Frowning, I grab a can of paint and a stir stick. “We don’t have a relationship, and I almost ruined whatever fledgling friendship we’d started to build by pushing too hard and forcing him to make it clear he’s not interested. And no wonder. I haven’t changed. I couldn’t give myself to him before, and I won’t be able to give myself now.”

Makayla shakes her head and then pushes herself to her feet. “You’re dressed in torn sweats, covered in dirt, and painting cupboards in a dilapidated Victorian house that is soon to be your own law firm. We’ve been friends since kindergarten. I didn’t even know you owned sweats or would even contemplate working anywhere other than a big law firm. So don’t tell me you haven’t changed.”

“He’s brushed me off. Twice.”

“I know,” Makayla says softly. “But did it occur to you he might just want to be cautious? You can’t blame him for trying to protect himself. I can tell you from my experience with Max: he may be a tough fighter on the outside, but inside he’s just as vulnerable as we are.”

She grabs the box and pushes open the door. The faint sound of someone yelling “Hey, Makayla, lemme grab your buns” is cut off by Max’s low growl, the thud of a fist hitting flesh, and Makayla’s high-pitched shriek telling Max that Homicide was just joking around.

Fifteen minutes pass and then the door squeaks open.

“Don’t move.”

Totally immersed in painting the cupboard, I freeze mid–paint stroke as Jake’s deep voice rings out behind me.

“What? Am I doing something wrong?”

He closes the distance between us and runs his finger along the waistband of my gym pants, sending delicious tingles up my spine. Then he slides his hands around my waist, bared by the rise of my T-shirt as I stretch to reach the top of the cupboard with my paintbrush.

“Yes. You look too damn sexy. Do you know what it does to a man when he catches a glimpse of something he isn’t meant to see?”

“I hope it makes him tell the woman she can call off the panic attack and drop her arm.” I boldly do just that. “I also hope it makes him decide his hands might be of better use somewhere other than around her waist.”

Jake slides his fingers over my hips, resting them just above my mound and his voice drops to a low growl. “I could make use of them here.”

“So says the man who turned down a good offer just the other night at Redemption.” I remove his hands and turn to face him, putting on a brave face while inside I seethe. Who does he think he is coming on to me after brushing me off?

“No games, Jake. You made your position clear. I got that. I’m not interested in being screwed around.”

He presses his hands against the cupboards on either side of my head, caging me with his body. “What are you interested in?”

“Moving on,” I say honestly.

His pulse throbs in his neck and his eyes harden. “With whom?”

“No one right now.”

He gives a satisfied grunt as if I had just cleared up a question in his mind. “Everyone is out back having a good time. You should be there too.”

“There’s a lot of work to do. I want to get it done. The faster I open shop, the faster I can start my lawsuit against Farnsworth.” I slip under his arm and edge along the counter.

“You’ve been working since six o’clock this morning.”

Grabbing a clean cloth from the counter, I make an effort to wipe the dirt off my face. “I’m used to working long hours. I’m not afraid of hard work.” But I am afraid of mercurial fighters who run hot one minute and cold the next.

His face softens, and he takes the cloth from my hand and holds it under the tap. The pipes gurgle when he turns the rusty faucet and water gushes out, skimming over the cloth and trickling into the sink below. Without warning, he lifts me and settles me on the counter.

“You don’t have to work like that anymore.” His voice is calm, soothing. I am momentarily lulled out of work mode and into heat mode as he eases his hips between my legs and reaches to turn off the faucet. “It’s Saturday night. Time to relax and have fun.” With a firm hand, he cups my jaw and then wipes the cloth gently over my nose, forehead, and cheeks.

His gentle touch, the warmth of his hand, his breath, minty and sweet, and his hard body nestled between my thighs all converge in an unbearable rush of sensation. I grab his wrist, forcing his hand away.

“Jake…I’m good. Really. There’s so much to do. I’ll come out when I’m done and I’ve cleaned myself up.”

“I like you this way,” he murmurs. “You look…cute. Real.”

“Real?”

He brushes his thumb over my cheek. “Amanda without the armor. Your clothes, hair, makeup…nothing is perfect. It’s just the real you. I never got to see the real you before.”

Torn between being mortified and pleased, I reach for another cloth. “Real Amanda is covered in dirt and has holes in her sweats.”

He traces a finger down my neck to rest in the hollow at the base of my throat. The room heats to one hundred degrees, and if I’m not mistaken, I hear the sound of my blood boiling.

“I like holes in sweats.” His voice drops, husky and low, and his finger continues its downward journey into the vee of my shirt.

“Jake…”

He traces lightly over the crescent of my breast. “I like dirty girls,” he whispers, his voice thick with desire. “I can’t stay away.”