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I suck in a breath. Because maybe we are.

"Well, then," he says. "Come morning, you head on down to my workshop. And I'll see if I can show you a thing or two."

20

That night, I end up in Cayden's bed again, where he does wicked things to me with his tongue. I get to have him in my mouth for the first time, and then we make love soft and slow.

Come morning, he heads off to the old saw mill to get some things done there, with a promise to meet me in Deandre's workshop later. I have a delicious breakfast of pancakes and bacon and gentle kisses from Adam, and then I'm bundling up and heading out into the cold.

But when I push open the door to the garage that's been converted into a woodworking shop, it's gloriously warm. No—it'shot.

Or at least the view certainly is.

Deandre is bent over a lathe, a look of intense concentration on his face. He's wearing safety glasses and loose jeans and work boots andnothing else, and I nearly swallow my tongue.

Holy shit, the guy is ripped. His midnight black skin gleams beneath the overhead lights, a fine sheen of sweat making it shine. As he works the block of wood through the machine, his muscles bulge. He has to bend to see what he's doing, he's sohuge. I might have imagined that a guy of his size would be a bull in a china shop, but he's graceful, attending to delicate details.

He's beautiful, is what he is. Everything in me longs to touch.

I'm pretty sure that would be welcome, but I'm here to help, so I attempt to shake off my fog of lust.

With the sound of the machine, he doesn't seem to have noticed my presence. I cross the room, trying to put myself in his sightline if he should happen to look up.

When I'm about a half dozen feet away, I pause, raising my voice to be heard.

"Looking good." Nominally, I'm talking about the chair spindle he's creating, but as he lifts his head to meet my gaze and smirks, I'm pretty sure he knows that the wood isn't the only thing I'm appreciating.

"Glad you think so." He bends to his work again for a moment, getting to a stopping point, I guess, then turns off the machine and straightens to his full, impressive height. "Morning, girlie. Was hoping you'd show up."

"I told you I would."

"That you did."

We stand there in heated silence for a moment. Without the noise of the machine, I take in other details, like the crackle of a wood stove burning in the corner, filling the space with heat. A set of speakers is set beside him. The music was barely audible a moment before, but it's clear as can be now. I lick my lips. Apparently, Deandre likes to listen to sexy R&B while he's working.

Like, really, really sexy R&B.

As the singer croons about spreading his lady's thighs, my own tremble.

But somehow I manage to keep it together. "So you were going to put me to work?"

"If you're still up for it." A heat to his voice says he's thinking about working me over hard, maybe bending me over something and making me sweat.

I nod. "Absolutely."

"Good."

He swipes his hands on his jeans, then holds one out for me. I take it, and my skin tingles with the heat of his touch.

Apparently, at least for the moment, we're staying literal, though. Keeping hold of my hand, he shows me around his workshop. I'm familiar with most of the equipment, though I learn a few things in the quick primer he gives me on its use.

Over in one corner, a pile of completed but unfinished chairs has been stacked together. He gestures at them. "And right here we have the current bane of my existence."

"Oh?"

"Yup. Big venue out on the coast ordered fifty of these babies. It's good work for us, but their deadline was tight."

"When are they due?"