The Cowgirl's Forever Family. Helen Lacey

raised both brows. “I’m still listening.”

      He sighed. “Like I said, they are kind people, but when I was thirteen they took up residence at a shared living community. It wasn’t a life that I wanted for myself.”

      Brooke’s eyes widened. “Like a commune?”

      He nodded. “I wanted to go to college. They didn’t agree with that decision.”

      She grabbed a couple of mugs and put them on the counter. “So you ran away and got a lawyer.”

      “I ran away and ended up in social services.”

      It sounded like a nightmare and made Brooke even more grateful for her happy childhood. “And that’s where you met Yelena’s grandfather?”

      “Correct.”

      She glanced at him. “Do you still see your parents?”

      “Not much.”

      “They must miss you, though... I mean, if you’re their only child. Family and blood ties are important and—”

      “I was adopted,” he said, silencing her immediately.

      Brooke stared at him, thinking of his complicated upbringing, and feeling an acute kind of sadness deep down. “Thank you for telling me. How old are you?”

      “Thirty-four.”

      “Any vices I should know about?”

      He grinned just a little, showing off his dimple. “Not one.”

      The air between them thickened. There was a kind of seductive energy surrounding him that was impossible to ignore.

      “No one is that perfect,” Brooke said, feeling heat smack her cheeks. “Take me for instance. I like sweet white coffee, cold toast and I love sleeping in on Sunday mornings.”

      He propped Cara on his hip and looked at Brooke so intently that her knees weakened. Suddenly having him living in her house didn’t seem like such a great idea.

      Because there was something in the air between them.

      Something she hadn’t experienced for a long time, felt for a long time.

      Awareness. Attraction. Chemistry. Heat.

      Call it by a dozen different names...but it was really only one thing.

      Sex...

      And it was everywhere. In the air, crawling over her skin, pumping through her blood.

      “I like unsweetened black coffee,” he said smoothly, not missing a beat, not dragging his gaze from hers. “I like warm toast. And I only ever stay in bed on a Sunday morning if I have a woman in that bed with me.”