Even at age nine, he'd recognized how much he wanted to be with her when she looked that happy.

He'd been happy fishing and four-wheeling and swimming in the pond and doing science experiments and looking through his telescope. But Bree had started wanting more excitement. She'd gotten a dirt bike, had told him telescopes were boring-his first taste of hating that d.a.m.ned word-and had gone riding off.

So he'd asked his parents for a dirt bike. And had gotten Bree's attention and time back.

He knew even then that he would happily spend every day of his life putting that joyful look on her face.

But that was the problem. She didn't like things that happened every day. She didn't even eat leftovers.

"That was risky, and we're not doing that again," he said firmly. "There's nothing else that high to check." Or if there was, it was going on someone else's list, or he'd check it out when Bree wasn't with him.

"Oh, come on! That was great!" She opened her phone's photo gallery and turned the screen to face him. "And see, great pictures. You needed these."

They were good pictures. They'd be very helpful. "Thank you," he conceded. "Those will work. But no more of that. Jesus, you could have broken your neck."

"What if I wear my helmet next time?" she asked with a grin.

He scowled at her, wanting her to take this seriously. "No."

A frown quickly replaced the smile, and she put a hand on her hip. "You're supposed to be my fun friend. Kit is the one who's supposed to worry and tell me to be careful."

He was the fun one. Or had been, anyway. He'd always loved knowing that he was the person in her life she had the best time with. Dammit. Everything had been ruined by that kiss.

"Yeah, well, storm cleanup isn't fun."

"It can be." She gestured to the rafters overhead.

"No, it can't be. This isn't a playground or some crazy obstacle course. If we're going to be working together, I have to know you're safe. When we climb and ride and dive, I can be right there beside you. But this stuff-"

Bree stepped forward, put a hand at the back of his neck, and pressed her lips to his.

And just like yesterday, his entire body instantly went up in flames.

Dammit.

But his ire was short-lived. Her hand moved up into his hair, she tipped her head to the side, and opened her mouth against his.

Trivial things like common sense ceased to matter, and he cupped the back of her head and stroked his tongue in along hers. She arched into him, lifting higher onto her toes and wrapping both arms around his neck.

He backed her up against the tall center post in the room and pressed into her. G.o.d, she felt good. Like she was meant to fit against him. Max slid his hand from her hair and down to her a.s.s. He lifted her more firmly against him, and she moaned against his mouth, and fire licked through his veins.

She wanted him.

She wanted a ditch repeat. Maybe more than that.

But she didn't want what he wanted.

Max took hold of her upper arms and somehow managed to push himself away from her, holding her at arm's length. Literally.

She was breathing fast, her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkling. Beautiful.

Just like when she'd climbed down from the rafters.

f.u.c.k.

"Stop," he said firmly.

She licked her lips, and Max's body tightened.

"Stop?" she asked. "Stop?" she repeated as if it had just sunk in.

"I'm not a f.u.c.king dirt bike, Bree."

She looked more worried than angry at that. "What's that mean?"

"I'm not here to just give you a hard, fast ride for the weekend."

Her eyes widened. He was as stunned as she was by his words. But it was true.

"That's not what . . . I-I didn't mean . . ."

It was rare that Bree McDermott stuttered.

"That is what you meant. You're looking for a new rush. You think I'm it."

And he could be. Definitely. They could burn things up for a few days. He could give her a rush like she'd never had. He could become her new addiction. That wasn't the problem.

The problem was that her "addictions" lasted, at most, a couple of months. That would never be enough for him.

He never jumped without a reliable parachute, and there was no protecting him from the landing that would result after this particular jump.

She licked her lips again. Max had yet to let go of her, and he sensed her leaning toward him as he held her. "I do think you could be it," she agreed. "And I want that. I want you."

"Because of an o.r.g.a.s.m in a ditch?" he asked. "Really, Bree? You're smarter than that. You know what that was. That was all about the tornado."

"I wasn't thinking about the tornado at all when you put your fingers-"

"Stop it." He pushed her back. "Jesus, Bree."

"It's true."

"This is Breckenridge all over again. Remember that? You took a fall, and you jumped right into my arms afterward. But it was all fear and adrenaline. You told me so yourself."

Her expression changed. She looked surprised-maybe that he would bring it up-and regretful.

"It's not like I kiss you every time I get an adrenaline rush," she said. "How many times have we jumped out of airplanes without kissing?"

Twelve. Not that he was keeping track.

"No, it's only when you almost break your neck."

"No, Max-"

"The other day in the ditch, you were facing the idea you might not walk away from it. So when you did, you were overcome. I know how that feels, what it's like to have all the energy bouncing around inside after something like that happens. And that it just needs to get out before you explode. A hard, fast o.r.g.a.s.m is one possible way to release that energy. Screaming, crying, running, throwing up-those are other ways. I happened to be there, so you went with door number one." He turned away and sucked in air. He really needed to remember all of this himself later when he was in bed and replaying the ditch. As he had last night. Over and over.

She didn't say anything, and he finally turned around. She had her arms wrapped around her body, and she was chewing her bottom lip, watching him.

"Kit said the same thing," she said. "That I was confusing the adrenaline from the storm for desire."

Oh, she had, huh? Even though Max knew it was true, it irked him a bit that Kit had already come up with that theory. Was it that difficult to believe that Bree might actually be turned on by him?

"And she doesn't even know about Breckenridge."

Bree hadn't told Kit about Colorado. Interesting.

"There you go," he managed to say.

"But I think you're both wrong," Bree said. "Again."

He should ignore all of this. Bree never thought he was wrong. She never thought Kit was wrong. No one ever thought Kit was wrong. Even Dillon had to admit that girl knew what she was talking about.

Still, he wanted to hear what Bree was thinking. "What makes you say that?" he asked. Because he'd never been able to ignore Bree in his life. His voice was gruff. He told himself it was irritation, not desire.

"I didn't kiss you because of the tornado or because of the fall down the mountain; I kissed you because I realized that in serious, potentially life-changing situations, I want to be with you."

Her words. .h.i.t him right in the chest.

G.o.d, he wanted to believe that. And maybe it was true. But if she needed to be facing serious injury or death to want him, a long-term, day-to-day relationship was doomed. Especially when he wanted to do things like cook dinner together and watch Game of Thrones together and just sit on the couch and read together. The opposite of dangerous and life-threatening. He would end up being her Snickerdoodle Delight . . . replaced by Cherry Chocolate Chunk next month. Or like being a cop, replaced by skydiving. Or like backyard campouts with a telescope, replaced by dirt bikes.

"And kissing you is safer," she said with a small smile.

The f.u.c.k if it is. That was his immediate thought.

Kissing him wasn't safe at all. If Bree had even an inkling of how much Max wanted from her . . .

Maybe he should tell her that he wanted everything. Forever. h.e.l.l, maybe he should tell her that he was thinking about moving back to Chance.

That would freak her out. That would keep her lips off his.

Bree didn't want anything every day. That's what kept him in Oklahoma City. That's what made him leave even after an amazing weekend or an awesome trip together. Bree needed a chance to miss him. That was how he'd stayed in her life. He gave her just enough of something she loved, enough to keep her coming back for more, enough that she couldn't wait until next time, but never enough that she'd get her fill and then get over it.

"Bad idea, Bree. No more risking your neck. And no more kissing."

She wanted to argue; he could see it. He could practically hear the wheels turning in her brain. Her imagination was running, and he wasn't so sure that was a good thing.

"Let's get these pictures on the computer and start checking things out." He could distract her with work. Maybe.

He had graphs and formulas. He could get her on the website for building materials. He could show her his power saw and get her cutting boards if she needed noise and something to do with her hands. h.e.l.l, he'd even take her over to the smaller barn and get her up on the roof if he needed to. Sure, they'd be off the ground, but with a much wider surface and far greater odds of not falling off. Climbing around on roofs was a much different thing than the tightrope-walking s.h.i.t she'd done earlier.

And he did realize, where tales often grew taller with repeated tellings, the width of that beam shrank every time he thought of it.

"Fine. Let's get to work," she suddenly agreed.

He looked at her quickly and opened his mouth. Fortunately, he thought better of it before he asked her what was going through her head. Her easy acquiescence made him skeptical, but he decided to take advantage.

He was an expert at roofing. He was an expert at ignoring his feelings for Bree.

So, he decided to focus on those two things. Feeling like he was in control of things for a while would be nice.

CHAPTER FIVE.

"Come on, guys, everyone's tired and stressed," Bree said to the two big men squaring off in the middle of the street. She stood between them, a hand up to each, hoping to hold them back from each other. "Let's just take a deep breath. Maybe we should exchange the beer for bacon. It's seven a.m., after all."

She was in uniform for a couple more hours and had been the one to respond to the call from the guys who worked with these two men. Randy Grees was the local electrician, and he and his crew had been working all night on the hardest-hit parts of town. Gary Grant was an electrician from Ashford who had come up to help out with some of the smaller jobs around town.

Apparently Randy was feeling territorial.

"He's cutting corners," Randy said, pointing at Gary. "That s.h.i.t's not happening in my town."

"f.u.c.k you," Gary told him. "I'm doing my job."

"There's no way. You've done five houses in two days. If you're doing it right, you wouldn't be going so d.a.m.ned fast."

"I'm fast because I'm good."

She knew both Gary and Randy had been working through the night. Everyone in town understood that time and days ceased to matter in the midst of a project like the tornado cleanup. The job had to be done, and everyone worked as long and as hard as they could, stopping only when they simply couldn't go on. Like now. The guys had decided that everyone needed a break, and they'd all gathered around the coolers for a bit before heading home for showers and sleep. But they hadn't reached for water bottles. Now they were exhausted and tipsy. Not a great combination. Apparently as they'd talked about what they'd been working on, Randy had gotten more and more irritated with Gary, a guy who was usually his compet.i.tion. It was tough doing cleanup like this. Going through people's homes and belongings, looking at the destruction up close, was difficult emotionally. If Randy was going to let off some steam, Gary was probably a logical target.

"Hey, I'll buy the bacon," Bree said. "And coffee."

"You're f.u.c.king with my friends, my neighbors," Randy said to Gary, his voice rising. He completely ignored Bree. "I'm not going to let you do that."

Yeah, Randy was feeling protective. Which was nice. But misplaced. Gary was a good guy, and Bree was sure he was doing a good job.

"Randy, I'll buy you pancakes, too," she said. "Let's just all relax, take a deep breath, and come at this after everyone has a chance to rest."

"You're not going to let me?" Gary said, advancing a step toward Randy. Also completely ignoring Bree. "Who the h.e.l.l do you think you are?"

Bree felt her heart rate accelerate as the adrenaline kicked in. She braced her feet and curled one of her fists. She could pull her gun and remind everyone who was in charge, but she'd never actually shoot either of them.

She would deck one of them, though. Or both, if needed.

"I'm from here, you a.s.shole," Randy said. "Who the h.e.l.l do you think you are?"