Page 22 of Heart’s Cove Hunks

I’m having fun. I can’t remember the last time I had fun. My kids are safe, my new home will be ready soon, and the sexiest man I’ve ever seen looks at me like he might think I’m sexy too.

I met Kevin thirteen years ago, when I was twenty-nine years old, and I wonder if it’s been that long since I had a night out like this. A night that’s just for me.

The boys win, and Jen and Candice take our spots to play them. Unsurprisingly, Jen is even better at pool than Simone. She tries to tell me something about angles, but I’ve had two drinks—not to mention the wine I had at home—and all I can do is nod along and pretend I understand what she’s explaining.

Feeling overheated, happy, and a little buzzed, I end up going to the bathroom before slipping outside for a bit of fresh air. It’s August and the air is warm, so I stand just outside the Grove and let out a happy sigh.

The door opens behind me, and I turn to see Mac exiting the bar. His eyes crinkle when he sees me. “You okay? I saw you slip out on your own and was worried you were running away from me again.”

“Needed some fresh air,” I explain, grateful that the dark is hiding my blushing face. “I’m wearing too many layers.”

Mac’s eyes flash as an eyebrow pops up. “I can think of a few ways to rectify that.”

I laugh, swatting at him. “You’re naughty.”

“Only when I want to be. Now, tell me the truth. You were out here because you just wanted to ogle my bike.”

Laughing again, I tilt my head up to meet his gaze as he approaches. “Maybe,” I admit.

He closes the distance between us and takes a deep breath. “I’m glad you came. Earlier, I was thinking maybe you wouldn’t show.”

“Is that why you had that spectacular fall when I walked in? Pure shock?”

Mac’s lips tilt, but his eyes grow lazy. “No, Trina.” He reaches over and hooks a finger into my belt loop, tugging me closer. “I fell over because you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

Heat rises up my neck and over my cheeks. He gives me another tug and I catch myself on his chest, fingers curling into his black tee. “No need for flattery, Mac.”

With one hand still hooked around my belt loop, Mac lifts another to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. He lets his fingers slide down the strand, then shifts his gaze to meet mine. “It’s not flattery if it’s true.”

Suddenly, I realize where I am. Half-drunk with a man I barely know, standing outside a bar his father owns. My two kids are at home in bed, and I’m here. Doing…whatever it is I’m doing.

“Look, Mac, I…” I take a deep breath.

Mac slides his palm over my neck, curling his fingers into the hair at my nape. He leans his forehead against mine, effectively silencing me. “If you’re about to give me some sweet rejection, do me a favor and just…don’t.”

I close my eyes for a moment and try to find the words to say what I need to say. I’ve been divorced for approximately three seconds. I spent thirteen years with Kevin and I don’t know myself anymore. I have kids and school and money and housing to worry about.

And a cat. I can’t forget the cat.

I can’t handle a man! Even if he looks like sex on legs. Especially if he looks like sex on legs. I’m a divorcée with two kids and boobs that are a lot less perky than they were twenty years ago. Why the hell would a sexy, badass, pottery-throwing motorcycle man like him want someone as normal and boring as me?

“Trina,” Mac says softly, lifting his head from mine. I open my eyes to meet his gaze. “Whatever’s going on in your head right now, I’m going to need it to stop.”

Annoyance sparks at his words. “You can’t just tell me to stop thinking what I’m thinking, Mac.”

His lips tilt. “I can, and I did.”

“Listen. I don’t know the type of women that you usually hang around with, but I’m not—”

He shuts me up with a kiss. His mouth takes mine as the pressure on my neck increases, and I tilt my head where he wants it. Then he deepens the kiss, sliding his tongue across mine as a low, guttural grunt escapes his throat. The hand on my belt loop slides around my body to rest on my lower back. The heat of his skin, the pressure of his kiss, the way his tongue strokes and teases—it’s too much.

I melt.

Or maybe I implode.

Whatever happens, any thoughts of rejection fly away, and I forget all the reasons I can’t do this, because every part of me can only focus on how much I want it. My hands hook around his neck, fingers tangling into that tousled, dark hair as another groan slips through his lips.

I love those noises. I love that he’s making them with me. I love the way his hand presses against my lower back when I slide my tongue against his, how he tightens his fingers into my hair to bring me nearer.