Sparks fly when opposites attract ...
Not wanting to be in Boston on the weekend of her ex-fiancé's wedding city girl Gillian St. James heads to a cabin on a lake in Maine. She didn't bargain on getting stranded, or on her attraction to the cabin's rugged caretaker.
At the height of his career, Devon Jackson walked away from his job as a detective with the NYPD. His wife's murder had shattered his life, and he moved to a mountain retreat. When he's left in charge of the family business, his quiet life is turned upside down and he just can't seem to get the sexy weekend guest out of his mind.
She's running from the present, he's running from his past, and danger is nipping at their heels. Can they slow down long enough to think about a future together?
The moon disappeared behind the clouds, leaving a dark black sky befitting Devon’s solemn mood. The evening hadn’t had to end like it did. He’d been having a good time. So good, in fact, that he’d almost believed the charade that they were a real couple sightseeing. They had even held hands a few times. Would it be so bad if they were a real couple? Would it have been so bad if he’d spent the night at her cabin?
He pressed down on the accelerator and the pickup leaped forward. When the truck drifted close to the edge of the cliff, skidding on the gravel, he eased off the gas. That snapped him back to reality, and fast. What was he thinking? Driving like a mad man on the road, for one, and second, he had no business messing with Gillian.
“You don’t have to feel guilty about liking Gillian.”
His sister was a hopeless romantic, which didn’t make sense to him. Her relationship with her husband was rocky at best. She hadn’t been happy for a while until he’d found out why and fixed it. Then everyone was happy. But he couldn’t do the same for his life.
“Is she pretty?”
Gillian didn’t just have an outer beauty, but inner beauty as well. Her warm laughter was contagious. It drew you into her. He found that he wanted to be with her. When she wasn’t around he was thinking about her. The kiss they had shared … After Rachelle, he’d thought that part of his life was over.
“Rachelle’s death wasn’t your fault.”
“Yes it was. You should have protected her,” his demon answered back.
Devon came to an abrupt halt in front of the cabin, got out of the truck and slammed the door. He practically ran up the steps and flung open the door. Samson’s head shot up. The dog took one look at his face and put his head back down on his paws, not caring at all what was eating him.
He grabbed the phone and punched in Mac’s number. When Mac answered, Devon growled, “When are you going to have her SUV repaired?”
“Who is this?” Mac asked, his voice rough from sleep.
“The Range Rover you fished out of the ditch. When will the repairs be completed?”
“What in the hell has gotten you all bent out of shape? Do you know what time it is?”
“I don’t give a damn what time it is.”
“You need to get yourself a woman.”
“What I need is for you to get off your lazy―”
Mac cut him off in mid-sentence, told him to kiss a part of his anatomy he hadn’t heard of and something else that crudely involved his mother. Then he slammed the phone down in Devon’s ear. Devon thought about calling Mac back but decided against it. Instead, he went outside, retrieved his axe from the shed, lined up the logs and began chopping.