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Somehow that hurt more—that she could see it. That she didn’t seem angry or put out about it, just sad. He didn’t know what to do with sad. He didn’t know what to do with the truth. So he did what he always did. Went on the offensive.

“Any more silly rules you want to lay down?” he asked with one of his too-sharp smiles that had him coming to the uncomfortable realization that he might use his charm and irritation as his own armor. A barrier between people and his heart and the truth because he didn’t know what to do with either. Even less with the people who might be able to see them.

But it was too uncomfortable a thought when Monica’s hand was in his and her body was so near. This woman wanted to have sex with him. Temporarily.

What did feelings matter? What did truths matter? He wanted her, and he was going to have her.

“Just one. I don’t want you to lie to me. You have your secrets, Gabe, and I won’t press on those. But I won’t have your lies.”

“I’m not a liar,” he returned stiffly.

“Everyone’s a little bit of a liar. Whether we know it or not. We lie to protect ourselves, and we lie to make the world around us makes sense. You can lie to yourself any way you want. You can lie to everyone in the world. But for the next week, I need you to tell me the truth. No matter how uncomfortable the truth is.”

There was a split second where he actually considered walking away. He didn’t want to promise her anything. He didn’t want anyone even mentioning his secrets. Most of all, he didn’t want the earnestness in those pretty blue eyes of hers. The way the vulnerability seemed to leak out of her when she let go.

He’d only ruin that. Hurt it. He always hurt vulnerable things.

But she moved onto her toes and brushed her soft mouth against his, a quick, light touch. Then the moment was gone, and all he could think about was her, naked beneath him. Finally getting her any which way she chose.

“So, are you staying?” she asked, as though there was a question.

“I’m staying.”

* * *

Monica wanted to laugh. Hysterically. Not because it was funny, but because she was giddy at the prospect. His big hand still held hers, and it was scarred and calloused and rough. It would be onher. Naked her. And he would be naked.

Jeez.

“I bought condoms,” she blurted out.

She got another one of those eyebrow-raised looks where he didn’t say anything, just stared at her in surprise. Why she got such a kick out of surprising him was beyond her. Maybe it was because she was so used to not surprisinganyonewith anything other than her insights into their life, which were never as impressive as the person seemed to think. She wasn’t magic. She just paid attention.

“Planned this, did you?”

“Well, I didn’t plan you cominghere. I was just alone in a store. You’ll never understand the sheer joy of a mother being alone in a store. No kid whining or begging or complaining. And suddenly I was in the condom aisle.”

“Suddenly?”

“Well, technically I was buying tampons, if you really want to know.” When he grimaced, she laughed. “Men are so predictable. Anyway, it seemed like a smart thing to have. Along with the ingredients to make ten different kinds of Christmas cookies on the off chance I lost my nerve and didn’t use said condoms.”

“You know, I can’t figure you out. You seem like a reasonable, rational person and then I come to your house that looks like Christmas threw up everywhere and you wax poetic about being alone in a store.”

She would have fisted her hands on her hips, but he was still holding her hand, holding her close. Much like that moment in the barn the other night. The way he’d stretched out those seconds of thrumming attraction until she hadn’t been able to take it anymore.

She liked that—the way the anticipation wound so hard and so tight it felt like she’d explode. But she had to admit she was a little ready to explode.

She stepped even closer, so their knees and chests brushed, so she had to tip her head back a smidge to maintain eye contact. “And how would you decorate for Christmas?”

His eyes were dark and fathomless, and that wide, expressive mouth of his curved. “I wouldn’t.”

“Even if you had a little boy you were in charge of?”

“Okay, throw a Christmas tree in the corner. Voila. Christmas.”

She sighed disapprovingly and shook her head, and still they stood too close and too far apart all at the same time. That dark gaze of his studied her as if looking for some magic key to something, and she had the sad, silly thought she wanted to find it for him.

“You sure about this?”