A smart man would know not to push his godforsaken luck. And a smart man would definitely realize when he was walking on quicksand. But Shane Maxwell had never been particularly bright, at least not where women were concerned. He’d had his fair share of relationships—all had crashed and burned for various reasons—and when it came to commitment, he’d memorized one word in response: run. But there was something about this woman he just couldn’t get out of his head. Or his chest. Whenever he thought about her, he got this stab of regret right beneath his breastbone and heard this really irritating voice in his head that screamed: coward. It was that voice he hated most. The same one that had been dogging him for months. The one that had pushed its way into his head when he’d had Hailey in his apartment last night. The one that was telling him to flee now, that being here was a bad-ass idea. That only shitty things could come from getting involved again. He stared at the darkened windows of the Roarke Lake Geneva resort and flipped the Tic Tac box open and closed in his pocket.
