My name is Dillan Scott, a thirty-five-year-old man who's lived ten lifetimes. I appreciate solitude, am motivated to succeed, and want busybodies to stay the hell away from me. I've done my duty in life and have helped countless individuals, and now I just want to live out the rest of my days in solitude. I'm damn sick of people asking if something is wrong. Moving to this small town of Ravish Oregon wasn't my smartest decision in a long line of life-altering decisions. Everyone thinks they know all about their neighbors. What they don't know, they snoop until they think they figure it out, but the wounds I carry are too deep for anyone to dig into.

I know what needs to be done next, and none of it has anything to do with a woman. Do I like women? Sure, what red blooded male doesn't like a soft, warm body to warm them up for a few hours? However, I want to bring us both pleasure . . . and then forget her name before I walk out the door to never look back.

People have always said to me though, if you want to make God laugh, just tell Him your plans. This might be truer than I care to admit, because just when I think I'm getting myself together enough to normally function in society, in walks Lexa Crix and her angry son, Chance . . . and they're in trouble. What's a man to do? I can't know something is wrong and sit back knowing I can help, can I?