Free Cowboy Redeemed by Parker Kincade

knew Gavin had asked him to talk to her, she’d kick his ass out faster than he could blink.
    Annnd he’d just whacked off in her shower. No denying he felt a hundred times more relaxed, but what had he been thinking?
    Fuck.
    He didn’t think where Ainsley was concerned. With her, he was all about the action. She ran away. He went after her. Her porch needed repair. He repaired it. Her lips needed kissing, and goddamn if he hadn’t done his best to erase the memory of any man who’d been there before him.
    Action.
    “Clay?” Ainsley’s voice drifted up through the floor. “Bring the towel along with your dirty clothes and I’ll toss them in the wash. Dinner’s ready.”
    Clay stared at the floor like a monkey staring at a math problem. There. A vent along the baseboard. The bathroom must be directly over the kitchen. Christ. Had she heard him come? The thought threatened to make him hard again.
    See? Action.

Chapter Seven
    Ainsley held a cool cloth to her cheeks. She could blame the heat from the kitchen for the flush covering her skin. But really, the cause of her uncomfortable condition was clomping his boots down her stairs right this very minute.
    Holy hotness. The distinctly male noise that drifted through the vent gave her a pretty good idea what he’d been up to while in her shower.
    “That doesn’t smell like any spaghetti I’ve ever had. Where you want the towel I used?”
    Ainsley dropped the cloth into the sink and tried to look casual. Hard to do when the man was sex-on-legs in his denim and black tee. What she wouldn’t give to have been upstairs with him, watching as he pleasured himself.
    Her cheeks flamed again. So much for acting natural. More like a bitch in heat.
    Ainsley pointed to the set of folding doors by the back door. “The washer is in there. Where are your clothes?”
    “In my bag. You aren’t washing my clothes, Ains. I’ll get them later.”
    “That’s silly. There’s no reason not to do them here.” When she reached for his bag, he held it out of reach, the look of panic in his eyes so fleeting, she could’ve imagined it. Probably had.
    “It’s no big deal. I’m gonna put this in the truck and then I’ll be ready to eat. My mouth’s already watering.”
    “You got some weird laundry phobia I should know about?”
    “Yes,” he said as he opened the back door. “My brother shoved me into a dryer when I was a kid. I’ve been afraid to get near one ever since.”
    Ainsley sucked in a breath. “Are you serious?”
    “Nope.” He winked. “Rest assured. I’m one-hundred percent pro-laundry. I even did a load this morning.”
    Ainsley clasped a hand to her chest. “A man who does his own laundry? Be still my heart.”
    His laughter followed him out the door. By the time he returned, Ainsley had dished up heaping plates of spaghetti noodles topped with the sauce she’d spent the last few hours making.
    He pulled out a chair for her, making sure she was settled before he took his own seat across from her.
    “This looks amazing, Ainsley.”
    Pride filled her as she passed over a basket filled with fresh, warm bread. Clay took two slices, placing one on the edge of his plate, one on hers. A simple gesture, yet it warmed her heart all the same. She could really learn to like this man. A lot. She was afraid she might already.
    “It’s nice to have someone to cook for other than myself.” She took a bite of spaghetti and silently congratulated herself. She’d been so nervous, wanting to get the sauce just right , she’d been afraid she’d mess up the whole batch. She hadn’t. It was delicious.
    Clay swallowed and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “If this is any indication as to your cookin’ skills, save me a seat at your table every night.”
    Her belly fluttered. In her dreams, she had a place. A home of her own. Children who’d know they were loved and cherished. A handsome, rugged man with enough love for all of them.
    Good lord. She’d waxed poetic