Never Too Hot (Hot Shots: Men of Fire #3)(55)
Author: Bella Andre

It should be so easy. Three little words. That was all he needed to say and she’d be his.

But he couldn’t get them out.

Fuck. What was wrong with him? An incredible woman was giving him the chance to be with her, to spend the next seventy years loving and being loved by her.

He looked at her then, her curls damp and dripping on her bare shoulders, her skin rosy from the heat of the shower and their lovemaking, and even though her green eyes were glassy with unshed tears, the determination to hold out for the kind of love she deserved shined through.

Suddenly, he realized the truth. He’d been in love with Ginger from their first kiss, from the first night at Poplar Cove when she’d held his hand after his nightmare and refused to let go.

Everything he’d been trying to hide from slammed like a fist into his gut, took the air out of his lungs with it. Because now that he knew he loved her, it was impossible to deny the rest of it.

He loved her too much to pretend there wasn’t a better man out there for her.

She needed to be with a man who already had the future figured out. She deserved a man who wasn’t working like hell just to make it from one minute to the next. She belonged with a man who wouldn’t keep taking and taking from her until she ran out of anything to give.

“You’re right,” he forced himself to say, his throat as raw and inflamed as if he’d swallowed fire. “You deserve all those things, Ginger. And I need to step aside so you can get them.”

She flinched as if his words had been a physical blow. He’d never felt worse, never felt so low. Especially after the way she’d risked her life to save him.

“You’re an incredible woman, Ginger. I’ve never met anyone as strong as you. As beautiful.”

The selfish part of him fought like hell to get him to say how much he loved her. To beg her to keep giving herself to him, even if he didn’t have a damn thing to give her back.

“If I could love anyone,” he finally let himself say, “it would be you.”

She sucked in a shaky breath. “If I could stop loving anyone,” she said softly, “it would be you.”

Chapter Twenty-two

THE TENSION — the misery — that pervaded every inch of Poplar Cove was so heavy Andrew was almost choking on it.

It didn’t take a genius to see that things between Connor and Ginger had gone from bad to worse. No more accidental brushes against each other. No more knowing glances. No more kisses good-bye.

Four days turned into five as they each worked in their corners. Connor cutting out the old rotted logs from the wall, Andrew sanding down the new logs, Ginger painting fast and furious.

Connor barely said two words. Ginger brought out sandwiches, but didn’t join them as they ate. Andrew wished like hell he could wave a magic wand and get these kids back where it was so obvious that they needed to be, but he knew it wasn’t that easy. He kept hoping they’d work it out, that the next morning he’d return and everything would be fine.

Just when he didn’t think he could take it anymore, was actually considering locking them into the coat closet together and not letting them out until they’d worked it out, they both left the cabin, each going in opposite directions on the beach. It was such a relief to have the place to himself, he almost felt guilty. But as much as Andrew cared about his son, Connor wasn’t the only one with problems.

Here he was, finally near Isabel again, and he couldn’t think of a single plausible reason to go see her. Not when she’d made it perfectly clear that he needed to stay the hell away. He felt the clock ticking down, and even though a handful of days added to thirty years shouldn’t matter, they did.

Seeing her again, holding her in his arms, had brought him right back around to the nineteen-year-old boy who had been so in love with her.

He was rechinking a couple of fresh logs when the phone rang in the kitchen and without thinking anything of it

— it had been his house once, after all — he answered it.

“Josh never showed.”

It was Isabel and she sounded harried. Irritated. Panicked. He recognized the name Josh immediately.

“Your son? Is anything wrong?”

“Andrew. Why the hell are you picking up Ginger’s phone? And how the hell do you know my son’s name?”

He’d been unable to stop himself from keeping tabs on her all those years while he was in California. But this wasn’t the best time to tell her that.

“Never mind,” she continued before he could reply, “I don’t have time for this right now. I need to talk to Ginger. ASAP.”

“She’s gone. So’s Connor. What do you need?”

“I can’t believe this is happening,” came first, then “Josh was supposed to be my dishwasher. We’re about to be buried under dirty dishes. If I don’t get someone on it soon we’re done for the day.”

“I’ll be right there.”

He hung up before she could argue with him, broke the speed limit the entire way into town.

“You couldn’t drive any faster?” she shot at him before jerking her thumb toward the back sink when he walked in the back door. “I’ll show you how to work the Hobart.”

After her demonstration of the big silver machine that spray washed and dried the plates, glasses and silverware, she asked, “Any questions?”

“None,” he said, quickly getting to work on the enormous stacks of dirty plates and glasses, so many that they’d overflowed the stainless steel counter to the floor. Side by side they worked in silence, their rhythm as good as if they hadn’t spent thirty years apart, until the situation was partially in hand.

And even though he’d never thought the day would come when he’d enjoy doing something like washing dishes, the truth was he hadn’t felt this good in years. Simply because he got to be close to Isabel.

Hours later when the last of the customers had gone and he was running the floor mats through the machine, he was surprised to hear her say, “Thanks for your help. I hate to say it, but you completely saved the day. And you don’t totally suck at washing dishes either.”

“You know what, I actually enjoyed myself.” He shrugged and said, “I’ve forgotten how much pleasure there can be in a job well done. Any job, as it turns out.”

Clearing her throat, she said, “I’ll just go grab some money out of the till to pay you.”

His laughter rang through the kitchen. “I don’t want any of your money, Isabel. I just wanted to lend you a hand.”

Her back stiffened. “I know you’ve probably got a fancy job-”

“Not anymore.”

She seemed stunned by that.

“They fired me. Called it early retirement, but those are just fancy words.”