Flower shop owner Alexa Conroy had it all before the recession hit and her customers fled to cheaper shopping grounds. Desperate to make ends meet, she sells her dream home and moves into the rundown apartments above her shop. When she spots six feet of sexy distraction—complete with muscles, piercings, and tattoos—ripping up flooring, Alexa knows the karmic windfall she’s due just landed on her doorstep.
And the attraction’s definitely not one-sided.
Dillon James, reluctant heir to the corporation about to foreclose on Alexa’s shop, is not about to jeopardize their scorching chemistry by admitting he’s not the building’s handyman. But with only weeks until her business goes under and his identity is revealed, Dillon must find a way to convince Alexa cooperation isn’t a dirty word, help her save the shop from his brother’s greed, and persuade her that he’s not the enemy…or risk losing the only woman who’s seen the real him.
Alexa moved whip-fast, slamming her hands on Dillon’s chest and him against the door before his brain caught up. The watering can clattered onto the ground. She spared it a brief, puzzled glance, then fisted her hands in his T-shirt and arched up, her mouth coming closer—
He fused his mouth to hers, and it was even better than he’d expected. She didn’t yield to him but struggled a bit, as if she was shocked he’d taken over. That made it even hotter. He slanted his lips over hers when her startled squeak granted him access to the warm sweetness inside. Perfect. He took full advantage of her surprise to explore her with long, slow licks of his tongue.
Maybe his head couldn’t compute what was happening, but his body sure could. He cupped her hips and rocked against her, all too aware of his violent reaction to her nearness. He still hadn’t recovered from their bump-and-grind in her bathroom. She didn’t shy away, and instead rubbed against him, her curves sliding against him in a way that had him groaning and pulling back so hard he thunked his head on the closed door.
He couldn’t do this. Oh, God, he had to. She was going wild against him, and he didn’t have any defenses against his hunger for her. Not when he wanted nothing more than this. Just this.
“What are we doing?” he managed as she dragged her lips down his Adam’s apple. Stars danced in his vision and hell if he knew if they were from the head jolt or from their kiss.
She didn’t answer him, just skated her hands down his torso and under his shirt. And what hands they were. She seemed to be touching him everywhere. He clung to her as if she was his only port in the storm, and sure enough, a bolt of lightning sizzled overhead followed by a crack of thunder. But Alexa never paused. He’d become her canvas and her fingers were her paintbrush.