Free Real Men Do It Better by Carrie Alexander Lori Wilde Susan Donovan Lora Leigh

squinted behind the face shield of her helmet, concentrating on the white-hot spot of molten metal while sweat trickled down her temple and nape. Over her jeans and T-shirt, she wore a leather bib apron and thick cuffed gloves with Kevlar stitching. Her muscles were rubbery with exhaustion, but she couldn’t stop. Inspiration burned as hot as the torch in her hand.
    She’d been at it for hours, cutting, brazing, and welding the sculpture into its purest form. Every choice had felt right, every weld smooth and strong.
    A cramp bit into her left shoulder. With a groan, she straightened and reluctantly set aside the electrode, the rod of filler material that melted in the arc of electricity to fill the joints of the sculpture. She tipped up the shield and rolled her head, then her shoulders, working out the aches and pains.
    The blue sky was now gunmetal, tinged with purple and pink where the sun had sunk toward the horizon. Karen put down the welding torch, realizing that she’d even managed to tune out the constant annoying sound of the buzz box, the red metal welding machine that ran off an AC current.
    She stretched. Ouch. New pangs had joined the more pleasant twinges from last night’s exertions.
    She eyed the sky. Almost dark. Damn, how late was it?
    Well past quitting time. The horses hung their heads over the rails of the corral, demanding their supper with squeals and hoof stomps. Her own stomach was hollow. She stripped off her gloves and grabbed the water bottle to quench her thirst.
    Her eyes wouldn’t stay away from the sculpture. She’d cut away a few extraneous pieces, then added several lengths of rusted iron rebar she’d foraged at the dump, each piece arrow straight, male to the sleek female curves of the steel, except at the peak, where she’d been working at configuring a zigzag that reached to the sky.
    The fatigue dropped away. She lowered her visor and pulled on the gloves.
    She was at the top of the stepladder, beading the very tip of the sculpture amid the bursting fireworks, when she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. Her head swiveled. It was too dark. She couldn’t see much past the visor.
    Ever mindful of safety around the hot metal and sparks, she climbed down slowly and set aside her gear. Scattershot pings of nervous excitement flew through the air. She dragged off the helmet and shook out her matted hair. Peeled away the gloves. The apron. Cool air washed her body.
    And then she turned.
    He leaned against the doorway, where the dark barn interior was cut by a slanted ray of sunset.
    Her tongue moved in her mouth long before words emerged. “I knew it would be you.”

7
    “Officer Dan?”
    “Not him.” She pulled the T-shirt off over her head, stretching her rib cage taut. The evening air was caressing. Goose bumps popped up on her heated skin. The contrast in sensation was provocative. “He doesn’t make me feel the way you do.”
    Gabe’s gaze flicked between her and the sculpture. “You’ve been working.”
    “All day. I was inspired.”
    He looked at the cooling red tip where moments before sparks had flown. “So I see.”
    She walked toward him with a seductive smile. “I thought we had a date for tomorrow.”
    He put his hands in his jeans pockets and crossed one leg, setting his foot on the tip of the rubber-soled boots. “I couldn’t stay away.”
    Emotion had roughened his voice. She felt the uneven texture against her skin.
    His brows inched upward. “You’re shivering.”
    She dropped the shirt, stopping in front of him with her breasts pushed together in a sturdy cotton sports bra. Not sturdy enough to disguise the tightened points of her nipples. She wasn’t surprised by his arrival or hesitant about what to do next. Like her work on the sculpture, offering herself to Gabe this way felt right.
    He still hadn’t moved, except for the hot flames of his eyes, flickering across her as she peeled up the sports bra. Her breasts lifted, then dropped