His body vibrated with tension and arousal as the erotic memories refused to leave him in peace. Groaning, he turned over onto his belly, his throbbing erection wedged between his body and the mattress. He hadn’t suffered like this over a woman since he’d been a horny teenager lusting after Leslie Donald, who’d never given him the time of day.

Chloe had called to cancel their plans because her mother wasn’t feeling well and needed her help. It had sounded like an excuse to Paul, but he’d been gracious about it. She’d promised to call him, and he didn’t plan to hold his breath to see if it happened. His indifference led to the realization that he had no business going out with another woman when he was totally hung up on Hope.

A thump from the room next door caught his attention. It was closely followed by a low giggle and another pronounced thump.

“Fucking hell,” Paul muttered, pulling a spare pillow over his head so he didn’t have to listen to his brother having sex while he was dying a slow miserable lust-infused death alone in the next room. The pillow nearly suffocated him, so he came out for air to more thumping and giggling. Oddly enough, Jenny wasn’t a giggler in the rest of her life. Apparently, his brother’s sexual prowess brought out her inner giggler, which was information Paul wished he didn’t have about the woman who would soon be his sister-in-law.

Pissed off, frustrated and exhausted, he got out of bed and headed for the kitchen to get a beer. Anything was better than listening to the happy lovebirds go at it. He took the beer out on the back deck to get some air, hoping maybe they’d be done by the time he went back inside. Although, knowing them far better than he’d ever wanted to, they’d probably be on to round two by then.

Paul sat on the back stairs and looked up at the stars. Wearing only a pair of boxer briefs, he let the cool air wash over his heated skin. His thoughts wandered back to his plans to get back to dating.

If it wasn’t going to happen with Hope and if Chloe was giving him the polite brush-off, there were plenty of other women on Gansett Island who might be into having some fun with a reasonably good-looking guy who made a decent living and took good care of his mother. That was an attractive quality, wasn’t it?

Jesus, was he really so desperate that he was preparing to use his mother’s dementia to get laid? He ran his fingers through his hair, the frustration pounding through him like a drumbeat. Sadly, he didn’t want any of those many other women. He wanted Hope, but he couldn’t have her.