Midsummer Sweetheart by Katy Regnery

his car approached and without thinking, her face exploded into a grin as she jumped up to greet him, running over to his window to say hello.
    ***
    In the week they’d spent apart, Erik had done a number on his head, seriously readjusting his image of Katrin Svenson from last Sunday afternoon, and brainwashing himself until he believed her plainer, less interesting and more vulnerable than he’d found her last weekend.
    He had started by reasoning with himself that getting involved with her was a recipe for disaster. Katrin wasn’t some anonymous tourist whom he could bed and forget, as Ingrid had helpfully pointed out. She was family by extension: his brother-in-law’s cousin. And he didn’t want to risk friction between him and Sam, and—by extension—Jenny. He couldn’t risk being at odds with his siblings; he loved them too much. So, first and foremost, it was important to remember that she was Sam’s Cousin .
    He thought about her recent heartbreak too, being left at the altar by her drunkard, stalker boyfriend, and honestly he had no interest in doing anything that could harm her delicate spirit, poor thing. It was obvious she’d been through the wringer, and he wasn’t up for some super emotional, vulnerable girl getting attached to him. He’d end up hurting the poor dear. She needed his kindness and sympathy more than anything else, poor girl. So, any sparks he’d felt around Katrin were doused mercilessly until she was Sam’s Cousin, Poor Little Thing .
    He’d concentrated on how she’d looked when he met her at Ingrid’s house. She wasn’t really that pretty—she was unkempt, plain and skinny. More than skinny, her delicate frame had become so small and frail in his head that he could almost think of her as a wizened old lady, prematurely aged by the evil intentions of her dastardly fiancé, not unlike old Mrs. Havisham in his favorite novel, Great Expectations . He concentrated on those thick glasses and greasy hair, and tried to remember her in that sloppy sweatshirt. Whatever attraction or possessiveness he’d felt for her had been ultimately mashed and mangled in his head until it resembled no more than brotherly protectiveness for Sam’s Plain Cousin, Poor Little Thing .
    Revising his opinion of Katrin didn’t mean he took his promise to Ing lightly. In fact, thinking of that piteous, frail little thing with a broken heart, so depressed and homely, he felt beholden to look after her as he would a shut-in aunt or an injured child.
    He texted Katrin in the evenings to keep a cord of communication open with her, just in case she needed anything, even signing off with the benign and fatherly “Sweet Dreams” in Swedish to be sure she understood his interest in her was no more than familial. He thought of it as a way of patting her on the head daily, letting her know she had family nearby.
    As he pulled into the driveway in front of the clinic, the first thing he noticed was the hot blonde sitting on the front steps. It took him an extra second to realize it was Katrin.
    Poor Erik. Poor thing.
    All that good, hard work was lost in the space of three seconds as inconvenient, unwanted feelings came rushing back, making his blood race hot and vibrant through his body, making his skin tingle and his cheeks turn pink, his eyes narrow with the force of his attraction to her. In three seconds, he was right back where he was when he left her a week ago.
    Her hair was golden and shiny, falling around her shoulders in blonde waves, and she used her sunglasses as a hair band to pull it back from her face. The jeans she was wearing seemed a little more filled out than the last time he had seen her a week ago, making her luscious ass as pert and distracting as ever. And was it his imagination, or were her breasts a little fuller under that tight, white, v-neck sweater that just brushed the top of her jeans, teasing him with a brief peek at her flat, pale tummy when she jumped up from the stairs?
    As she