Her steps faltered, partly because he looked dangerous, and partly because, well…any woman with a pulse would probably have stumbled at least a step or two. Half of her wished there was a county sheriff close by, just in case…and the other half wished she could afford to pay this guy to tackle the list of odd jobs that were slowly piling up. Starting, of course, with the tasks that would require him to work with his shirt off. As often as possible. Warm weather might as well come in handy for something, after all.

She noted the bike had a Nevada license plate. Interesting. A bit longer than a day trip from Vermont. But given the amount of dust and dirt that had accumulated on the sleek machine, and on him she noted, it wouldn’t have surprised her if that’s how long he’d been on the road. So…not a local looking for work.

“Can I help you?”

He slung his helmet on the back bar of the bike. “You have any rooms available?”

His voice was deep, a little rough. He sounded more than a little road-weary. Or maybe he always had that kind of laconic drawl. Whatever the case, it only enhanced the whole road warrior vibe he had going on. He did things to her body just standing there that she hadn’t felt in…clearly far longer than she wanted to think about. “You want a room?”

In retrospect, she realized how comical her honest surprise must have seemed. His smile was slow, but brief, more a quirk of the lips. Which were also kind of chiseled and perfect. She really needed to stop staring. Anytime now.

“You do rent them out, right?” For all his pulse-pounding, over-the-top sex appeal, he was actually fairly soft-spoken. If gravel could be soft. In fact, now that she was close up, she thought her early suspicions might be right. He didn’t just sound road-weary, he looked downright exhausted. She couldn’t see his eyes, but the lines bracketing his mouth, the flexing and tensing of his jaw, and just the way he stood there, shoulders hunched a little, all but shouted extreme fatigue.