Free Penance (Long Slow Tease, #2) by Ann Mayburn Page B

Wyatt was the kind of man who thrived when he was helping others, and while she had the clinic where she volunteered to give her the satisfaction of volunteering, he really didn’t have anything that filled that hole in his life.
    Holding Wyatt’s hand, Michelle turned her attention to her father. “What kind of work do they do?”
    “They’re mostly a first -in and last-out type of group. For example, they were one of the first groups of responders on the scene after the floods down in North Carolina. They do everything from search and rescue, to setting up shelters, to helping people rebuild their homes and doing construction to make places handicap accessible for our veterans that need it. Last time I checked, they have groups set up all over the US, including two in Texas. One in Austin and another down by Houston.”
    Michelle placed her hand on Wyatt’s knee, immediately drawing his attention. “Sounds like they’re the kind of people that could occasionally use a master carpenter.”
    “Is that what you do?” Michelle’s father asked in surprise.
    Wyatt twitched then nodded. “Yes, sir. I wouldn’t say I’m a master, that’s my dad, but I haven’t had any complaints about my work.”
    Michelle had to look down to hide her scarlet flush, trying to not think about that wonderful queening chair he made her. Since then Wyatt had begun to work on his second piece of equipment for her. But he was keeping it a secret. He’d even gone as far as to installing a lock on his workroom door that she couldn’t pick. She hated surprises and wanted to know what he was making, but he wouldn’t tell her.
    Her father wrote some things down on two pieces of paper. He then stood and came around the side of his desk, handing the sheets to both men. “This is the contact info for the organization. Take your time and by no means feel pressured into this. I just think it’s a great group of men and women who could always use a few more hands. Never a shortage of people out there in the direst of straights.”
    Wyatt scanned the sheet then handed it to her. She briefly looked the info over while her father said, “Michelle, if I could have a word with you for a moment, alone, I’d appreciate it.”
    “Of course.”
    Catching Wyatt’s hand, Michelle gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll meet you by the dance floor, okay?”
    “I’ll save the last dance for you, Dom…darling.”
    She almost giggled at his slip in front of her father. “I won’t be long. Don’t let any of those floozies out there carry you off.”
    “You know you’re the only floozie I let carry me off.”
    She went to punch him in the shoulder , but he easily blocked her, then brought her hand to his mouth and brushed his lips over her knuckles before releasing her, making her give a rather besotted sigh that made all the men chuckle. With a definite saunter in his step he went out the door with Marshall in tow. He always knocked her out cold with the simplest of gestures and this was no different. Her skin tingled from the heat of his lips and she suddenly wanted him inside of her, now.
    It wasn’t until her father cleared his throat that she realized not only was her hand still floating in the air as if Wyatt held it, but she was also staring at a closed door.
    “Sorry,” she muttered and sat back on the couch. Her dad sat next to her and the look in his eyes was incredibly sad. Worried, she touched his hand and said, “Dad? Is something wrong?”
    “No. Everything is just right.” He blinked rapidly and she was afraid he was going to cry.
    “You’re scaring me.”
    “You’ve been alone for so long, Michelle, isolating your heart from the world. I feared that you would never let another man love you.”
    She bit her lower lip and tried to fight back the easily triggered guilt. In a fucked up way, it was as if her version of PTSD was guilt. Like she’d been spared the nightmares and waking terrors only to focus solely on feeling like