Carolina Man by Virginia Kantra

I-don’t-want-to-loan-you-money, talk-about-your-ex, listen-to-you-hedge-about-our-relationship thing. She was not jumping into something just because the man had nice arms and seemed to want to do the right thing by his daughter.
    He smiled. “You got something against kissing?”
    “Not against kissing. Per se. But . . .”
    “Latin.” He moved in, still smiling. “Very hot.”
    Her heart raced. It was just a kiss, she rationalized. She’d kissed men before. Not recently, true, but she didn’t need to invest this kiss, this man, with any special significance.
    To prove it, she stood on tiptoe, twined her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his.
    See? she told herself. Not a prob—Oh, God, the man could kiss.
    In no time at all, he’d opened her lips with his, his tongue in her mouth and his hands in her hair. Her brain fogged as he kissed her, progressively slower, deeper, wetter kisses. Her skin steamed with lust.
    She had to . . . She couldn’t. They shouldn’t.
    Shaking, she pulled back. “I told you . . . The timing . . . This is a bad idea.”
    He kissed her hot cheek. She tried not to melt. “Yeah, I heard you.”
    She swallowed. “Then, why—”
    His eyes were bright and impossibly blue against his desert tan. “I didn’t say I agreed with you.”
    “Then we have a problem.”
    His mouth quirked. “Maybe we can talk about it later. I want to be there when Taylor gets home from school.”
    He gave her another hard, brief kiss before he tugged down the overhead door and left, taking the boxes with him.
    She watched his Jeep drive away, her lips tingling and her heart in turmoil.
    Oh, yes, they definitely had a problem. Not because he wasn’t listening. Because she wasn’t sure she wanted him to.

Seven
     
    P LANNING HAD SEEN Tess Fletcher through countless moves as a military wife. As long as she stayed organized, as long as she kept busy, everything would be all right.
    She ran down the list on the kitchen counter, crossing off items as she removed them from the refrigerator. Milk, butter, orange juice,
check, check, check
, loaded into the box.
    The back door creaked as Tom returned from carrying the last carton from Taylor’s room upstairs. Not that there was much up there to pack.
    Tess sighed. When Taylor first came to live with them three months ago, Tess hadn’t planned on raising another ten-year-old. But all her doubts had melted away the first time Taylor looked at her with Luke’s blue eyes. She’d been full of hopes and plans for this surprise granddaughter, this unexpected blessing in their lives. It hadn’t always been easy. It had taken Taylor a while to learn to trust them. Tess’s own accident had derailed so many of her plans. And now . . .
    The list blurred. Tess blinked fiercely and refocused on the shelves.
Eggs, apples
 . . .
    “What are you doing?” Tom asked.
    Tess kept her head turned toward the refrigerator. Nothing terrified poor Tom like the threat of tears. “Stocking the cottage fridge for Luke and Taylor. The home visit’s tomorrow.”
    “Babe, social worker’s not going to look in the fridge to see if Luke’s feeding her properly.”
    He was probably right. Still . . . “She might.”
    “Then he should buy his own groceries. The boy can guide a Marine patrol in enemy territory; he can probably find a grocery store.”
    Tom was right. Of course he was right. But Tess needed to do something. To feel useful somehow. “It’s just some basic supplies to get them started.”
    “Fine. Maybe it will keep him from mooching your cooking all the time.”
    Tess sniffed.
    Tom eyed her in alarm. “What?”
    “I’m going to miss him.”
    “Luke?”
    She eyed him with exasperated affection. “Of course Luke. And Taylor.”
    “They’re moving across the backyard, not overseas.”
    Tess swallowed. “I know.”
    It was different for Tom, she acknowledged. All those years he was the one who went away while she stayed home and made