Chapter One:

She was a freak, that's what she was; a self-righteous control freak who was destined to be alone. She was the last of her group of friends who had yet to settle down and get married and it wasn't something on the horizon for her. It's not like there hadn't been any opportunity, but it never seemed right. Nothing ever seemed right. Robin's hand ran through her long brown hair and she pulled out the leaves that had settled there from her long nap. This week away had been a great idea, at first, but now that she was here, it seemed a waste of money; money she should have spent on something else.

Robin had been fed up. She needed time away from all of the weddings and baby showers and the unending stares from every mother of the bride and groom that always indicated there was something wrong with her for choosing to remain single. She decided to run away to this quaint resort.

Not run away, really, but just think.

Without the added distraction of prying eyes.

Looking around at the almost empty beach, she pulled her sheer beach cover up over her body and put her floppy hat on before she began to take out her notebook and check her list. As a self-proclaimed type "A" personality, she made lists for everything. Her life was planned out in a myriad of lists.

Another pathetic and freak trait.

She turned and lay on her stomach, looking at the words scratched on the page.

"Come up with a plan."

That was all she had on her list.

"Ugh!" she threw the notebook down and felt tears prick her eyes.

"What the hell are you doing with your life? You are 33 years old and you have nothing!" she closed her eyes and turned on her back.

"You okay?" a deep voice came out of nowhere and caused her to jump.

"Shit, you scared the crap out of me," her heart was racing as she put her hand on her chest. She took in the source of the voice and her heart raced even more as she sat up.

Handsome wasn't descriptive enough. Sculpted didn't fit. Adonis was too weak. He was a God. He stood at what she figured was over 6 feet tall and his bare chest was glistening with sweat which her eyes followed down to the happiest of trails she had ever seen. He wore a pair of dirty blue jeans and there were paint stains all over them as well as some specks on his body. Her eyes stopped at the bulge at his crotch, which was eye level with her at the moment.

"So you're good?" he asked her, his smile showing his perfect teeth beneath the stubble-covered skin.

"I'm good," she said and turned away. "Thank you," she turned back to him but saw no one was there.

"Nice, loser," she said to herself as she shook her head. "You probably just imagined him. Time to add psychiatrist to your list."

She grabbed her bag and her towel and made her way back inside the bed and breakfast and up to her room.

"How was your day?" Patrick asked his mother Maddie as he helped her carry in the groceries.

The rotund and happy woman in her mid-50's smiled at her son.

"I used to ask you that when you came home from school," she grinned at him as she watched him begin to put everything away.

"Well, now I'm returning the favor," he took a peach from the market bag and took a huge bite.

"Hey, that's for the cobbler," she scolded as she fanned herself. "We have a booked dinner crowd tonight and I want to make sure the food is second to none."

Patrick wiped the juice off his chin and plopped down on the chair by his mother.

"That's awesome. Wonder why there are so many people here this week?"

She looked over her dinner menu and smiled.

"Maybe they heard my dashing and incredibly successful son was spending some time helping us out and they all wanted to catch a glimpse."

Patrick blushed and rolled his eyes, putting his t-shirt back on.

"I told you, none of that talk while I'm here. Nobody knows who I am and I want to keep it that way. I'm here to work and get back to my roots, nothing more."

"I think we have a few single women here, if you find time for that kind of thing. You know I want a grandchild before I'm too feeble to enjoy it."

"And on that note, I'm going back to finish painting the awning."

"Patrick, it's been almost a year. You need to move on. Did you really never try to call her?"

He kissed his mother on the cheek, politely ignoring her comment, and walked to the door.

"You're not doing too much, are you? You have a staff to do most of the work."

She stood up and smiled.

"Of course, but you know the rule."

He grinned. "Nobody puts their hands on your peaches but you."

They both laughed and he left.

Patrick grabbed more paint and made his way to the front of the house as he finished the peach and thought about the woman he saw who was sunning herself on the beach.

He began to paint with long strokes as he thought about her. She was new. He hadn't seen her and he knew he would have remembered. He never forgot a face or a body, and hers was smoking, at least what he could see peeking out from the cover-up she wore. The way she had studied him, though, made him feel naked and he left before she could ask him anything.

It was better that way, to be honest. His mother never knew the extent of what had happened and to be honest, it was incredibly embarrassing. He had been dumped by a woman who he really didn't even like. The conversation was bad and the sex was worse. He didn't know why he even cared that she left. It just proved to him what he always knew. Women were a complication he didn't need.

He climbed higher on the ladder and moved the can of paint with him. He was sweating in the hot sun and he pulled his shirt off, tucking it like a rag in his back pocket, most of the fabric hanging out. He wiped the sweat off his brow and saw the woman from the beach walking. She wasn't looking where she was going and he watched as she bumped into a tree. He smiled as she laughed at herself and he wondered why she was there. What was her story? He shook his head and moved to paint when his elbow knocked the can and it fell over, spilling the contents directly onto the woman.

"Oh, shit!" he scrambled down the ladder.

Robin froze. That was the biggest bird shit she had ever seen. She realized quickly it was paint and she wiped her face, trying to keep the liquid out of her eyes.

"Are you okay? I'm so sorry," a deep voice said and hands were on her.

"I'm fine," she said. "I just need to get this off of my face."

He was stunned by her reaction, or lack thereof. Most women he knew would be pitching a fit.

"So, excuse me," she said and he realized he was just standing there with his hands on her arms.

"Wait," he said. "Can I help you? Can I take you to get cleaned up?"

"I have a room here, so I'm good," she said.

"Oh," he seemed incredibly disappointed. "Why?"

She moved a clump of paint off her hair and looked into his eyes. They were a deep brown and full of concern.

"Why do I have a room at a bed and breakfast?"

"Yeah," he said. "I guess that was a dumb question."

"I really need to go wash this off because it's hardening," she said and looked at her hands.

"Please let me help you," he said and took her hand.

His hand was soft and hard and incredibly sexy.

The paint dripped close to her eye.

"I just need to wash it off, now," she said and let him take her into his room.

Patrick started the shower in the guest bathroom and walked out, looking at her, covered in white paint. She stood in the middle of his room and shivered.

"You can go in," he said.

"I feel like I should go. This isn't safe."

He smiled and crossed his arms, his biceps bulging.

"It's a shower. Are you afraid of water?"

"No, but maybe this is your M.O. Dump paint on unsuspecting women and then take them home to "shower". I don't want to become the woman from psycho."

Patrick laughed and shrugged.

"My mother is alive and well and not rocking as a corpse in a chair upstairs. I don't think I even own a knife and you're too beautiful to kill."

She blushed and raised her eyebrows.

"So you didn't target me?"

"To get you into my shower? Maybe. To dump paint on you? No."

"My name is Robin," she said.

He smiled.

"Patrick."

"I figure it's harder to murder someone whose name you know."

He nodded.

"Interesting logic."

"So I'm going to clean up now."

Patrick grinned.

"Good to know."

"Right, so I don't need any help."

"Wasn't offering."

"Right."

He watched as she disappeared into the bathroom and he heard the door lock. He chuckled to himself and went to make some lunch.

Robin put her clothes on the floor and stepped into the shower. She washed the paint off her body as best she could and tried to shampoo her hair, but the paint wasn't coming off very easily. She figured she would deal with it later. She needed to go back to her room and away from him.

She wrapped a towel around her body and sighed when she didn't see another one. She tucked it closed with her hand and stepped out of the shower, her long hair dripping over her back.

"Excuse me, do you have another towel or a shirt I can wear?"

Patrick walked into the room and froze when he saw her standing there, naked except for a towel and her hair dripping all over her arms. She was stunning, paint flecks and all, and he could see the hint of her nipples trying to poke out from behind the covering of the towel. The fact the towel struggled to cover her body was making him crazy.

He would love to help her with that.

"Sure. Hang on," he said and walked to his bedroom. His pants were tighter and he felt his body respond to the slight hint of her skin. He shook his head and grabbed an old t-shirt of his, walking back to give it to her.

"Thanks," she said and went back into the bathroom. She put the shirt on and was relieved when it fell to her knees. She put her panties back on and grabbed her paint covered clothes before she walked out.

"I'll wash it and get it back to you soon. Thanks for the shower," she said and realized he wasn't there. She sighed and walked towards the bedroom, not wanting to leave without saying goodbye.

"Patrick? I'm leaving," she said from outside the door.

"I can't hear you. You can come in," he yelled.

"Of course I can," she grumbled and walked in. Her eyes opened wide at the plush king sized bed and beautiful décor. This was not anything like her room.

"See something you like?" he asked as he walked out of the bathroom. He stared at her legs which were exposed from beneath his favorite t-shirt.

"Huh? I just wanted to say thank you and goodbye."

"Oh, you're leaving?"

She was stumped.

"Well yeah. Why would I stay?"

He looked at the bed and grinned.

"We could have hot sex on the bed."

She blushed and crossed her arms, causing her shirt to hike up more.

"I don't have hot sex."

He laughed.

"Well that's too bad. I could help you with that."

She rolled her eyes and turned to leave as she spoke.

"I have hot sex, just not like this, with a stranger. I need to leave."

He followed her and shrugged.

"Why not?"

Her face flipped to him and she hated to admit just how turned on she was. It had been forever since she had any sex, hot or not, and he looked to her to be the kind where she wouldn't be able to walk afterward. God she missed that.

"Because it's not safe or smart. I don't know you and you could have some sort of disease. I also don't think I'm your type."

"First of all, I have no diseases, but I also have protection. Second, what is my type?"

She looked at him and her eyes filled with tears.

"Not me. Excuse me," she turned and walked out.

Patrick was surprised. He didn't think that conversation would have gotten anywhere but she was funny and surprising and gorgeous. He walked into his bathroom and stripped his clothes off, smiling at his excitement. She was definitely his type, he thought as he stepped under the water.

He had to see her again.