Page 110 of Average Joe

My sprinkler was running. The front flower beds were clear of weeds.

I found a note on my front door.

Your weeds are whacked. Bruce is keeping Ginger busy while I make you dinner. Come over when you’re ready. Beers are on ice.

God, that man. I don’t remember entering my house or changing my clothes, but I found myself at Joe’s door. When he greeted me, my muscles sagged, and I fell against my beautiful neighbor, stomach rumbling, my heart drip, drip, dripping, and I pooled into a sobbing puddle in his arms.

* * *

Joe raised my arms over my head, then peeled off my tunic, his grip warm and firm, his intent illicit judging by the twinkle in his eye.

“What are you doing?” My hands dropped to my sides, all energy drained.

“Taking you to my shower.”

“Brilliant plan.” I rewarded him with the best smile I could muster.

Over dinner, I’d recalled my day and confessed my worries about Dylan. Joe had listened, and though he’d tensed and cursed under his breath more than once, he’d kept his cool. The man handled me like a wounded child. I didn’t protest, because any fool could see his fussing was an outlet for his simmering rage.

Joe reached around my back and unhooked my bra, dropping a kiss on my nose, making me shiver. One by one, he slid the straps off my shoulders and peeled the silky garment away from my breasts, exposing my taut nipples. A low groan vibrated his throat.

The scent of garlic and smoke clung to his skin, and though my belly was full, my stomach rumbled.

The beastly man then lowered to his knees, his lips leaving a trail of goose bumps from my chest to my navel. As he rolled my leggings down my hips, he chuckled. “No panties.” Another kiss. “Mmm,” he mumbled against my hip while helping me step out of my Lululemons.

With those large, warm hands, he explored my calves, my thighs, my hips, my belly, dotting kisses and inhaling my scent. The man was killing me softly with his ministrations.

“If you keep this up, we won’t make it to the shower.”

Bright blue eyes lifted to mine, and he smiled with his lips to my hip. “I love touching you,” he rasped, then rose, hooked his middle finger with mine, and led me to the bathroom.

I stepped into the steam and raised my face to accept the hot, cleansing jets. Soon, rock-solid pecks hit my back, and strong fingers kneaded my scalp.

“Oh, God. That feels so good.”

His erection swelled between us.I turned in his arms, the need to touch him overwhelming. I ached to ground myself in his beauty, his scent, his strength.

When our eyes locked, his adoration made my heart swell, and I fought the threatening tears. Joe didn’t miss a beat, and before I lost my composure, he gripped my neck and kissed me with a tenderness I’d never survive, assuring me I was wanted and cared for. God, when was the last time…

I sobbed into his kiss, breaking the spell.

Forehead to mine, thumbs caressing my cheeks, Joe whispered, “Talk to me.”

“You’re taking care of me.”

“Of course I am.”

“Been a long time since anyone’s taken care of me.”

He huffed, holding me steady. “Because you didn’t let them, I’m sure.” Then his shoulders dropped, and his face softened even more. My heart broke when he said, “And you’re a mom. Mom’s get neglected too often.”

He wasn’t wrong. Single mothers had no choice but to be everything and everyone to their children. Hell, from what I’d witnessed, most married mothers bore the same weight. Rarely were mothers “taken care of.”

That’s probably why I’d yet to step back and let my managers handle the shops. Momming was not easy to turn off, and I treated my employees like they were my children.

“You’re a beautiful man, Joe Kaine.”

My bad boy lowered to his knees, guided my left leg over his shoulder, and “took care” of me.

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