Joe spent a long, seriously frustrating day spinning his wheels. He’d tried to go into work against the wishes of his doctor and therapist, and before he’d even left the boat, he’d managed to trip over Ashes on the upper deck, lose a crutch into the water, and nearly himself while he was at it, and by the end of the day was so damned sick and tired of being sick and tired.

He went to bed, frustrated and edgy.

Hours later Summer came to him, appearing in the doorway between the galley and his bedroom. The moon was high, the water quiet. Wordlessly she moved closer and stood at the foot of the bed, slowly letting the straps of one of those gauzy sundresses he loved so much fall off her shoulders.

“Any more text messages?” he asked, just for something to do with his mouth rather than drool.

“No,” she said to the same question he’d asked her every single day, and began working on the long row of tiny little buttons down the front of her dress. One, two.

She exposed a strip of smooth flesh.

“Uh…” His brain skipped. “Anyone with a size eleven-and-a-half shoe and a gallon of gasoline present himself recently?”

“Not exactly.”

“What exactly?”

“I’ll get to that in a minute.” Three buttons. Four. She wasn’t wearing a bra. The material slipped but clung stubbornly to her nipples.

His thoughts slipped as well.

Five buttons. Six. Their eyes met. In hers was a need, a hunger, and a deep, unwavering affection that turned his heart on its side. Her belly button ring gleamed in the moonlight, and he groaned as the material finally fell to her waist. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, and as her own hands lifted to cup her bared breasts, he stopped breathing.

Seven buttons. Eight. The material dropped to her hips, full and curvy and perfect for holding on to.

“Red.” His voice was rough and serrated to his own ears. “You’re not wearing anything beneath that dress.”

She lifted her gaze and unerringly met his in the dark. “Not a damned thing.”

And she let it fall.

She moved then, putting a knee on the bed, crawling slowly up his body until she sat astride his hips. “How was your day?” she asked as if they were having tea.

His hands came up and cupped her breasts. Her nipples beaded in his palms. “Sucked until now.”

Her head fell back. “Mine too. We found some discrepancies in Creative Interiors’s accounting.” Then she scooted aside to tug the sheet off him.

“What do you mean, discrepancies?” He wore only a pair of running shorts. Tented running shorts. She toyed with the elastic waistband.

“There’s some issues with the receivables,” she finally said, her fingers making him twitch.

“Issues?” It was getting to be a struggle to keep track of this conversation.