The best part about being busy all the time is that sex is just that. A physical need to satisfy. I don’t have time to get tangled in relationships. Hell, I don’t even want to.

So this is perfect for me. Some physicality on a quick trip to Destiny Falls. Some satisfaction and a mind-blowing release—or five—to revel in.

Can’t complain in the least.

And the moment that thought crosses through my mind, Gunner shifts beside me and the memories from last night come back vividly.

I smile. How can I not after I had one of the most memorable and unique evenings I’ve had in some time?

Shifting on my side, I study Gunner again.

There’s something to be said about a man by his touch. A woman knows it from the moment he lays a hand on her. Greed is easy to identify. Selfishness too. But when a man knows how to touch a woman well—there’s enough pressure but not too much. Friction applied intermittently. A well-timed kiss with alternating intensity. The reverence in how he runs a hand over your body in foreplay juxtaposed with how he grips your hips when he’s driving you both to bliss.

There is definitely something to be said about a man’s touch when he’s tuned in to the woman he’s with. And Gunner no doubt knows how to touch a woman.

It’s a rarity for sure.

Gunner sucks in a breath of air and jolts up in the bed, startling the hell out of me. “Oh my God, I’m going to be late.” Then he looks to his side and the sexiest, sleep-drugged smile slides onto his lips. “Good morning. I should start with that.” He reaches out, takes my hand, and presses a kiss to the center of my palm. “I should most definitely start with that,” he says and runs a hand over my ass and up my back.

Ache sparks to life from his fingers. Need that I thought was sated isn’t far behind.

“Morning,” I murmur. My smile is automatic.

He leans forward and presses a kiss to my bare shoulder before climbing out of bed. “I’m sorry to do this to you,” he says as he walks toward his closet, “but I’ve got to get going, or else I’m going to be late for work.”

“Work?” I ask, sitting up in bed cross-legged, comfortable in my own nudity and not caring that the sheet is solely covering my bottom half. “The bar is open already?”

“No.” He looks over his shoulder and catches me checking him out. He grins. “My other job. Or rather I should say where I volunteer. I mean—I mentor boys who have lost a parent in combat. It’s nothing really. Just . . .”