Without that small shred of hope, he'd be lost right now.

"Call if you need reinforcements."

"Sure, thanks." Ski disconnected. He had to tell his father tomorrow, before he heard it from anybody else. Rumors traveled fast on this campus, and sometimes the message was distorted, as if everyone was communicating through two cans and a string, not the 4G everyone really used.

The light from the back patio caught his eye. Dinner. He didn't have time for the classroom drama right now. He had to make sure Samantha was fed and he just wanted to spend some time with her. Alone.

He'd deal with his father later. He'd deal with the fallout later.

He'd deal with everything later. Much later.

Tonight he'd focus on her. Tomorrow he'd deal with the pooch- screw that was his life.

# Chapter Twelve

_Sam_

* * *

Samantha tossed the last bag of trash in the dumpster. Tomorrow she'd work on staining the deck and installing the new sliding glass door—and put the last wall sconce up by the front door. But tonight, she was done.

Thank goodness. The smell floating from the backyard was killing her. Hamburgers. Hickory charcoal. The smoke was wrapped around her head, with a bulls-eye on her nose. Hell, she could've smelled roasted skunk and she'd swear her mouth would water at this point. She grabbed her tools and the floodlight, dumping them in the back of her truck.

"Come and get it," Ski yelled from the back yard.

Samantha locked up the truck and followed the scent. Drool built in her mouth and she ran a hand over her lips. No salivating in front of Ski. No matter how hungry she was.

Yeah, because salivating in front of Ski was all due to hunger.

Ski stood over the flames and the smoke of the grill, big metal spatula hanging from his finger. He looked amazing. Although, a man making her food always looked good. Too bad it didn't happen very often.

"Let's head inside." She smacked a mosquito on her arm. Damn bloodsuckers.

"What? You don't want to share your burger with the lightning bugs?"

"No thanks. I've been keeping the mosquito population in fresh blood all day. I've done more than my yearly donation to mosquito welfare."

Ski's lips curved into a smile as he closed the lid on the grill. He grabbed the plate of cooked food and walked into the kitchen. "Mosquito welfare, huh?"

The kitchen's overhead light pierced Samantha's retinas as she held open the door. The counter held plates, buns and a handful of condiments. "The counters are so clean." She ran a hand down the length of the metal.

"Soap and water works wonders."

"It's just, last time I saw this kitchen it was covered in plaster dust and grime. I figured you'd need a biohazard service to clean up all the frat-goop and brother-slime."

"Frat-goop and brother-slime is no match for a sponge and these muscles." He flexed his arms to the side, the muscles bulging beneath his shirt. "Anyway, it wasn't that bad."

"Not that bad? When we first showed up there were pizza boxes shoved in the corner and beer bottles lining the floors. It was like the special alcoholics' edition of _Hoarders_."

"By the end of the year, the house gets a little ripe. But I'm here, we don't need a service. I got skills." He opened the bag of buns and pulled one out to put it on the plate in front of her.

"So, you clean." She opened the bun and slathered it with mayonnaise. She poured a handful of jalapeños on top.

"And I cook." He slid a burger onto her hill of peppers. "Do you want some burger with your jalapeños?"

"Do you want some eye roll with your cliché?"

He popped a jalapeño in his grinning mouth and fixed his own

burger. He had a great smile. Great...lips. They were probably soft.

Her lips burned just thinking about them on hers. Thoughts like that would get her in trouble. But the thoughts were so damn hot. Hands traveling down her shivering body as his lips merged with hers. Back and forth. His fingers finding their way to her—foundation.

Heat travelled down her spine and swirled in that foundation, tickling all of her girlie parts. Not good. Not good at all. She probably shouldn't imagine or—have thoughts. Not when she was in a house with him. Alone. No one and nothing to stop her from acting out those delicious thoughts.

Her body ached. How long had it been since she'd had someone lay her...foundation? Six months. A year? Somewhere between there. Granted, she'd leveled her own foundation more than a time or two since then, but it was a hell of a lot more fun with a buddy who didn't need batteries.

And what a fun buddy Ski would be. Too bad he wasn't her type. She liked men from the real world. Not stuck in this high school spinoff called college. College was a pit stop. A break before they entered real life. And she was immersed in real life already. She needed someone who wasn't afraid of reality.

And not the _Jersey Shore_ kind of reality. The _work nine-to-five and care for your family_ kind. The kind that came from losing a parent or living up to parental expectations. The kind of reality that kept you up nights with worry.

Here at Coddle University, reality was postponed while big, strong wanna-be men tried to discover what they wanted to do with their life. In the real world, there wasn't a choice. He wasn't in that real world.

At least, that's what she kept telling herself.

He picked up his plate and grabbed two sodas and a stack of napkins before ushering her through the darkened house. Her team

really had done a lot of work cleaning the grunge-infested space. She hadn't been exaggerating. Bottles, boxes, and food had been stuck in crevices throughout the house.

Food. Actual food. There'd been a green and black covered burrito-looking-thing behind a loose panel in the wall. How would that even happen? How does a burrito get behind a wall? How could they live in filth? She didn't understand.

Ski opened a door at the end of the hall and elbowed the light switch. The multiple ceiling fan lights sprang to life. Wood floors. Dark oak wainscoting on the walls. And two giant TVs hanging on opposite sides of the room.

Not one spec of dirt. Not one piece of garbage.

Ski sat on the closest couch and put the sodas and napkins on the coffee table.

"Those are some big TVs." She dropped to the brown leather couch next to his and set her plate down. "I didn't know a room this nice existed in this building."

"We have a few nice rooms. We keep it this way so the TVs don't learn what pigs we really are."

"Frontin' for the flat screens. You wouldn't want them to stop working because they're so grossed out."

"That would be tragic. We always keep this room locked. It's off limits. Only for the brothers." A hiss and fizzle came from the soda when he pulled the tab on the can.

"I'm not a brother." Peppers dropped out of the bun as she lifted it to her mouth. Hot. Spicy. Heaven.

"I won't tell anyone."

"I would," she said after she swallowed, "but I'm afraid no one would believe me. It's so clean." She picked up a pepper and stuffed it back in her burger.

"It's only because I'm the only one here. Wait till the fall, this

room will be pretty bad." He tilted the can back to his lips. "So, why aren't you in college?" Ski propped his feet on the coffee table.

She hated that question. Like she was somehow less because she wasn't pursuing a piece of paper. Not everyone needed college. She had her father's company. She couldn't walk away and leave. She'd watched her father work harder and harder over the years, never stopping. She had to step in. It wasn't just the heart condition. It was everything. But no one understood.

She shrugged. "Why are you? You don't need a college degree for the UFC."

"UFC?"

"WWF? NFL?" She waved the burger at him. "Wherever you're planning on flexing those arms for your thousands of adoring fans," she said and took another heavenly bite.

"I'm flattered you think I could make it in the UFC. But really, is that all I am to you, a brain-dead troglodyte?"

She nearly choked. "Troglo-what?"

"Troglodyte. Commonly known as a Neanderthal. And just so you know, I don't need college for my imaginary life in the UFC, but I do need college for my real life as a doctor. People tend to get twitchy when their doctor hasn't gone to med school. Not to mention the criminal charges."

"Med school?" Why did she feel like she'd slipped into another dimension?

"That's the plan." He sighed as he picked up the med school applications sitting on the coffee table and dropped them back into a heap. "Well, was the plan. Sort of."

"Sort of? Don't sound so excited about it." She wiped her fingers and sifted through the blank forms. Not even a name was written at the tops.

"I don't know. Ever since I was able to hold a rattle, I was

expected to be a doctor. Hell, my first rattle was in the shape of a stethoscope. But I was always expected to be a surgeon, like my dad. But I can't seem to enter one field on those forms. My hand freezes...and then... Never mind."

Heavy silence settled over the room, the hum of the spinning fans the only noise. _Expected to be a doctor_. She never thought she'd have anything in common with Ski. But here they were, both fighting the life plan their fathers' had laid out for them, probably before they were even born.

"My dad wants me to run his company." She picked at the burger on her plate.

"Isn't that what you're doing?"

"Yeah. But he wants me to do it permanently." "And that's not what you want."

She opened her soda and took a drink. Is that what she wanted? Shit. What she wanted didn't matter. "I don't know. I don't think I was ever given a choice. No one ever asked. It was just expected, so here I am. But no, I don't think it's what I want." Did she say that out loud? She hadn't admitted that to anyone.

She'd avoided saying the words out loud because then she might have to face the truth. And how do you tell your father you want something other than what he's built with his bare hands? How do you walk away, when you know he'll work himself into an early grave?

"What do you want?"

"Honestly? I apprenticed with an electrician last year and I loved it. Creating light where there is none, powering a home. It was amazing."

"Then do that."

"I'm the daughter of the woman who left him. His ultimate let- down. And I remind him of it every day, just by breathing. I can't walk away." Red crawled up her face. Way too much sharing. Soda and exhaustion. Not good. It was like high-fructose corn syrup- infused truth serum.

"He told you that?"

"No, but I can see it in his eyes." She sighed. She'd come this far, she might as well tell him everything. "He misses her, and he tells me all the time I look just like her. There's this sad longing stare he throws my way, when he thinks I'm not looking. It kills me. I can't just walk away. His health is failing and he'll lose it all."

"Why don't you talk to him?" He dropped his feet from the table and stared at his hands. "Although, I'm not the best resource on fathers."

"So, would your dad be disappointed if you don't become a surgeon?"

"That's an understatement." "Well— What do you want?"

"Want? I don't know. But see these hands?" He showed her his broad palms, and then the backs, with their large knuckles. "These are not the hands of a surgeon. Large. Bulky. What's so funny?"

Large hands. That meant large—okay, not going there. She thought fast and said, "I can't picture a big guy like you with tiny bird hands." She frowned as Ski's face fell. Damn, she didn't want to hurt him. She laid a hand on his arm, sending fire tingling up her own arm at the heat of his skin. "That's a compliment."

"If I'm not a surgeon, what am I?"

"An ER doc. A pediatrician. A gynecologist." She laughed as his mouth turned up at the corners. That smile. _Num_. Those lips just melted her insides. "You'll do whatever you want to do."

"Yeah, but what do I want to do? If I go into medicine, I have six more years of college and no clue if this is what I want. I mean, think about it—when a person gets a degree in economics, they leave school and get a job. If they hate it, they get a job doing something else. I'm committing to a life of medicine with every year. That's it. No changing my mind."

"So, you have commitment issues."

"I guess." His eyes roamed over the can in his hand. "I guess that's why I switched majors."

"Really?" She stuffed the last bite of her burger in her mouth. That was a gutsy move on his part. She wished she had the guts to make a change. "How did your dad take it?"

"I haven't told him yet."

_Ahhh_. "Maybe he'll understand."

He narrowed his eyes. "Like your dad would understand?"

_Touché._ She nodded, acknowledging the point. "It's just a big decision." He shook his head.

"You'll make the right choice, brainiac." A yawn escaped her mouth. The digital clock on the wall said ten thirty. Damn. She stood and tossed her napkin on the table. "I need to get home. I'm exhausted."

"If you want, you can stay here."

"That's probably not a good idea." She looked longingly at the clean leather couch. She wouldn't mind balling right up and closing her eyes. What a bad idea.

Soft leather.

Still. Bad idea.

With giant fluffy pillows. Why was it a bad idea again?

"You shouldn't drive when you're so tired," Ski pointed out. "And that wasn't a proposition. I can make up a room for you to stay in. We have a house full of them. They have locks, so you'll have privacy."

"Thanks, but I should get home." Her eyes landed back on the furniture. So soft looking. Her eyes drooped as she thought about a nice short little nap—with the big, strong Ski sleeping down the hall. Her body sizzled at the core.

Yeah, no. She'd never be able to sleep with him so close.

Ski left the couch and placed a hand on Samantha's lower back. Her skin burned as he ran his fingers up and down the pebbling skin. She stood, inches from him. Inches from his hard, strong body. Her face inches from his. His lips. She wanted to put his lips to hers. She wanted to feel him. On her. In her.

_Crap_. She definitely needed to leave before she did something stupid.

"Good night." She tripped over her feet as she headed for the door. "And, uh, thanks for dinner."

"My pleasure."

Pleasure? Yeah, pleasure all right. She thought about arguing whose pleasure it truly was, but that wouldn't help the situation. Or her drooping eyelids.

# Chapter Thirteen

_Ski_

* * *

Ski swiped at the bee circling his head, and brown stain splattered across his cheek. He probably should have put the paintbrush down before waving his arms like a wand-waver at the airport. Damn bee was too quick, too persistent. And it wasn't like he smelled like a flower, either.

He leaned against the handrail. _Gowno_. He pulled back and twisted to see the line of brown stain across his ass. Thank goodness he was covered in the stuff or it would look like he had an accident.

Damn stain.

When he woke up this morning, it seemed like such a good idea to help Samantha out. Now, two stain-covered hours later, he was questioning the intelligence of the whole thing. The new wood on the ceiling and the railing were covered in stain, which was a win. But bets could be waged on whether more stain was on there or on him.

If given the chance to bet, he'd bet on himself. He'd worn latex gloves, because, hey, that made sense, and the painters had left a box of them behind. If he had a brain in his head he would have worn long sleeves, too—he had splotches all over his arms, and the brown patches had hardened to a crusty cocoon, tugging the hair and skin every time he moved.

He walked onto the grass and grabbed a bottle of water. Sweatwas already dripping down his neck and it was only eight in the morning. There was only one way the thermometer would go. Up. By noon, it could easily hit a hundred.

Another sweat-soaked day. Which—sort of—explained why he'd opted to get covered in stain rather than wear long sleeves.

He took a swig and leaned his head back. The early morning sun chipped away at the dew in the air warming his cheeks. Good thing he was almost done. Then, maybe, he could talk Samantha into sitting down for lunch. Or dinner. Or breakfast tomorrow after a long night of...

That last one was definitely wishful thinking. But he wasn't letting go of that dream.

He wiped the back of his hand over his forehead. The porch looked pretty damn good. If he didn't go into medicine, he had a promising future as a painter. Stainer? Whatever.

He tossed the empty water bottle at the cooler and straightened up. The deck floor. That's all he had left. He could do this. No sweat. Well, maybe some sweat, but it would be worth it when it was all done.

He grabbed the handle of the brush and flipped it around. Stain flew from the tips, little splats dimpling up his arm. There really wasn't a question as to why he was covered in this crap. He knelt on the deck and slid the bristles into the can of brown goop. Another hour. Tops. He stroked the soaked bristles over the floorboards.

"If you want a tan, all you have to do is lay in the sun for a few hours." Samantha walked onto the deck and stood over Ski. Her work boots slapped against the wood. She took a long pull from the steaming cup in her hand. "What are you doing?"

"I'm helping."

Her pink lips turned up in a smile as she ran a finger over a drip sliding down a baluster. "I see."

He sat back and watched her inspect his work. She looked good. Red T-shirt tucked into faded blue jeans, showing off her curves. Her shiny black hair was tied back, revealing the darkened soft skin of her neck.

She walked along the railing, lips puckered, head nodding. "Not bad, but why are you helping?"

"Because that's the kind of guy I am."

"I can't decide if I should kick you or kiss you."

"Do I get a vote?" He laid the brush on the can. "Anyway, I thought you'd be glad I got this done. Maybe get things back on schedule. Especially after my screw-up"

"It was my screw-up, not yours. I get paid to do this work. I can't really charge for something you did."

"I won't tell if you don't."

"That's sweet, but I can't take money for something I didn't do. So it looks like I'm going to work on the sliding glass door, and you" — she knelt down and lifted the brush— "are going to finish the deck." She scowled at the fuzzy brush. "I have better brushes in the truck. This is crap."

"I only have the floor to do. No use wasting a new brush on that." "The floor, twice, and then the railing again."

"Two coats?" Maybe she was kidding. _Please be kidding_.

"I always buy a lighter stain, since I like to do two coats. It hides imperfections."

"Another coat." He rested his head on his knees. This was a nightmare.

He watched Samantha walk to her truck and grab a new brush along with a tool box. She walked past him, tossing him the brush. "Keep it up, Picasso."

"Thanks." He watched her walk into the house. So now he not only had double work to do, but his eye-candy was in the house.

Out of sight, but no matter how hard he tried, definitely not out of mind.

# Chapter Fourteen

_Sam_

* * *

The sun was high in the sky as Samantha mounted the last wall sconce on the brick face of the building. She was trying to stay out of Ski's way, but that was rather difficult. He was staining the deck she needed to walk on to put up the lighting.

She had to admit, for a pampered frat prince he seemed to be handling the whole painting process in stride. Maybe she'd underestimated him—again.

She'd been shocked by his med school revelation last night. Well, given his current state of stain coverage, he did have that nice-guy complex, so maybe lifesaver-fantastic fit. But the education needed just to get accepted to a program like that? Wow. She really hadn't seen the man for what he was. A brilliant saint.

He was too good to stick around this Podunk town. Sweet. Kind. Helpful. Three reasons to stay as far away from the man as possible. Three reasons to run. No one was that perfect. If her mom taught her anything, it was not to let people get too close. They'll always let you down. You can only trust yourself. Everyone else will walk away.

It was human nature.

She turned to the building. Done. She reached inside the front door and felt along the wall, flipping the switch. Light streamed from the black sconces.

"Let there be light." Ski's eyes glowed with admiration as he stood up.

She turned to the caramel-covered man. He looked like an extra from the _Home Alone_ franchise. He probably used half a gallon of stain on himself. It was so darn cute.

"So, why are you dealing with the headaches of managing a business when you have skills like this?" He reached around her and hit the switch up and down. Up and down. Light flickered on the partially-stained deck. "I saw you working with Bob on this. You know what you're doing."

"The inspection."

"Eh, one mistake of paperwork compared to the magic of creating light."

"This is just a hobby." At least that's what she'd told herself when her dad collapsed. Everything changed that day. Her priorities. Her dreams. Her future. She didn't care what her future held as long as he was in it.

"When you told me you wanted to give electricity to the masses, I didn't think you had skills like this. This is more than a hobby."

"Thanks, but with my dad being sick..."

"I was thinking about that. Why can't Barry manage the company? Or, hell, why can't you hire someone to do it?"

She hated these conversations. Well, any conversation about her life, her family, her anything. It wasn't her style. It wasn't their business. She wasn't tired enough, or drunk enough, to be comfortable with a trip down reality lane. But looking into those big brown eyes... Just what she needed. A man whose look could wither her resolve.

"You should see your face. You look so happy." He stripped off one latex glove and ran his pinky across her forehead to slide her hair behind her ear. And no, her heart did not react in any way to the innocent caress. She huffed in irritation. It didn't.

"My dad always wanted a son, but my mom abandoned us before she could give him one. Turned out she couldn't handle having one child, let alone having another." She grabbed a clean rag from her back pocket and kept her eyes on the dirt that smudged the closest light fixture.

"That sucks, but your dad loves you. He'd rather you be happy than sacrifice yourself for his company."

"He does love me." She refolded the rag and slid it over the sconce. "But that doesn't mean he's not disappointed. He never got over losing my mom. Losing the family he dreamed of. The Y chromosome he never got to pass on. Never got over losing the future he wanted, the one where he groomed his male heir to ascend the construction throne."

"That must have been hard."

She stuffed the rag back in her pocket. "It's history."

"We all have history. It's what makes us who we are." He gave her a sideways glance and cleared his throat. "Would you like to go to dinner and talk about history? Or not talk about history. Your choice."

"Umm..."

"I'm covered in stain. It's the least you can do after all that work you made me do..."

"Made you do?" She laughed. "Laying it on a bit thick, aren't we?" "Maybe." He pinched his thumb and finger together. "A little. But will you have dinner with me? We have to eat. Might as well do it together." He dipped his head to the side, a smile inching across his adorable face. Adorable?

Running. She should be running far, far away. "It's just dinner," he said.

"Fine, but no history talk."

"Deal." He shook her hand. Why did it feel like she should be walking away with a fiddle of gold? Her hands were empty, but deals with the devil never worked out the way anyone planned.

Hours later, Samantha stared into the restaurant's bathroom mirror and resisted the urge to tug on her hair. Biting her lip, she tilted her head, watching the way the soft waves slid over her shoulder. She'd spent an hour on her hair, make-up and clothes. An _hour_. She never spent that much time on her appearance. She'd gone overboard, unless this was a date.

Which this wasn't. This was two friends sharing a meal. Nothing more. She needed to keep reminding herself of that.

She eased the skirt of her red dress down her legs. She hated dresses. Especially when the skirt barely covered the important stuff. Her thighs felt so exposed, and if she pulled the skirt down, her chest was in danger of popping out. Why the heck she wore a dress when there were perfectly good jeans hanging in her closet—she had no idea. Well, she had an idea, but she wasn't thinking about it. She wasn't trying to impress him. Not at all.

Maybe this had been a bad idea. No _maybe_ about it.

She tucked her hair behind her ears and fluffed the ends. She needed to get back out there before he decided to check and see if she'd fell in the toilet or something else equally embarrassing.

Opening the bathroom door, she slid out into the dimly lit hall. Their table sat at the end of the dark tunnel, Ski's smile lighting up the exit. The jock cleaned up nice. A bright blue shirt covered his muscular shoulders, and the top two buttons were open, exposing a tan, nibble-worthy neck.

Nibble-worthy? She couldn't even reprimand herself for drooling over the man. She was only human. He was nibble-worthy.

She had this overwhelming desire to run a hand over his spiked dark blond hair, not to mention the other parts of his anatomy. Heat crawled up her neck.

"Dinner was fantastic." She sat back down at their table, where a single red rose in a vase was centered on the white tablecloth. When she agreed to dinner, she figured it would be at some chain restaurant. Not Casciani's, her favorite place for Italian food. "You sure know how to treat a girl."

"When the girl is special..." He tucked money into the folder with the bill. "Where would you like to go next?"

"Well, it's late."

"It's ten. It's only late if you're a geriatric." He leaned forward and wrapped a hand around hers.

"Or if you have an early morning." "Do you have time for coffee?"

She knew the answer should be no. The word sat on the tip of her tongue, but somehow that's not what came out of her mouth. "Sure."

He escorted Samantha out the door, and somehow they ended up walking with their linked hands nestled softly in her lower back. He opened the car door for her, and she climbed into the passenger side. The cool summer-evening air tickled her way-too-exposed skin, and she rubbed the chill from her arms.

He started the sedan and twisted on the heat. "You're cold." "A little."

"I could give you my shirt." His lips quirked into a devilish smile. "The one you're wearing?" _Yes, please._ The hard ridges and glistening skin were so nice to look at.

"Yeah." He unbuttoned the next button down.

Oh, good gracious he was going to take the thing off. She wanted to turn away, but she couldn't find the strength to move her head. Or maybe she just had no interest in moving her head.

Another button. He was playing with her, and she didn't mind. But she should. Darn it. They were in the parking lot of a restaurant. "I'm fine. Let's just get some coffee."

A deep laugh rumbled from his chest. "Okay. We'll be at the house in a few." He pulled out of the lot and headed down the darkened streets of Cedar Glen toward the frat.

"I thought we were getting coffee." "I make a mean cup of coffee."

"You make coffee, too. What can't you do?" A smile snuck across her lips. Yeah. That question could have been taken the wrong way.

"I have quite a few hidden talents you haven't seen."

Or maybe the right way. His mind was in the gutter—or maybe that was just her. Either way, she wasn't surprised. Or complaining. She was starting to wonder why they hadn't moved their relationship further. Maybe visit that gutter together.

She caught sight of herself in the window, and yeah, she was still smiling. "I'm looking forward to seeing them all."

"I'm looking forward to showing you." Crap.

# Chapter Fifteen

_Ski_

* * *

A long fifteen minutes later, Ski inched the firewood around in the fireplace and lit a fire. Good thing the brothers' weren't around. The Psi Rho lounge was off-limits to anyone outside the frat. No exceptions. And he'd had Samantha in here now twice. Although this time there were no burgers.

Of course, what they didn't know wouldn't hurt them.

Samantha walked in with a couple of beers. Apparently, "coffee" was a euphemism for beer. Damn, he liked this woman. He liked getting to know her. He liked that she was making herself at home. He liked her way too much for his own good. "How is your dad's health, by the way?" he asked her. "Any chance he'll come back to work after his vacation?"

" _After_ his vacation?" She laughed. "He's already back. Which is good, I guess. He seems to be feeling stronger, but he needs to take it easy and he's not. I tried to tell him again to slow down. He nodded up and down like a damn bobblehead and headed out the door. He's been hovering over the Michigan City crew all day. His heart can't take those kind of long hours and stressed-out days."

"So, tell him to retire."

"Yeah, because parents are so eager to listen to their kids. Have you gotten any further telling your father or mother about your new career path?"

"Not yet." Ski loved watching the sparkle in her blue eyes, even if it was while she was giving him shit. He didn't mind, though. Her mouth curved upward and she looked so damn hot. No judgment. Just questioning. He smiled, and her black hair swung down to cover her face, hiding those eyes. Damn.

"Why haven't you told them?"

Oh hell, he had no clue. He could feed her a load of crap about the lack of reception bars or phone trouble or his lack of time, but that's all it would be—a load of crap. He had all the time in the world. "I'm trying to let them enjoy what's left of their vacation. You know, without disappointment."

"Postponing the inevitable, huh?"

A laugh erupted from his chest. "You could say that."

"I can't really throw stones. Parents are difficult." She looked up from behind that curtain of hair. He placed a finger under the strands, sliding them behind her ear, and let his fingers slowly glance over the skin of her neck. Soft. Electric.

Her eyes burned and he drew in closer. Closer yet. Her face changed and she pulled away. "Umm..."

_Umm_... about summed it up. What the hell was that? He grabbed his beer and pulled back a swig. The icy fluid slid down his throat and cooled down his overheated body. "So, where did you learn the construction business?"

"My dad. After my mom left, there was no one to watch me after school or during the summer—so I helped my dad on the construction sites."

"Is that where the Thunder comes from—in Thunder Construction? I know your dad's name is Smith and you're Thunder—like your mom, right?"

"Yeah. She left when I was little."

"That must have been hard."

"I don't even remember her, much. She's always just been gone. I had my dad and construction. The sites became my life. It's what I know. And every now and then I get a job where I can do my thing. Like with the outside lights. So it's not all bad. It's kind of good actually..."

"You're lucky. You got the phone call." Ski stood up. Nervous energy zinged through his veins.

"Huh?"

"They say a job in medicine is a calling, yet my phone hasn't rung." He grabbed the poker and flipped the log smoldering the fireplace. He watched as sparks jumped and sizzled, reigniting the fizzling burn. Sweet maple smoke spun and danced and curled in the air. "I don't hear a voice in my ear telling me this is my future."

"What does the voice say?"

"What voice? There's no voice, no direction." He dropped the poker by the fireplace and moved back to the couch. "I have no idea."

"Sit back." She grabbed his shoulders and lightly pushed him back against the couch. "Close your eyes."

He closed his eyes. He wasn't sure where this was going, but he liked it. He felt her breath on his cheek. And one lid popped open.

"Keep them closed. You're relaxing so you can hear that voice.

Now breathe in and out. Slowly. What do you want?"

"I don't know?" His brain couldn't think. Not with her breath on him. So warm.

"Listen to your heart." She pressed a hand to his chest. "What does it say? What do you want?"

"I want—I want you." His lips curved into a smile as her leg slid over his. Oh yeah. He liked this a lot. Her breath slid along his neck, and his eyes flew open when she rested her weight on his thighs.

"Shhh. Closed."

His body was no longer relaxed. Not even close. It was hot, coiled, and ready to love this woman with every muscle. They were heading to point of no return—well, no return without immense pain. If she didn't stop things, he was going to have a hell of a time stopping himself. The way she rocked her hips was not helping. Just a little at first, but now she was—

"Hold on." He pulled back. "Are we..." She moved with a little more insistence, and he nearly hissed. "God, this feels good."

She didn't say anything, just kept shifting her hips. He brought his hands up to her shoulders. They were safer there. He wanted to keep going. He wanted her. He needed...words. Speak. Yes. "We are getting awfully close to something, so if you don't want this to go further, we should stop now."

"No stopping." She lifted her red dress over her head. Black silk covered the small, delicate parts of her body. The rest was skin. Hot, taut legs led to the first patch of silk, leading to a flat stomach and another thin layer of material that clung to round breasts. She was perfect. "Do you hear it?"

"Hear what?" "The calling."

God, he couldn't hear anything but the blood rushing through his veins. He liked where this was going. But... He held his breath while he tried to get his head on straight. He needed to know. "Why, now?"

"Why not?" She ran a hand down his abdomen, unbuttoning his shirt. She leaned into his ear and whispered, "Do you not want this?"

Hot breath tickled his neck, sending about a hundred volts straight down through his core. He tensed his thighs to keep from shoving up against her. "God, yes."

She pushed the shirt over his shoulders and lowered her lips to his collarbone. He wound his hand through the silken strands of her hair as her tongue slid up his neck. Fire licked up his spine.

Samantha stood up, a devilish gleam in her eyes. He couldn't wait to see what that gleam meant. He didn't have to wait long. And she didn't disappoint as she ran a hand from her cheek to her chest. Slow. Painfully slow. She caressed her breast, nipples popping under the soft silk of her bra. Her hands moved lower.

_Gowno_.

Lower. She slipped a hand down the front of her thong. Her hips swayed. Back. And. Forth. Her fingers lost in the soft fabric.

_Gowno_. She was killing him.

He needed to touch her. Feel her. He wanted his hand where hers stroked and teased. He reached out to her and she pulled her hips away, sliding the right side of her red thong down over her hip. When it reached her thigh, she stopped. She was so fucking killing him. She dragged the left side of the thong lower, and with a little shimmy sent it all the way down, her heels catching on the red material. She stepped out of the nuisance and stood. Completely bare. Her breasts rose and fell with every breath.

He leaned forward, reaching for her.

"Not yet." She bit at her lower lip and stepped out of his reach. "You are way too overdressed."

He could fix that. He unbuttoned. He unzipped. Taking his sweet- ass time. At least it felt like he was taking his time. Two could play at this game.

He stood and pushed down his pants and boxers, kicking off his shoes, and then he leaned over and grabbed a condom from his pants pocket.

"You must've been a Boy Scout. You've come prepared." She took the little packet from him and tore it open.

He sucked in a breath when her fingers steadied him. "I'm always prepared, but I haven't come yet." She unrolled the condom down his length and he exhaled through his teeth. "Not yet."

Her tongue ran over her top lip and she moved her hand lower.

Cupped him. Gently. So fucking gently.

She shifted her feet and inched closer, resting her hands on his shoulders and pulling him toward her. The scent of orange shampoo tickled his nostrils and his hardness rubbed against her soft skin. Wanting. Needing. Samantha pushed her mouth to his. Soft lips. Strong tongue sliding in his mouth, flicking his. She tasted sweet, delicious.

He picked her up and laid her on the soft leather. Her thighs opened, begging him to come inside. Not yet, though. He leaned over her and inched a finger inside her slick opening. She moaned as his lips found hers. He worked another finger in. Her body quivered.

"Don't stop," she whispered as his hand found a rhythm and his thumb found exactly the right spot, circling. Rubbing, stroking, letting every change in her breathing guide him. Her back arched and her walls contracted around his hand. "Don't..."

_Don't what?_ He lay down next to her, half on the couch, half off, his heart hammering, his lower body heavy and hot with need. _Don't what_? "Did I hurt you?"

"Hell, no." A slow smile curved her lips. "Don't stop."

Right. As much as his little head wanted him to roll over and get things going, he hesitated. She slid a finger down his chest and lower and—oh so wonderfully—lower.

"Are you ready for me?" She wrapped her fingers around him, making him shudder. He was never in his life so grateful for a condom. She leaned over and licked his ear. "Yes, you are."

The woman was amazing. Perfect.

He couldn't get enough. And he couldn't be happier about it.

# Chapter Sixteen

_Sam_

* * *

A few weeks later, the frat house was done and Samantha leaned her foot against a picnic table in another customer's back yard and held her to-do list. She was trying to concentrate on the work in front of her, but she couldn't get her mind off Ski. She was working double- time during the day so she'd have time to fall into bed with him at the end of each night. And so far, she'd been successful.

Successfully pleasured. Successfully ravaged. A goofy smile rested on her lips. The thing just kept coming back. She tried to look mean and serious, but these days her body was just too sated to keep up the pretense.

It could also be she was anticipating tonight. Another date with Ski had her giddy. Giddy? Well, she would be giddy if she was the type of girl to get giddy. She was merely excited. Horny, even.

The man was amazing. Those non-surgeon hands were gentle and rough and every combination in between. Everything she needed and wanted them to be. That was one thing she'd miss when this summer fling was over. The way those hands travelled over her body. The flick of his finger...

Heat pooled between her thighs. The swirl of his tongue.

"Samantha. Thunder."

Her eyes focused as she turned to the voice pulling her back to reality. Her daydream stood before her, concern etched on his face.

"You're here?" She brought her foot down from the bench. The Captain Morgan stance was not the most seductive of poses.

"You're not. What were you thinking about?" Ski asked.

Heat crawled up her neck as she revisited those happy thoughts. Oh, the thoughts she did think. The delicious thoughts. Her face grew hotter and hotter, with every thought of lick and flick. She wasn't going to tell him that, though. "Nothing."

Ski wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close. "That grin tells me it's more than nothing." He ran a finger down the side of her face. "And those red cheeks tell me I might like it."

"Well, I might've had some thoughts I could share. I could provide a demonstration if you're interested."

"Hell, yes." He brought his lips to hers, pulling her closer still.

Her body hummed. She couldn't wait to get him alone. She couldn't wait to have those hands roaming her body.

"Samantha," another daydream-killer yelled.

She pulled away from Ski and met the angry stare of her father. _Crap_. How long had he been standing there? How much had he heard? From the glare he threw at Ski, he'd heard enough.

"Dad."

"Sir." Ski's face clouded with embarrassment.

_Sir_. He was so cute. Apparently, even though her father told Ski to call him by his first name, Ski couldn't seem to use it when he was caught with his tongue down Bryan's daughter's throat. And they said chivalry was dead.

"How's the job coming along?" Despite her father towering over her saying words, her body was not cooperating. Her mind wouldn't focus, couldn't focus. Nothing was helping with the vibrations plaguing her body.

The job? She stared at the tablet in her hands. Oh yeah, job. "Fine. I was just going over the final punch list and we can close down this project."

"Uh-huh. How's the Byrne's vacation home coming along?"

"The blueprints are back from the architect, we're just waiting on the inspector."

"How can we be waiting on the inspector? We're supposed to break ground tomorrow. Haven't you called him?" Her father flinched and shook his head.

"I called him. He hasn't called me back."

"Then call him again, Samantha." His face contorted as he slithered forward. His knee nearly buckled, and confusion covered his too-pale face.

"Dad?" Samantha watched in horror as her father grabbed his own arm, his face ashen. His eyes widened, his pupils black pools. Time stilled as her father leaned forward, breath stuttering.

She couldn't move. Her mind watched. Her body waited. For instruction. For anything. She had to move. She. Had. To do. Something.

Large arms wrapped around her father's waist and guided him to the picnic table.

"Samantha, call nine-one-one. Bryan, I'm going to sit you down, right here on the bench."

She watched Ski sit her father on the bench and lean him back against the table. When he removed his hands, her father slipped forward, and Ski was right there, keeping him in place. Words flew from Ski's lips. Soothing words. Questions. He held her father in place and shoved a hard object in her hand.

"Huh?" She blinked stupidly at the cell phone and then at Ski. "Samantha, honey. Dial. Nine-one-one. Now. We don't have

much time."

She grabbed Ski's phone and stared at the blurred screen. Nine- one-one. Her shaking fingers hit the numbers, and they must have hit the right ones because a woman came on the line, asking the nature of the emergency. Miraculously, Sam's voice decided to work. "My father, he collapsed." She even remembered the address. Tears filled her eyes as she stood helplessly next to the table. Ski had her father talking.

"The paramedics are on the way," the woman said over the line.

Ski laid a hand on Samantha's arm. "Samantha, honey, I need you to get the baby aspirin from your father's glove compartment."

"Huh?" Baby aspirin? Why would he need—

"Your father just said he has some baby aspirin in the glove compartment. I need you to grab it."

She ran to the truck and opened the door. She found the bottle and brought it back to Ski. Sirens howled in the distance, slowly getting closer.

Ski opened the bottle and put two pills in her father's mouth. "Chew on these. They'll help you feel better." He pulled off his jacket, wrapping it around her father. Samantha stared helplessly on the sidelines, her brain still refusing to process more than the minimum.

Men ran around the corner of the house, one of them carrying a medical bag. "We need a gurney," one yelled, and another ran back to the front of the house.

"How are you today, Mister...?" the man with the bag asked, crouching down by Sam's father.

"Smith," Ski answered. "Bryan Smith."

"And you are?" He looked at Ski as he reached in his bag and pulled out a stethoscope.

"Friend. This is his daughter. He was behaving normally, then he grabbed his left arm and slowly slumped forward. I helped him to the table. He was semi-coherent. Able to answer most questions I asked

correctly. His breathing is shallow, and his pulse is weak. I just gave him two baby aspirin."

"Thanks." The EMT placed his fingers on her father's wrist just as two men appeared, pushing a gurney. With practiced ease, they moved her father onto it and got him secured.

A hand rested on her back. "He'll be all right. Let's follow him to the hospital."

She nodded. Unable to speak. Her father. She couldn't lose him.

She just couldn't.

# Chapter Seventeen

_Ski_

* * *

The waiting room was crowded. Morning fluff chirped from the television hanging from the white walls as Ski sat in a green vinyl chair while Samantha paced back and forth, tissue in her hand.

"Do you want to sit down?" he asked for the second—third? fourth?—millionth time.

"No. I want to know what's taking so long." She turned to the internal windows lining the room, watching the doctors and nurses hustling past, trying to keep up with the waiting room of patients and family. But not one came in to give a status. What the hell was taking so long?

"He'll be okay. We got him here in time." He hoped.

"How do you know?" Tears slid down her cheeks. "How can you be so sure?"

Ski got up and wrapped Samantha in his arms, wishing he could just take away all the pain. Tell her everything would be fine and know that it was true. But she was right. He was pretty sure they got there in time, but there was no guarantee. "I can't be sure. I wish I could."

"I can't lose him. He's all I have left."

"You have me. I'm not going anywhere." He ran a hand down her silken hair. He hated that she had to go through this. He hated they were so helpless. On the wrong side of the door. He should be helping. He should be in there with her father, making sure he made it back to his daughter.

"You're sweet." Samantha dabbed the tears falling from her eyes with a tissue.

A helpless ache wrapped around Ski's throat. There was nothing he could do, and every tear was a dagger to his heart. He would do anything, say anything, to stop her tears. To make sure she knew he was here for her. He cared about her.

"I love you." Silence greeted the words that snuck past his lips, a noose squeezing tighter and tighter around his neck. The words hung in the air. What had he done? They'd only been together for a little under a month. Best weeks of his life, but it was way too soon to talk love. Dammit.

"Ms. Thunder."

"Yes." She pulled away from Ski's arms.

"I'm Dr. Pekich. Your father's angina has worsened, and he's had a mild heart attack. We need to keep him here for observation."

"Will he be okay?"

"Yes, with diet and exercise, he should be fine. He was very lucky.

That was quick thinking giving him aspirin on the scene." "That wasn't me." She grabbed Ski's hand. "That was Ski." "Smart thinking," the doctor said.

"He is smart. Maybe even pre-med."

"Yeah. I'm pre-med." And he was pre-med. He was going to med school. Maybe not to specialize in surgery. But emergency medicine. He was going to spend his time on the other side of that damn door. He was not going to be left out in the waiting room, helpless, ever again.

"Well, we'd love to have you, son. Ms. Thunder, you may go see your father if you'd like."

"Thank you." She smiled and turned to Ski. "Thank you for staying with me, but you can leave. Go home and get some sleep."

"How will you get home?"

"I'm not leaving anytime soon. I'll call Barry when I leave for home."

"I can stay..."

"I know." She curled her hand around his arm. "But it doesn't help having us both here. There's nothing we can do. Go home and relax."

"Call me if anything changes." "I will."

"And don't call Barry. I can pick you up when you go home." "'Bye, Ski." She kissed his cheek, lingering a little too long before turning and following the doctor down the hall. He watched her walk away, and she never even glanced back.

He wanted to believe she was just worried about her dad. It had nothing to do with his verbal fuck-up. But he couldn't seem to find the energy to lie to himself about it.

He'd messed up and this time, there was no smooth-talking his way out of it.

# Chapter Eighteen

_Sam_

* * *

Samantha stood at her father's sink, hands immersed in soapy water. The pink suds tickled her elbows as she pulled out the bowl from her dad's lunch. He'd been home a little over a week, and he was starting to feel better. Too bad she didn't feel any better. She missed Ski. Not that she'd admit that.

_Thud_.

"Crap." She spun around. Her father held a large laundry basket, hopping on one foot. Feeling better was a good thing, but it meant he was ignoring everyone about taking it easy. Especially his daughter.

"What are you doing?" She flew to his side, almost tearing the basket out of his hands. "The doctor said you need to take it easy for the next few days. You can't carry this stuff around."

"I'm fine."

"Tell your heart that. Now, go sit down." "I need to do laundry." He pouted.

Why were men such babies about things like this? "I'll do the laundry."

"You need to get to the site. Adam Byrnes is a huge client."

"Dad, I made Barry a manager. He's on site. He can handle it until I get back." She dropped the basket of clothes next to the basement door, the plastic bouncing on the cold ceramic tiles.

"I know he can handle it, but it's better to have you both there. At least until you transfer all the parts of your job over to him."

"Why would I transfer all of my job to him? This is just until you don't need me twenty-four seven."

Her father leaned in and kissed the top of her head. "No, this is permanent."

"Are you firing me?" Samantha's breath stopped. Her heart stopped. Her father was firing her for screwing up so badly. "I'm so sorry I messed up the Psi Rho house, but I'll do better. I'm just learning." She had no problem begging. At the moment, she wasn't above crying, either. This. Could. Not. Be. Happening.

"No, sweetheart, but I talked with Bob. He needs an apprentice, and you need to be an electrician."

She stopped before she did a fish imitation. "I _don't—_ "

"But you want it, and I can't take that away from you."

"What—" Why couldn't she breathe? She tried again. "What about the company? I know I can't be that son you always wanted, but I can carry on your legacy."

Her father blinked at her. "Son?"

"You told mom you wanted a son to carry on the family name, to build your legacy." When her father frowned at her, she added, "Your company."

"I don't want a son," he said slowly. "I don't need one. You— you're my legacy. Not the company. And I'm so proud of you. I'm so proud of the woman you've become." He lowered himself into a chair. "You've helped me so much over the years. Now it's your turn." He waved a hand. "Go. Learn. Construction is _my_ passion. Go find yours."

Despite the open windows, the kitchen was definitely lacking in oxygen at the moment. "Thanks, Dad, but I can't take that on now, not till you're on your feet." As excuses went, that was pretty good, she thought.

"Samantha Anne Thunder, now who's afraid? I can take care of myself."

"Yeah, and I can cover my ears with my hands and sing _la la la_ so I don't have to listen to you whine. We can do a lot of things. That doesn't mean we should. You're still healing." How else could she possibly explain? How much clearer did she need to be? "I can't leave you alone," she said. And it was true—she was terrified to leave the house, leave him.

"So, you want to stay here and babysit forever, then." Her father sat back in the chair, and oh yes, she recognized that look on his face.

"No." She didn't _want_ to. She just planned on it. "Yes."

"I can't help it. I can't lose you. You're all I have."

"Hm." He played with the mail sitting on the table. "It seemed like just a week ago you had someone else."

"Do you want me to bring your dessert to your chair, put your shows on?" Samantha knew how to change the subject when it came to her father. Food and _This Old House_. And the combination was enough to move the conversation off of Ski. She didn't want to talk about him. She didn't want to think about him. It hurt too much.

"Is it ice cream?"

"No. Still can't eat that."

"Hm. Fine. I don't see how anything without sugar can be called dessert. It's like living in prison." He got to his feet and headed for the living room, settling in the plaid recliner directly in front of the television.

She walked to the nearly empty fridge and pulled out a bowl of strawberries. A trip to the grocery store was on her list of things to do today, but she wanted to get rid of all the high-fat, pure-crap food first, before she bought all the good stuff.

She set the bowl of strawberries on her father's end table. He nodded, captivated by the episode of _This Old House_ on the screen.

Just as she turned to head back for the kitchen, the doorbell rang.

Her father lowered his legs and went to get up

"Sit." She briefly rested a hand on his shoulder as she passed him.

She threw open the door. Dammit. She should have checked the peephole. It was probably too late to pretend they weren't home now.

His body took up the whole front porch. The fruit basket with a get-well ribbon was dwarfed by his massive arms and hands. "I tried to call."

And she'd avoided every one of those calls since the hospital. He loved her. When did that happen? Better yet, why?

"Did you get my text?" She wasn't a barbarian. He had a right to know how her father was progressing. And an impersonal text was the safest way to communicate.

"That your dad was doing okay? Yes."

"Good." She couldn't look at him. She couldn't bear to see the hurt, the disappointment, the anger, whatever emotion he had for her. She didn't want to see it. She didn't want to know what she'd done, how he hated her. It would absolutely kill her.

"Can I come in?"

"Um..." She wanted to say yes, but it just didn't seem right. They were on two different paths. She didn't want to rely on him, for anything. Because when he left...? She'd be crushed that he wasn't there anymore.

"Is that Ski? Samantha, let him in," her father yelled from his polyester throne.

Ski walked past Samantha and put his gift on the coffee table. "Sir."

"So, I hear I'm sitting here because of you."

"I wouldn't go that far..." Ski sat on the couch next to her father's chair.

"Nonsense. You're being modest." Her father reached across the arm rest and grabbed Ski's hand. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. You're looking good. How are you feeling?" "Fine. The heart-police won't let me do anything, but I'm feeling fine."

"Good. I'm sure the heart-police is just worried about you." Ski aimed a smile at Samantha, but it didn't reach his eyes.

She couldn't stand being this close to him. But running out of the room was not an option, was it?

Her father cleared his throat. "Nice basket, Ski. Those oranges look good."

"I'll open this and bring you one, Dad." She grabbed the basket and walked past the men, nearly running for the safety of the deserted kitchen. She dropped the gift on the counter, pulling the ribbon at the top. _Rrriipp_. The plastic tore, and she snatched an orange from its confetti cocoon.

"Hey." Ski leaned against the counter, across from where she stood. Sneaky, wasn't he?

"Hey."

"Can we talk?"

No. Hell. No. She didn't want to talk. Like a bad cold, she wanted this thing between them to just fade away.

"I wanted to see how you're doing." Apparently her silence meant, _go ahead, let's talk_. "Fine."

"Good." He played with his keys, staring at them like they were the most interesting things ever. "Would you like to go out tonight? Get some dinner, maybe talk?"

"I need to be here for my dad." She peeled the orange and laid it in a clean bowl. "He isn't well enough to be left alone, not yet."

"Yeah, of course. I could stop by and bring dinner."

"I don't think that's a good idea." She washed her hands in the sink and dried them on a towel. When she caught herself trying to fold it in perfect thirds she grabbed her tablet instead, playing with the screen. She loved her tablet. She felt safe behind her tablet.

Her skin pricked, nervous energy jolting her body. She didn't want to do this here. She didn't want to do this anywhere. Why did he want to prolong the torture?

His sigh had an edge to it. "Can you please put that down? I'm so tired of you hiding behind that tablet."

She slammed it on the counter. "Ski, we had a good time, but it was a summer fling. You need to get back to school and I've got to get back to work."

"We could still see each other." His voice wasn't giving her any hints, and for some reason that just made things worse. As if that was possible.

She dared to glance up. "Aren't those pre-med classes intense? You won't have time."

"I'll make time." His eyes narrowed. "Ski..."

"Are you breaking up with me?" There—there was the hurt she expected.

Samantha straightened up, chin lifting. "There's nothing to break up. We weren't dating. We were having a good time." She swore she could see the exact moment his heart broke inside his chest. It was the exact moment a lump lodged in her throat, making it impossible to breathe.

"So, I meant nothing." Ski stepped back. "Wow."

"No. It wasn't nothing..."

"I was a fuck buddy." He tensed, and for a moment, she thought he was going to slam his hands on the counter. Instead, he just took a deep breath. "I'm done."

Ski turned and headed toward the door, leaving her to stare at the stupid fruit. She wanted to follow him. Say something. But what could she say— _You'll thank me someday? It's better we cut ties before we got in too deep?_ She jumped when Ski slapped one hand on the counter.

"You know what, I'm not done." He ran his other hand over his hair. "I get your mom left and it was fucked up. But pushing everyone away is not the answer. All I did was love you and you're too damn scared to love me back. I never thought you were a coward."

Samantha's head jerked up, her eyes meeting his. He blinked at her, and his next words sounded thick. "Now, I'm done."

She watched him walk out the door, breathing around the rock in her chest.

"Those are some nice oranges." Her father appeared at the counter. "Yeah." She pushed the bowl across the counter toward him.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Nope." She moved the basket to the other counter and stared at it. Not far enough. Not far enough away from her. It came from Ski. She didn't need reminders. She needed to forget. Some memory potion to help her move on, move forward, without him.

"Yeah. I'm not much of a talker either. But you know he's right.

I'm not going to be here forever."

"So I should hook up with the first guy that comes along?" She yanked the basket off the counter and took it into the pantry. She'd only have to be reminded when she opened the pantry door. Like she was ever going to go in there again.

"No, but you should let people in. Maybe it's my fault. I watched you push everyone away and I let you do it. I should have stopped you, but I knew how you felt. When your mom left—"

She did not want to hear the rest of that sentence. "Dad, it's okay." "No, it's not. Not _everyone_ leaves. Your mom wasn't ready for everything included in marriage. She'd never had a relationship at that point. She was scared."

"But—" An embarrassing hiccup escaped. "My own mom didn't love me enough to stick around. Why would anyone else?"

"Well, I did." He wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "And your mom's leaving had nothing to do with love. She loved you. She just didn't know how to deal with her life. And...it's sad. She missed out on you. Your life and your accomplishments. She didn't get to know the wonderful woman you've become. She shut us out. Just like you're doing to Ski."

"He'll leave."

"Maybe. But maybe not. The man adores you, and from what I could see, you love him too. With your mom, I was scared, too. But I don't regret one minute of it. I wouldn't change it at all. It would be tragic to miss out on great love because you're afraid he'll leave." He took the bowl and headed to the family room.

_Great love_.

Was this her great love? She liked talking to him. She felt safe with him. Her body couldn't get enough of him. When he was around, her life, her heart felt complete.

Crap.

She loved him. Why couldn't she have figured that out ten seconds ago?

# Chapter Nineteen

_Ski_

* * *

Ski stepped over a crate as he carried a case of beer up the stairs. Moving day at Psi Rho. The hustle. The noise. It all kept his mind off of Samantha.

He'd been an idiot. He'd actually thought they had a future. It was a good thing he had a box in his hands because he had an overwhelming urge to knock himself in the head.

"Ski, you can just set it down over here." Ryan pointed to the one empty space left on the table in their room. "Thanks for helping me today."

Ski felt Ryan's stare as he dropped the case onto the table. "What?"

"What's going on?"

"Nothing?"

Ryan said, "Okay", but he kept staring.

Ski walked to the window. Cars lined the street and parking lot. Trunks were open. Everyone excited to start the new year. And all Ski wanted to do was go home to his family. Maybe even head to Poland. Pretend the summer didn't happen.

Dammit. He didn't want to forget the summer happened, he just wanted it to end differently. Or not at all. If it meant he'd be with Samantha, he wanted the summer to last forever.

"Is it Samantha?"

Good thing he'd put the beer down or he would have dropped the entire case. "What?" He turned around to glare at Ryan, who tilted his head, studying Ski.

"Did something happen with her? Is that why you're acting weird?"

He never should have told Ryan anything. He didn't want to talk about it. Now or ever. "I just stayed up too late last night." That sounded lame even to him.

Ryan made a rude noise, and Ski sighed. Maybe he should just confess and get this over with. "Fuck. Yeah. It just didn't work out." Ski figured that was the best story. Ryan didn't need the gory details. Like how they were fuck buddies and he fell in love and she broke his heart. According to her, they weren't even dating, for cripes sake. That was one dagger Ski didn't need slid back into his heart, thanks.

"Shit. That sucks." "Yeah."

The frat president walked in the door. "Hello, ladies. How was the summer?" Ski clenched his teeth. He had no patience for Brent's bullshit today.

Brent opened the empty mini-fridge. "No cold beer?"

"No. Check your own. I'm still moving in." Ryan slammed the fridge shut. Brent saw the case Ski had carried in and opened the box. Ryan almost growled. "Sure you can have one. Thanks for asking." Ryan's tone said he wasn't in the mood for Brent's bullshit, either.

"Whatever. So what are the plans tonight?" Brent sat on the couch and rested his feet on the coffee table. The plastic crates lining the surface shifted as he pushed them with his feet.

Ryan grabbed the crates and moved them to the floor. "Unpacking."

"Come on. Don't puss out. It's our first night back—we have to go out. Have a brother night."

Brent had a point. A brother night could be fun. It could keep his mind off of Samantha. Ski shrugged. "Yeah."

Ryan pulled out a stash of video games from the closest crate and lined them up on an empty shelf by the TV. "Fine. I could handle a night out at Barnacles."

Brent shook his head. "Not Barnacles. The freshmen are having a party over at a house on Bilter."

"So what?" Ryan said. "We're not crashing the freshman party." "Why not? We got to scope out the new talent. As your president,

I order you to come with me." Brent attempted a serious face. "Order?" Ryan said.

"Don't make me go alone. That would just be sad." As if crashing a freshman party wasn't sad enough. Brent jumped up, taking his beer with him. "We're leaving at seven." He walked out the door, his huge mouth making enough noise to be heard in the next state as he welcomed everyone back to school. The drunk Psi Rho greeter.

"He's a pain in the ass." Ryan stacked plastic cups on the fridge. "Yeah. But he's our pain in the ass. I'm going to head down and

lock up your car."

"Thanks." Ryan threw him the keys.

Ski nodded as he walked out the door. The once-empty halls were filled with crates and boxes. There was already a pyramid of empty beer bottles stacked at the top of the main staircase. Disgusting. He really needed to look into off-campus housing next year.

"Ski!" his second roommate yelled, giving him a fist bump while they carried their belongings up the stairs. More crap to be shoved in that small space of a room.

"The place looks great," someone else yelled from downstairs. "How did it go this summer?"

Ski navigated around a pile of boxes and jogged for the front door, pretending not to hear the question. The summer was off limits. If he wasn't talking to Ryan about it, there was no way he was letting anyone else in on his humiliation.

Stones crunched beneath his sneakers as he made his way to Ryan's Mercedes, parked in the house parking lot. The door hung open in the space next to Ski's car. The cars couldn't have been more different, but the men who gave them the cars were the same. Controlling. Infallible.

Ski's father had never found out about the almost-change of majors, or at least Ski didn't think he'd found out. If he had, maybe he would have been happier that Ski stayed in pre-med. Instead his father was "distraught" when Ski told him he wasn't going to be a surgeon. He was "distraught" his son would "waste his talent" in the ER. But he also made it clear he thought Ski would change his mind after med school.

That was best he was going to get from the old man. He'd never get understanding, never get support. It just wasn't in his father's DNA. And who knew? Maybe Ski would change his mind. But either way, it was his mind to change.

He leaned into Ryan's car, checking the back seat. Nothing left. He closed the doors and pushed the button. The car alarm chimed to life as he turned back toward the house. He caught a glimpse of long black hair out of the corner of his eye. No. It wasn't—was it?

Anger, pain hardened around his heart. He didn't want to see her. But there she was talking to one of the brothers. The brother pointed at Ski.

She looked toward the parking lot, her eyes searching and then finding him. He wanted to think it was his imagination that her shoulders were slumped. Hope squirmed loose. Dammit. Hope was not good here.

He waited until she actually walked up to him before he said a word. "Samantha."

"Hi." She gave a poor excuse for a smile. Of course, his probably wasn't much better.

"What are you doing here?"

"Picking up the check for the renovation."

Ski hated hope. He wanted to bash the little bugger into the ground with a baseball bat. Nothing but a disappointment. But he should have known she wouldn't be here for him. "Ryan's inside. He should have your check."

"Thanks." She twined her fingers together.

"Yeah. Well. I'll see you around." As he walked past her, she reached out and touched his arm. The warmth of her fingers—the softness of her hands—it was enough to twist his gut in two. Why did it have to feel so good, when he knew it would only lead to heartache? His body must not have gotten the email.

"Can we talk?"

He unclenched his jaw. "Why? I think we both said everything we needed to say."

"I didn't."

"Hey, Ski, Brent needs you inside," one of the brothers yelled. Excellent—the perfect excuse to walk away so he didn't have to listen to whatever heartbreak was heading his way.

"Please come walk with me," she pleaded.

Mistake. Even thinking about going with her was a mistake. He knew that, so why did he nod in the direction of the house and yell back, "Tell him I'll be there in a few minutes." Because, even now, he couldn't say no to her, that's why.

They turned and headed down the street, away from the noise. She kicked the gravel as she walked, agonizing silence stealing all the air. Finally, she looked up at Ski, and his stomach clenched at the sight of the tears pooled in her eyes.

Shit. "Are you okay? Is it your dad?"

"No. No. My dad is fine. He's officially retired."

"That's good news." He stopped walking and stared at her. It broke his heart watching her. Knowing he couldn't have her. "What do you want, Samantha?"

"I'm sorry." "For what?"

"For hurting you." A tear slid down her face.

Guilt. This was a guilt visit. Wonderful. The dull knife twisted in his heart a little further. "Don't worry. I'm a big boy. I'll be fine. Is that all you wanted?"

"No. I need to know if you accept my apology." "Why?"

"Because I love you and I need to know that you forgive me."

He'd taken hits on the field that knocked less air out of him. When his lungs cooperated, he managed to ask, "What happened to this just being fun?"

"It wasn't _just_ fun." She scrubbed a hand across her face. "Well— it was fun, but it was so much more." She placed a hand on his arm. "I was scared, but I'm not anymore."

Just in case, he grabbed that slippery bastard Hope and refused to let it run all through him. "Why?"

"Because you make me happy. You make me feel safe. I want to be with you. See where this thing can go." She took a deep breath, and yes, he appreciated the things it did to her chest. She gnawed the corner of her mouth, watching him. "I want it all. As long as it's with you. The history talk. The uncomfortable father, daughter, new boyfriend dinner. Everything." She gave a little laugh. "Although, I think my dad likes you more than me, these days."

He nodded. "It's hard to compete with baby aspirin."

"You saved his life. You're a hero. To him and to me. Please tell me I'm not too late."

He wanted it to be too late, after all the pain he'd felt over the past few days. He didn't want to take another chance. But looking into her eyes undid all his resolve. She loved him. It was everything he'd hoped for. Everything he'd wanted. And he wasn't dumb enough to turn his back on that, to turn his back on her.

He wrapped his arms around her and held on. He was never going to let her go. "I love you, Sammy." His lips met hers. Long and deep. She felt good. This felt right.

The sweetest words he'd never get tired of hearing spilled from her lips. "I love you, too." She leaned into him again with hungry, wanting lips.

"Ski!" Ryan screamed. "Get over here."

She pulled away— _damn Ryan_ —but she was smiling. "We better get back before your frat brothers carry you away."

"I'd like to see them try." He ran a finger under her chin.

She grabbed his hand. "Come on. Let's get this over with so you can take me out to dinner. And I can show you how much I love you. Over and over again."

He smiled and led her toward the house. He'd help his brothers for a half hour. Hour, tops. Then he was taking her up on her offer. He wanted to see everything she had to show him. Over and over again.

# Epilogue

_Ski_

* * *

Ski leaned against the wall as Samantha threw another dart into the bull's-eye. "You've gotta be kidding me."

"No kidding, Ski." Sam batted her long, dark lashes and swooshed her ass from side to side as she held up another dart. She might not be kidding him, but she was definitely playing him.

Not that he cared who won. Well, he wouldn't care who won, except for...dammit, what did he do?

The night had started out pleasant. They'd shared a nice dinner, a few laughs, a few kisses and then—why was it all bad things followed _and then_? Then they'd come over to the bar side of the restaurant. Ski thought he'd ask her for a friendly game of darts. The board had been open. He'd teach her a few moves as he wrapped her in his arms.

Sounded so good in his head.

She'd actually asked if he'd show her how to throw a dart, all sweet and innocent. Sweet and innocent. Yeah, right. _Hustler_ was more like it.

"I'm just a quick learner." She gave him a wide-eyed look before she sent another dart into the center ring.

Con. Artist.

"Well, I guess I win." She pulled her darts. "Beginner's luck." "Beginner?"

"I might have played once or twice." She slid the darts into the lip below the board and grinned over her shoulder.

_Once or twice, my ass_.

"So." She grabbed her tool belt from the chair in the corner. "I believe you need this."

Ski took the belt as his chin dropped to his chest. _Crap._

* * *

CAR HEADLIGHTS followed Ski as he walked down the block ten minutes later. Four blocks. He only had to make it four blocks. The cool night air crawled up and down his body, Samantha's tool belt the only thing blocking the wind. The. Only. Thing.

He never should have agreed to this, but when Samantha offered the bet he couldn't say no. Ski was a dart god. So, he took the sure thing. If he won, she'd do a dance in nothing but her tool belt. Her body bare, with only her tools. Hot. If she won, he'd run home in nothing but her tool belt. Nothing. Birthday suit. Nada. The full monty.

Who would have thought she'd win? A horn honked. "Ski!"

He turned partway around, squinting into the glare as a car slowed down behind him. _Not_ Samantha.

"Ooh baby!" Great. Sorority women. "Move your hands!"

Hell, no. "Keep going. There's nothing to see here."

"If you move your hands, there will be something to see," a girl screamed just as Samantha pulled her truck over to the curb. The other women whooped and sped down the street.

"Wanna ride?" Samantha leaned out the window.

"I only have a block to go. What, are you jealous?" He moved one hand and shifted the belt lower on his hips.

"Jealous? No." Fire burned in her gaze as her eyes slid up and down his body. "But let's get you home."

"I like the sound of that." He walked up to the truck and rested a hand on the doorframe. He leaned in. Her lips got closer and closer. The faint aroma of pizza and beer still scented her breath.

His lips met hers. Soft at first, growing hard and demanding. His monty was definitely starting to get full. The redistribution of air reminded him why this was a bad idea. "Not here."

She looked down and smiled. "No, not here." "I'm going to run. I'll meet you at the frat."

"I'm calling my dad. I don't think I'm going to make it home tonight."

"Good choice."

She pulled out her phone, and Ski headed down the last block of his punishment, turning the corner to the frat house.

The frat.

He'd forgot about the guys. Not like they hadn't seen him wearing less—in the locker room, for instance. Or during his pledge week.

Ski walked up to the house just as Ryan opened the front door, the sounds of the brothers inside telling him it was a full house. Ryan stepped outside and threw a towel at Ski's chest.

Ski grabbed it and wrapped the towel around his waist under the tool belt. "Thanks."

"Yep." Ryan produced a beer and stuck it in Ski's waiting hand before dropping into a chair on the front deck.

Ski spun the top off the bottle and looked down the empty block. Samantha's truck was nowhere to be found. He sat a few chairs down from Ryan and set the cap on the windowsill. "How was the party?"

"Good. How was the date?" Ryan stared out toward the street and tilted his own beer back.

"Good."

"Good."

"Yep." Air kicked up, chilling Ski's overexposed skin. Heavy rock music thumped from inside as the brothers celebrated being back on campus. The smell of pot and beer wafted out onto the porch.

"So, should I ask?" Ryan took another drink. He hadn't turned his head to look at Ski once, not that Ski blamed him.

Ski ran a hand down his naked chest. "Lost a bet." "That sucks."

"Hey, boys." Samantha came around the house carrying his clothes.

Clothes. Thank goodness. Ski jumped from the chair and held out his hand. Samantha smiled and pulled the clothes closer to her chest.

"I need to put those on."

"Now that would be silly," she whispered, "when I'm just going to have to take them off. I'll meet you upstairs." Hips swaying, she disappeared through the front door.

_Shit._ All he could do was stare after her. The woman was tempting and sexy and hot. And he couldn't wait to get her alone. The things he'd do.

"She went up to our room, right?" Ryan asked. Was Ryan still here?

"Yep."

"Then why are you down here?"

"Right." Ski handed the half-empty beer to Ryan. He adjusted the tool belt over the towel and walked into the frat house. Maybe if he played his cards right, he'd get his part of the bet and have her in this belt and nothing else.

Tonight just kept getting better and better.

# Extras

If you enjoyed reading about Ski and Samantha, watch for the next book in the Ritter University series, featuring Ski's frat brother Ryan and Karina.

* * *

Thank you for supporting an independent author. It would be great if you could leave a review or a rating wherever you purchased this book, or on Goodreads.

* * *

Would you like to know when my next book is available? You can sign up for my new release email list at <http://www.vanessamknight.com> or like my Facebook page at <http://facebook.com/vanessamknightauthor>.

# Other Books by Vanessa

Busted Series (in order)

_Busting In_

_Busting Out_

_Busting Through (2019)_

* * *

Chicago's Finest Series (in order)

_Second Time's the Charm_

_Stark Raving Mad_

_Stealing Vegas (2019)_

* * *

Ritter University Series (in order)

_Major Renovations_

_What Happens in College..._

_Christmas Breakdown_

_Rushing In_

_Sophomore Slump_

_The Makeup Test_

* * *

Falling Pines Series

_Breaking the Fall_

# What Happens in College... Preview

_Karina_

* * *

The lights in the basement were dimmed, the music was too loud, and Karina Wolfe's roommate, Savannah Whitley, was wearing a dress short enough to read her lips.

"How are you dancing in that dress without giving everyone a peep show?" Karina raised her voice enough to be heard over the music and dropped onto the couch, balancing her plastic cup of water. First night at Ritter University, first party—even if it was off- campus—first opportunity to embarrass herself. All good reasons why she had skipped the spiked punch and stuck with water.

"Well that's easy." Savannah fanned her blonde hair across her narrow back, the straight strands immediately slipping back in front of her shoulders. Everything about Savannah was narrow—and long— and tall. "I only slow dance, sway, and country line dance."

Gabriella Blanco pulled on the pink stretchy material that barely covered Savannah's lady bits, tugging it down about a half inch. "Sway?" She straightened up, the bling on her belt accenting the way her low-slung jeans clung to her hips.

"Sway. You know, back and forth. All that arm-throwing and butt-thumping is unnecessary. It's all just foreplay, anyway."

"If only her preacher father could hear her." Gabi gulped down half her glass of punch.

Karina laughed. "If only your boyfriend back home could hear you now."

Savannah gave Gabi a pathetic excuse for a glare. "Keep my daddy out of it, and Leland would be just fine. He knows how much I love him."

Karina sipped her water and wondered about the fake smile at the end—who was Savannah trying to convince?

Gabi dropped into the space next to her on the couch, her cut-off T-shirt with _Latina Princess_ in pink glitter riding up over her flat stomach. "We're not sitting here long. We're going back out to dance." She pulled her long dark brown hair away from her sweat- soaked olive skin. All Karina needed was four hours in the sun, a boob-job, and butt injections, and she too, could look that good.

"You can go anytime," Savannah told Gabi. "Karina and I will go when we're good and ready, bossy-pants." Savannah had barely touched the drink in her hand. Her eyes were too busy bouncing from side to side. Maybe that's why the girl could dance for forty-five minutes and not break a sweat. There was no liquid in her system.

Karina didn't have that problem. She lifted her dark blonde hair off her neck, ignoring the sweat beading and dripping down her face. Her hair was barely past her shoulders and it was too hot—how did Savannah stand it? Her black jeans were stuck to the back of her thighs, and she tugged on the neck of her damp T-shirt to get some air on her skin. "How are you not sweating?"

"My momma always told me women don't sweat. We glisten." Savannah sipped her drink and Gabi rolled her eyes.

If it were only that simple. If only Karina would miraculously stop sweating because her mom said so. Her mom would love that, just pull some magic puppet strings and no more sweating... _Check_. Another pull of those strings and no more "slovenly" wardrobe, all jeans and T-shirts banished... _Check_. No more "horrible" attitude...

_Check_.

A boy-band lookalike gazed in their direction across the dance floor. Karina smiled and nudged Savannah. "Speaking of fine. You have an admirer."

Boy-band swaggered up to the couch and leaned toward Savannah. "See my friend over there? He wants to know if you think I'm cute."

"Whatever for?" Savannah batted her eyelids and flipped her long blonde hair back over her shoulder.

"Because I'd like to ask you to dance, but couldn't handle it if someone as beautiful as you said no."

"Well, aren't you just adorable." "Wanna dance?"

"Sure." Savannah leapt from the chair and followed the boy-band wannabe. Although the pickup line was bogus, it figured that the one girl with a frickin' boyfriend waiting at home was asked to dance by a gorgeous guy.

"I'm going back out there." Gabi downed the last of her punch as she jumped up from the couch. "Ready?"

"Give me a minute."

"One minute, and I'm dragging your butt out here." Gabi shuffled through the crowd to where their group of dorm mates was dancing in a large circle in the middle of the floor. Everyone was having a great time.

Their first party at their new college campus. Away from home.

Away from parents. Their first chance to be on their own.

Bodies jumped and writhed on the makeshift dance floor when the bass thudded a new rhythm. The heat in the room rose, and even sitting off to the side, new sweat lined Karina's forehead. A guy bumped the back of the couch and landed on her lap. "Hey, sexy."

"Hey."

He lifted his longhaired head and blew on her with boozy breath. "Dude, did you go swimming? You're all wet."

"Yep." Karina sighed.

"Awesome." He leaned a hand on Karina's shoulder and stumbled to his feet. As he walked away, he tripped over a set of legs. "Cool. Hey, man, did you hear—there's a pool."

Drunk boys. Gotta love 'em. She puffed a burst of air at her bangs. Nope not working. Air. She needed real air.

Karina slid off the couch and angled through the gyrating bodies on the floor, heading for the sliding glass doors at the opposite end of the room. She squeezed and banged her way through the crowd, wrinkling her nose as cigarette and pot smoke mixed with the overwhelming scent of sweat. _Num_.

The sliding glass door was open when she reached the Promised Land. Air. Fresh air. Karina drank down the cool evening breeze, cold air sliding down her throat. So relaxing. She closed her eyes and sat back against the railing of the back deck. Shivers crawled up her arms as the breeze washed away the sweat—no— _glisten_ from her skin.

_Thump. Thump._ Her body pulsed to the rhythm coming through the railing.

_Thump. Thump. Crunch._

Her arms flew out, looking for something to grab as she fell backward. Anything to stop her downward momentum. Nothing. There was not one thing to stop her. No way to stop the power of gravity. Wood jabbed into her side. Crap. Her eyes closed and her butt puckered as she braced for the cruel reality of hard ground and pointy wood.

Instead of an intimate introduction with the business end of an improvised spear, strong arms wrapped around her waist. Momentum stopped. Realization hit. She wasn't going to be making that last-minute ER trip this evening after all. She leaned into the large chest of her rescuer.

"Whoa," a seductive deep voice rumbled in her ear. He eased her forward until she was standing upright "Are you okay?'

"I think so." Karina tested her knees and figured she could manage not to fall in a heap. Damn deck. She lifted her head to thank her savior, and air wedged in her throat.

Wow. Her gaze locked on his hazel eyes and full lips. Both looked right at home next to chiseled cheekbones and a strong jaw. His brown hair was cut short on the sides, gradually getting longer near the top of his head. The only flaw she could see was a rounded nose— and even that gave him a unique attractiveness. A guy-next-door Adam Levine.

Did she mention she loved Adam Levine?

The guy was hot. Stupid hot. The kind of hot that conned unsuspecting women into doing stupid things. Thank goodness she wasn't unsuspecting—anymore.

"Are you sure?" He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair.

What? She thought back—what was the last thing she said? No clue. "Am I sure about what?"

"That you're okay. You look a bit confused."

"Confused?" She might be a bit confused. On account of the hotness. No—because she's almost got impaled. That was it.

"How many fingers?" He held three fingers up next to his head. "Three."

"And now?" He lifted one finger. "One."

"What's your name?"

"Karina." Yep. She was sure that was her name. "Karina."

"Wait, how do you know if I'm right?"

"I don't. I just wanted to know your name." He slid a finger along her cheek, pushing her hair behind her ear. "The confusion seems to be gone."

"Sorry. I'm fine now. What were _you_ doing out here?" She turned away as heat crawled up her neck. Confused? Maybe a little. But her brain was _not_ pinging from his touch along her face. Not even a little. She was confused after her brush with death. Yep, death by impaling. Yep, that was it.

"Um, I needed some air." He stuffed his hands into the front pockets of his blue jeans. He looked so good in those jeans. Narrow hips. Broad Shoulders. Did she mention the Adam Levine thing?

Okay, so she might have given up on men, but she wasn't blind. "What were you doing out here?" He pointed through the door toward the throng of dancers. "The party's that way."

"Needed some air." She looked into his eyes. Kind eyes. Sweet eyes. Eyes that held her in place. Red and blue lights flickered against the hazel. She turned around.

No way. It couldn't be happening. Not again. An all-night rave twerked through her stomach. This was supposed to be her chance to put the past behind her. Move on. A visit from Cedar Glen's Finest was not in her plans.

They'd find out. Everyone would find out. Everyone always seemed to find out what she'd done.

More lights swirled through the back yard as terror gripped her by the throat.

Karina sucked in a deep breath. "The cops."

### Contents

  1. Title Page
  2. Contents
  3. Copyright
  4. Untitled
  5. Acknowledgments
  6. Chapter 1
  7. Chapter 2
  8. Chapter 3
  9. Chapter 4
  10. Chapter 5
  11. Chapter 6
  12. Chapter 7
  13. Chapter 8
  14. Chapter 9
  15. Chapter 10
  16. Chapter 11
  17. Chapter 12
  18. Chapter 13
  19. Chapter 14
  20. Chapter 15
  21. Chapter 16
  22. Chapter 17
  23. Chapter 18
  24. Chapter 19
  25. Epilogue
  26. Extras
  27. Other Books by Vanessa
  28. What Happens in College... Preview

  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Contents
  4. Copyright
  5. Acknowledgments
  6. Beginning
  7. Epilogue
  8. Also by Vanessa M. Knight

