Her hair smelled fabulous. He’d nearly forgotten all the mysterious and alluring facets there were to a woman. The shape, the softness, the scents. Nearly forgotten the sensation of moving with one, slow and close. The images it had winding through a man’s mind.

His lips brushed over her hair, trailed along her cheek, found hers.

She sighed into the kiss, wallowing in the sensation of her bones melting. So when the song ended and the next began, they just stood swaying together.

“That was perfect.” Her mind was foggy, her heartbeat thick. And the needs she’d thought she had under control were tumbling in her belly. “I should go.”

“Why?”

“Because.” She lifted a hand to his cheek, eased away, just a little. “It’s bad timing. Tonight you needed a friend.”

“You’re right.” His hands slid down her arms until their fingers lightly linked. “The timing’s probably off. The smart thing is to take this slow.”

“I believe in doing the smart thing.”

“Yeah.” He walked her toward the doorway. “I’ve been careful to try to do the smart thing for quite a while myself.”

He paused, turned her back to face him. “I did need a friend tonight. Do need one,” he added, drawing her a little closer. “And I need you, Kate. Stay with me.”

He lowered his head, kept his eyes on hers when their lips brushed. “Be with me.”

Chapter Seven

The walls of his room were unfinished. A coil of electrical wire sat on a drywall compound bucket that stood in the corner. There were no curtains at his windows. He’d removed the closet doors, and they were currently in his shop waiting to be planed and refinished.

The floors were a wonderful random-width oak under years of dull, dark varnish. Sanding them down, sealing them clear, was down on the list of projects—far down.

The bed had been an impulse buy. The old iron headboard with its slim, straight bars had appealed to him. But he’d yet to think about linens, and habitually tossed a mismatched quilt over the sheets and considered the job done.

It wouldn’t be what she was used to. Trying to see it through her eyes, Brody winced. “Not exactly the Taj Mahal.”

“Another work in progress.” She roamed the room, grateful to have a minute to settle the nerves she hadn’t expected to feel. “It’s a lovely space.” She ran her fingers over the low windowsill he’d stripped down to its natural pine. “I know potential when I see it,” she said, and turned back to him.

“I wanted to finish Jack’s room first. Then it made more sense to work on the kitchen and the living areas. I don’t do anything but sleep here. Up till now.”

A quick thrill spurted through her. She was the first woman he’d brought to this room, to this bed. “It’s going to be lovely.” She walked to him as she spoke, every pulse point hammering. “Will you use the fireplace in here?”