What if everything you knew about your past turns out to be…wrong?
Ten years after leaving home, the last thing Summer Thompson expects is to inherit her estranged father’s half-renovated mansion. And the last thing she wants is to face the memories of the night her brother died—sketchy as they may be. Now a San Francisco museum curator, she plans to stay east just long enough to settle the estate and get rid of the house. Until she finds it occupied by a hunky handyman who’s strangely reluctant to talk about his past.
Damian Knight has something to hide: his mother and sister from a brutal stalker. They’ve found a measure of peace and carefully guarded safety in Pine Point. Yet when the lonely, haunted Summer steals his heart, he finds himself opening up to her in ways he should never risk. Especially to a woman who’s planning to return to the west coast—after selling their refuge out from under them.
Summer’s mounting flashbacks leave her confused—and more determined than ever to find out the truth behind her brother’s death. But in a small town full of powerful secrets, finding out the truth could cost everything -- even their lives.
Damian reached over and brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. Summer's skin sizzled. He left his hand resting against her cheek, and she wanted to lean into it, to feel the impression of his palm deep down, where she'd felt cold and empty for so long.
"You're..." He didn't finish the thought. Instead he leaned over and lifted her chin. Hungry lips met hers, and she wasn't sure in the next instant whose hands moved first or whose voice rumbled low in the throat. All she knew was that she couldn't get close enough to him.
Their legs tangled. His fingers entwined with hers. One thumb stroked the tender skin of her palm before reaching down to caress a soft spot at the small of her back. She ran a hand over his hair, over the soft ridges in his ear and the bulk of his shoulder. He murmured something into her skin, a humming that set her nerves on fire. She let her head fall back, let him move from her ear to her neck to her collarbone in steps so slow and sweet she thought she might die from anticipation. Pinks and blues danced behind her eyelids.
She didn't want to open her eyes when he pulled back and let his hands rest on her waist. She wanted his mouth on hers again. Hell, she wanted his mouth in other places, and if it meant bare floor and sawdust and a sleeping bag, then so be it. But he didn't move. When she finally gave in and peeked, she saw him staring at her.
"Sorry." One dimple popped out. "That probably wasn't what you had in mind when you asked me to stay for dinner."
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