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could make something so simple
so damn hot.
    With her arms above her head as she held up the tarp, her
tank top rose just enough to show off the soft curve of her stomach. Thinking
about her firm nipples and perky breasts, Finn reached to feel his still rock
hard erection. His breath caught, imagining rolling one of those nipples
between his fingers. He was beyond aroused now, and slowly rubbed pre-come
along his shaft, thinking of her soft, full lips sliding up and down it instead
of his hand.
    For six months he had kept himself in check, keeping an
indifferent eye on her, just like he promised he would. But everyday he spent
under her roof, he grew more and more attached to this funny woman, who worked
herself to the bone to keep her grandmother's house and to pay her
grandmother's debts, putting off her own education in favor of taking care of
her familial obligations. He never once heard her complain about it either.
    His breath quickened when he thought about the first time he
met her, sopping wet hair soaking the back of her oversized tee-shirt. A towel
was wrapped around her waist for good measure, and he remembered the curve of
her thigh peeking out of the slit in front. At the sight of her leg, and the
promise of what else she was hiding under that towel, Finn almost forgot the 15
minutes he spent ringing the stupid thing she called a doorbell while she was
in the shower.
    "It's a Victorian home," she explained the
doorbell, water droplets flying around as she tossed her long hair. "The
twist doorbells don't have a whole lot of muscle, but they sure are cute!"
    Sitting in the living room over a cup of tea and some
mind-bogglingly good Snickerdoodle cookies, her towel crept further up her
luscious thighs. He was barely able to keep from spilling his tea while they
discussed the particulars of living in the old Victorian with her and her
snarky best friend. What he really wanted to do was kiss her, and release the
towel from her waist while he was at it.
    Instead, he went back to his hotel room to beat off, just
like he was doing now. Nothing changed in six months.
    Nothing and everything. Izzy was still sexy as hell, but now
he had to contain both his urge to fuck her and his urge to protect her every
time the shit hit the fan. And Izzy was like a monkey flinging poo. Shit
constantly flew in every direction.

 
    CHAPTER SIX

     
    Did you ever notice how slow coffee brews, especially when
you are waiting for the pot to fill? I considered putting my cup under the flow
of coffee, but coffee tasted nasty that way. Today definitely called for a good
cup of Joe.
    It was 7 AM and Tara was sitting at the kitchen table. Maybe
sitting wasn't the right word. She was kind of propped up on her elbows. I
didn't want to give her aspirin on an empty stomach—she still looked green from
last night's epic booze-a-thon. Hence my impatient wait for the coffee to brew.
If she could keep the java down, I'd try dry toast next.
    I turned on the faucet and filled a glass with tepid tap
water. I added a dropper full of milk thistle, then placed it in front of her.
"This should help."
    She flinched at the sound of my voice, even though it was
barely above a whisper. Hope she didn't have anything planned for today,
because she really needed to go back to bed.
    And she needed french fries. French fries were like a
cure-all for bad hangovers. Maybe pancakes too.
    But the milk thistle would help—it would at least get her
home. B12, too, but I was fresh out.
    Tara didn't even bother to lift the glass to her lips. She
just kind of lowered her head towards the glass and almost lapped the water
out. At least she was hydrating, right?
    "Morning!" Amanda swept into the kitchen, stuffing
books into the messenger bag slung across her body. "Oh good, coffee's
almost done!"
    With her damp curls bouncing on her shoulders, she looked
downright perky. She flashed a bright smile at Tara. "And how are we
feeling this morning?"
    Tara lifted her watery eyes and