He followed her down the hallway. Which turned out to be a mistake. Her tight little ass in those damn purple pants hypnotized him with its sway. His dick stirred behind his fly, further distracting him from his purpose as she poked her head into each room as she went.

“I’m disappointed. I thought I’d see more bachelor clutter,” she announced, turning away from the kitchen.

“Bachelor clutter?”

“You know. Pants you don’t feel like wearing. Pizza boxes. Magazines with mostly naked women on the cover.”

“That’s a very stereotypical picture. Besides, how do you know I’m still a bachelor?”

She gave him a pointed look over her shoulder. “I knew within ten minutes of the ink drying when your divorce was final. This island does not keep secrets. If you had a girlfriend, everyone who’s lived on Mackinac in the past fifteen years would have gotten a text, an email, or a phone call about it.”

They’d reached the glass door that led into the back room. He needed to say something now. He couldn’t show her the room and then say something like, “Sorry. It’s not for rent. Take your tight ass and the hair I want to wrap around my fist and get out of my house.”

“So. Listen,” he began.

But it was too late. “Oh, Brick. It’s even better than I remembered,” she said, opening the door. Magnus skirted past their feet and skulked inside. “Look at all the light.”

She wasn’t seeing the clutter of outdoor gear. The kayak in the middle of the floor. Or the cobwebs hanging from the rafters. Remi only saw the good. Three walls of the room were all windows looking out into the fenced backyard and garden he’d tried hard to maintain to his grandmother’s standards.

Wide plank pine floors matched the timber beams in the cathedral ceiling above.

“I forgot you put in a bathroom,” she said, peeking into the small room. “This is better than the space I have in Chicago.”

Fuck.

She bent down as Magnus came out from under a folding table laden with fishing gear to sniff her socks.

“Hey, buddy,” she said, letting the cat nose at her fingers.

Of course the stupid, picky cat loved her. Everyone did.

He couldn’t stop staring at her ass. Was she wearing anything under those leggings? Barely concealing a groan, Brick turned away and pretended to study the kayak on the floor.

Get a hold of yourself, man. Your dick does not control you. Tell her she can’t be here.

He took slow, quiet breaths and thought about cold water and fish bait.

Under control again, barely, he turned and opened his mouth to tell her that he wasn’t going to let her have the space. But stopped when he saw her.

Her arms were crossed over her chest, shoulders hunched as if she couldn’t get warm.

There was still something weighing her down. Normally, she’d be chattering on, words spilling directly out of her brain. She’d skip or spin or move in a way that suggested dancing rather than something as boring as walking. This subdued version of her was quieter, more repressed.