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“That old fool.” Campbell reached for the camera bag he’d dropped, his gaze never once leaving her as he gestured to Kit with a dip of his chin.

“Can you haul this thing out of here? Put it wherever the garbage pile is. Watch out for splinters. And be careful not to pinch your fingers when you close it.”

“Don’t worry.” Kit jumped into action, flashing a crooked smile as his braces gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the window. “I can handle it.”

Fontana threw up her arm. “Now wait a minute.”

Kit skidded to a halt, rising onto the tips of his high-tops. Glancing between them, he groaned, “Aw, man.”

Campbell crossed to the battered yellow phone on the wall, furiously punching in numbers. When he saw Kit still standing there, he flicked his wrist in a sharp gesture of command, then added a wink to seal the deal.

It worked as well as a swift kick to the boy’s hindquarters.

“Sorry, Tana,” Kit said, unwinding her fingers from the wooden slat before dragging the shuddering ladder out the door.

“South Carolina. Promise.” Campbell wedged the phone between his shoulder and cheek, pulled a toothpick from his pocket, and stuck it between his even, white teeth. “Casey’s Feed and Hardware. Thanks. Yes, connect.”

Fontana strode over and poked him in the shoulder as hard as she could. He waved her away with the same autocratic wrist command he'd used on Kit. Of all the damned nerve, she fumed, her temper rising.

“Hello. Is Mr. Casey in the store?” Campbell shifted the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other, his gorgeous lips clenching.

Oh, how she wanted to ignore him. Instead her traitorous belly got hot and tight.

“Retired, huh? Hilton Head? Good for him. Hmm, it is nice. I did a shoot there, about four years ago.” He hummed a reply.

“Listen, I need a delivery today, if you can manage it. One—no, make it two—ladders brought over to the children’s center.

You know, the old dentist’s office on First and Elm? Charge it to the True account.”

Fontana moved to the window, fighting the urge to rip the phone from his hand. His sugary, I’m-talking-to-a-female tone reminded her that he seduced women as effortlessly as he sliced a loaf of bread.

And with just as little thought.

Constantly thinking about their kiss over the past week—dreaming about it, if she were being honest—had to make her the world’s biggest idiot.

“Oh, you were? Sorry I missed you. So many faces in the crowd.” Campbell paused, exhaling sharply, his flirtatious tone fading into the dust and sunlight.

“Yeah, it was a good hit. Been a long time. Hmm? I’m sure I’ll see you at Timmy’s soon.

” He frowned, pressing his lips together.

“Tonight? Maybe. Alright. Thanks, we’ll be expecting them. ”

He hung up the phone and untangled the cord, the camera around his neck bouncing against his hip with the movement.

A minute, maybe two, passed, irritation and an absurd sense of possessiveness pulsing just behind Fontana’s temples.

She ran a hand over her eyes. Boy , a fierce headache was coming on strong.

She tilted her head just enough to see him. Leaning against the wall, toothpick dangling, jeans riding low, he looked the part. Any part. Sweetening the deal, his cool regard drifted the length of her, lazy but thorough. His hands couldn’t have created more heat.

“Any thanks, Quinn,” he finally murmured, “for saving your tight little bottom from a bruising?”

“Thanks?” She snorted, scraping a piece of dried caulk from the windowpane with more force than necessary. “When I made it possible for you to sniff out another eager sexual partner? Seems to me I should be getting the thanks. Or a tip. Like a pimp.”

His rough burst of laughter echoed in the empty space. “Fine, Hellcat, I’m game. Got any ideas?” he asked, placing his camera into the leather satchel and shrugging off his jacket.

Fontana tried to ignore the way the R.E.M.

T-shirt clung to his broad shoulders, his muscular chest. Frayed Levi’s circled an enviously flat tummy, doing a bottomless slide down long legs.

He was nothing like she’d imagined—pampered and artistic, one of those frail creative types.

Instead, he was a forbidden textbook version of sexy.

Oh, I have ideas, Atlanta . Plenty of them .

“Dangerous to keep eating me up with those baby blues, Quinn.” He glanced back to make sure they were alone, tossed his jacket atop his bag, and advanced until the tips of his loafers brushed her filthy boots.

Propping a closed fist against the window frame on either side of her, he hemmed her in. “You don’t even know why, do you?”

She took a breath, preparing to unleash a torrent of fury, always her first line of defense. But only succeeded in letting in the enticing scent of citrus and man, which sent her mind down an illicit path.

“I can still taste you,” he whispered, his dark eyes flooding with the deep amber of aged whiskey.

“The exact flavor, like I just left that kiss. Like I haven’t swallowed or had a drink in days.

” He shifted the toothpick, stepping closer, maybe preparing to kiss her again.

“Of all the women it could be, it’s you I’m savoring in my dreams.” His lips curved in a slow smile, setting off that dimple in his lovely cheek.

“Which strikes me as insanely amusing for any numbers of reasons.”

It’s you I’m tasting in my dreams .

Fontana considered removing his toothpick with her teeth and getting down to business, but the heat of his body, his breath grazing her cheek in a ragged caress, extinguished all coherent thought.

Campbell exhaled and took a step back, casting a longing glance at the open window, making Fontana wonder if he was tempted to leap through it.

“Listen, Quinn, I’m no saint. After years of depravity, you’ll have to excuse me if my finer sensibilities are deader than a goddamned doornail.

I’m not exactly equipped to judge right from wrong in this situation, but I’m doing the best I can.

You, on the other hand, are not making it any easier. ”

“I missed out. On dating.” Shrugging, she dragged the toe of her boot across a scuff on the floorboard. “And mindless sex .”

The words were out before Fontana could stop them, a confession she hadn’t meant to make.

Her voice faltered, the admission a little too real.

She’d been busy raising her sister and focusing on work to consider a normal dating life.

She swallowed hard, not wanting to explain further after embarrassing herself.

But the look on his face was far from pitying.

CAMPBELL

Campbell chewed on his toothpick while his mind drifting to the territory of mindless sex, his favorite topic next to photography. “I think I’m going to enjoy this discussion.”

Seemingly out of breath and flustered, she stalked past him.

The worn painter’s pants, as old as Kit, hugged her hips, and the shaggy fabric he believed was called chenille clung to her pert breasts.

Her fashion sense was nothing short of atrocious, but there was no denying she presented a dazzling package despite it.

“I never had a lot of time for...” Fontana waved a hand vaguely, avoiding his gaze as she skirted around him on the return.

“Fun. Dating. Sex . I was raising my sister, worrying about where our next meal would come from.” She exhaled sharply, frustration creeping into her words.

“A thousand times, I wanted to leave Hannah by herself, sneak out the window, go to a movie with the few friends I had managed to make. Hard to do when we never stayed in one place for longer than a couple of months. I wanted to play hooky from school, ride in the back of a truck sitting on some boy’s lap, hide him in my closet when he was supposed to be home, and then make out with him in my bed. Be irresponsible, you know?”

“I do know,” Campbell whispered, though he wasn't entirely sure he did—not in the way she meant—because he'd done all those things.

Her voice dropped, softening with a tinge of regret. “I’ve only recently figured out I missed something along the way.”

“Whoa. Whoa , wait a minute.” Campbell raised his arm, blocking her steady charge past him. Amazing, but he managed to not touch her.

He’d known Fontana Quinn was trouble, but the suppressed passion bubbling from her like runaway lava was more than he could handle while trying to keep his meager principles intact.

Not when she was so damned appealing—with her crooked smiles, honest confessions, and that spark of vulnerability that drew him in like a moth to a flame.

“I guess it’s stupid for me to be insulted, but you think I’m some gigolo, here for missed-life fucking lessons?

That is what you’re talking about, right? ”

Now he was beginning to understand her inexperience, and it should’ve made him want to run. Instead, it made him want to pull her closer, show her everything .

She lifted her chin, her beautiful face flooding with color. “Crude, but yes. Though, I only expect one lesson.”

“To sound like some old broad from a black-and-white movie: well, I never.”

“The way you carry yourself, like an alley cat on the prowl with your zipper half-mast, how could you never?” She snapped her fingers, just inches from his face. “You’ve led me to believe you’d be a firecracker in bed, and I believe it. Now, I want to light the fuse.”

He opened his mouth, closed it. Completely at a loss for words .

Thoughts, yes . Words, no .

She clicked her tongue against her teeth, just like his fifth-grade English teacher who smelled like camphor had. “Or am I wrong to assume your dinner invitation came with the possibility of getting laid?”