The Re-Enlisted Groom. Amy Fetzer J.

of him said to exercise it, get it out, just keep his hands off her and his desire locked away. But he kept remembering the moments in the barn, the hot feel of her skin in the cold air, her ferocious passion unleashing on him and his desperate need to absorb it. It was as if he’d come alive for the first time in seven years and every cell in his body wanted him to know it

      But he made himself recall their past, and he was tucked deep inside it when he heard his name and looked up. His heart slammed against the wall of his chest

      Maxie.

      “You okay?” she said, frowning. “Dinner is almost ready, if you’re hungry.”

      He looked away, nodding, anger simmering, the pain of his memories stronger and harder than he thought possible. She was a coward, damn her. She’d made the decision to walk away, alone, never giving him the courtesy of talking with him about what she was feeling. She’d stolen their prospect at happiness, his one chance. And as he turned his head to see her disappear from the doorway, he told himself he wasn’t falling for her charm again. He was not here to see if her cowardice was a mistake or a godsend.

      Three

      Kyle held on to his resentment, his only comfort right now, and snapped, “I’m not eating a damn thing you cook. Your reputation precedes you.”

      “Fine, don’t. Starve. See if I care.” Pigheaded man, Maxie thought, and didn’t spare him a backward glance as she walked briskly down the carpeted hall. Her boot heels clicked on the wood foyer as she crossed it into her tiled kitchen.

      Kyle followed, his gaze unwillingly dropping to her behind shifting inside tight jeans. He immediately cursed his preoccupation, even as he noticed that she’d changed into a long-sleeved T-shirt.

      “Your compassion astounds me, Max.”

      “You’ll get over it, I’m sure.” She moved to the stove, grabbing a mitt to open the oven. Bending to remove a baking tray, she set it on the cutting board, the scent of broiled salmon and Dauphine potatoes making her mouth water. With quick efficiency, she pulled two small salads from the refrigerator, positioning them by the service already set She served the food onto plates, aware of his gaze following her moves. She didn’t have to look to know he was standing near the arched entrance. His eyes had the power of touch, always had, and her frustration mounted as she struggled with opening the soda bottles.

      It was only five-thirty, and she wished the day were over. Not that she’d allow his presence in her house to keep her from her routine. She had a living to make. Kyle or no Kyle.