Flashpoint. Jill Shalvis

Then, when she did go, she’d have these memories. She’d have her own history to look back on and remember.

      Cristina leaned over Blake’s shoulder. “Got anything good today, Eeyore?”

      Blake pulled open a drawer and held out a candy bar. “Careful,” he warned. “I rigged it. The person who eats that is going to turn sweet.”

      “Not a chance.”

      With a sigh, Blake went back to the computer.

      Brooke headed into the garage to restock their rig as end-of-shift protocol dictated. And then, blessedly, she was off the clock. Stepping outside, she was immediately hit by a sucker punch to the low belly area—not by the hot, salty summer air, but by good old-fashioned lust.

      Zach stood on the bumper of the truck, hose in hand, leaning over his rig, squirting down the windows. Stripped to the waist, his skin glistened with a light sweat. She broke into a sweat, too, just from looking at him.

      His back was sleek, smooth and sinewy, and improving the already fantastic view was the fact that his pants had slid low enough to once again reveal a strip of BVDs, blue today. His every muscle bunched and unbunched as he moved, hypnotizing her, fusing her to the spot. She didn’t mean to keep staring, she really didn’t, but was unable to help herself as she eyed his sun-streaked hair, his rock-solid and ready-for-action body, all corded bulk honed to a fine edge, topped with so much testosterone she could hardly breathe. He looked like the perennial surfer boy all grown up—and it hit her.

      This might be more than a crush.

      “If you come help, you can get a better view.”

      Oh, for God’s sake. She jerked her gaze off him and pretended to search her purse for her keys while silently berating herself. “I’m sorry, I—”

      “Are you kidding? A pretty woman looks at me, and she’s sorry?”

      “I wasn’t looking—”

      Tossing aside his hose, he lithely hopped down from the rig and came closer, letting out that damn slow, sexy smile of his. “Anal, uptight and a liar?”

      “Okay, so I was looking.” She crossed her arms and tried not to look at his chest but it was right in front of her, drawing her eyes. “But I didn’t want to be looking.”

      With a soft laugh, he turned the tables, letting his gaze slowly run over her, from her hair to her toes and then back up again, stopping at a few spots that happily leaped to hopeful attention.

      “Stop it.” God, was that her voice, all cartoony-light and breathless? “What are you doing?”

      “Looking,” he murmured, mocking her. “And I wanted to.”

      “Okay, you know what? You need a damn shirt. And I’m going now.”

      Leaning back against the rig, he smiled, and damn if it didn’t short-circuit her wires. “Have anything special planned for your days off?” he asked. “Visiting friends, family?”

       No. Fantasizing about you…

      Unacceptable answer. She’d be working on the house. The house that she was beginning to wish was hers in more than name, because being there reminded her of exactly how rootlessly she’d lived her life, and how much she’d like to change that. Going through decades of family history had brought it home for her. It was exhausting, almost gut-wrenching, but also exhilarating.

      And honestly? Flirting with Zach was the same.

      But no matter what the house represented to her, no matter what someone like Zach could represent to her, she still didn’t know how to get there.

      How to belong. “I don’t have either friends or family here.”

      “Everyone back East?”

      She hated this part. Telling people about herself, getting unwanted sympathy. “My mother’s in Ohio. I’m an only child. And I haven’t made any friends here yet.”

      He didn’t dwell or give her any sympathy. “I thought we were friends.”

      She gave him a look.

      “Aren’t we?”

      “I don’t know.”

      “Let’s do something, then, and you can decide.”

      “I can’t. I’m closing up my grandmother’s house before it sells, and I’ve only got a month left in town.”

      “You think you’ll be able to leave Santa Rey without falling in love with it? Or the people?”

      She looked into his eyes, wishing for a witty response. But the truth was, she fell a little bit more for her grandma’s house every single night she slept there. “I don’t know.”

      “Do you know how you feel about surfing?”

      “I’m pretty uncoordinated.”

      “I’m a good teacher.”

      Uh-huh. She bet he was.

      “Come on, say yes. I’m betting you don’t take enough downtime.”

      “I take lots.”

      He arched a brow, and she let out a breath. “Okay, so I don’t.”

      “Is that because you like to be so busy your head spins, or because you don’t know how to relax?”

      “Is there an option number three?”

      “You work a stressful job.”

      “So?”

      “So…” He smiled. “Maybe you should let that hair down and just be wild and free once in a while.”

      “Wild and free. Is that what you do?”

      “When I can.”

      She hadn’t expected him to admit it, and she ran out of words, especially because he was still standing there with no shirt on.

      “Not your thing, I take it,” he said. “Letting loose.”

      “I’ve never thought about it.” Okay, she’d thought about it. “I’m not sure how to…let loose,” she admitted, going to tuck her hair behind her ears. But he shifted closer and caught her fingers in his.

      That electric current hummed between them. He looked at their joined hands and then into her eyes. “Maybe it’s time to think about it,” he said silkily and stroked a finger over the tip of her ear, causing a long set of shivers to race down her spine. Then, with a look that singed her skin, he walked off.

      She managed, barely, not to let her knees give and sit right there on the ground. He wanted her to relax? Ha! So not likely, and not just because he wound her up in ways she hadn’t anticipated. Relaxing, getting wild and free, those were all alien concepts for her. No matter what her secret desires were, she had responsibilities, always had. She didn’t have time for letting loose.

      But, as he’d suggested, she thought about it. Thought about it as she drove home—yes, she’d begun to think of her grandmother’s house as home—and she thought about it as she finished the attic. She thought about it, dreamed about it, fantasized about it…

      Ironically enough, in the pictures that chronicled her grandma’s life, she saw plenty of evidence that her grandma had known how to relax, and be wild and free.

      How was it her grandmother had never insisted on getting to see her only grandchild?

      It made her sad. It made her feel alone. She had missed out on something, something she needed badly.

      Affection.

      A sense of belonging.

      Love.

      Damn, enough with the self-pity. Having finished the attic, she moved down a floor to box up her grand-mother’s