Restored (The Walsh Series Book 5) by Kate Canterbary Read Free Book Online Page B

and think I'm gonna tell you anyway."
    He tugged at the knotted man-bun sitting loose at the nape of his neck. "I don't fuckin' understand what it is about chicks and brunch."
    "Sam's in his workshop, which means he's not going to hear his phone over the saws, and he's been all fired up about getting some table finished." Slouching deeper into the seat, I sighed. "I still can't figure out what to say around your sister. I'm always going on about the wrong things, or saying too much or not enough, or it comes out all wrong. Even when I try to help, I screw up."
    I wanted to find my groove with these women. It didn't escape my notice that I'd already flamed out of one family, and I didn't want that track record following me here. But befriending adult women on the basis of our shared love for the Walsh brothers was an oversimplification of the matter. The presumption that all significant others and sisters-in-law would automatically become besties only made sense if these boys were in the market for the exact same woman, and I could attest they weren't.
    Liking each other and becoming good friends wasn't merely a dress that you put on. No, it had to look right, feel right, fit .
    And right now, despite all my best efforts, I didn't fit. At least not with Shannon.
    "She'll get over it," he said. He rested his elbow on the center console and gestured toward me as we crossed the Congress Street Bridge. "Contrary to popular belief, she doesn't hold grudges. She gives everyone seven or eight second chances."
    "Hmm," I murmured. "I don't think I qualify for that package."
    "You do." Riley clicked the automatic door opener and drove into the old fire truck bay. "Hell, I think I'm on second chance number twenty-nine. Don't sweat it." He pointed at the street, and said, "I'm going to get some work done at Turlan. It's easier when there isn't as much noise, or people. There are all these old medallions to fix, and I can't believe anyone accepts the quality I'm getting from Sam's plaster craftsman. It's horrendous. I'd rather do it all by hand, myself, than let that shit fly, and…yeah. Don't worry about me for dinner or anything."
    "Thanks for the save," I called as he backed out.
    "No sweat," he said. "You've saved my ass plenty of times. And remember: there's no bite in Shannon's bark."
    I wasn't sure that theory extended beyond Shannon's siblings, but Riley was already cruising down the street, and the argument dissolved on my tongue.
    I stumbled inside and then into Sam's workshop, and found him running boards through the circular saw. He was dressed in a black tank top and the old pair of low-slung jeans he always wore when he was woodworking. And the battered gloves. Jesus, there was something about jeans, a tank top, and work gloves that screamed "Come a little closer so I can defile you."
    That look turned my thoughts into dark, sticky molasses.
    There had been times when I'd tried to look at him in this gear without turning into a stuttering pile of hormones, but it always ended with me climbing him like a tree.
    I boosted myself up on the edge of the work table and watched his arms and shoulders flexing against the saw's vibrations. He hadn't lost any of that lumberjacked strength.
    Slow, slow molasses.
    When he finished, he shifted the safety glasses to the top of his head and shoved his gloves in his back pocket. "Why are you sitting on my table and looking guilty?" he asked.
    "I'm having some very dirty thoughts about you right now, and I got drunk at lunch and I broke Shannon," I blurted.
    Sam braced his hands on either side of me and leaned forward. "Tell me all your dirty thoughts, drunk girl."
    Oh, hell. Those arms.
    I was raking my gaze over them like they were fresh meat.
    "I broke Shannon," I repeated, but instead of retreating, Sam moved farther into my space. His lips coasted over my neck and across my chest. He pulled my sweater down, exposing the swell of my breasts. He buried his face there, kissing, licking,