The Closer You Come

“Brook Lynn,” Kenna said, breathless.

“You’ve got to go. I know. Love you.”

“Love you, too. But oh, oh. Wait a sec. I meant to tell you I would be eternally grateful if you would make me a smoked chicken salad sandwich with fresh-baked bread...like, tonight for dinner, maybe? Because you love me and want me happy. I’ve got a craving.”

“You’ve always got a craving.” When they’d lived together, Kenna had left little sticky notes all over the house, begging for this or that sandwich.

“She meant to ask for two sandwiches.” Dane’s voice shot over the line.

“I meant two sandwiches,” Kenna said. “I can have the ingredients waiting at your house and pick the sandwiches up later...”

“You know I can’t resist your pleas,” she said.

“You’re the best!”

“I know.” Click.

Brook Lynn sighed, wondering if she should rethink her plan to stop by Brad’s auto shop after work and just do it, live a little. Her shoulders drooped. No, he still didn’t rate higher than her conversation with her sister. Or, for that matter, Jase’s job offer. Or her sister’s lack of employment. Or past-due notices. Fingers crossed she and Jessie Kay discussed everything without a single argument.

She still wasn’t sure how her sister would react to finding out her lover—her onetime lover—had asked Brook Lynn for help. As if she’d been rejected by him—again?

Can’t do that to her.

Well, then, decision made. As easy as that.

Tomorrow, she would find another second job. Virgil at Swat Team 8 had just lost Kenna and might be willing to take a chance on Brook Lynn. He wouldn’t pay nearly as much as Jase, but killing bugs might be better for her state of mind than killing the hopes and dreams of his scorned lovers. Plus, the job wouldn’t hurt her sister’s feelings. It also wouldn’t test Brook Lynn’s resolve to avoid the most delicious of temptations.

And he was delicious, wasn’t he? Still wrong for her, and nothing her life needed, but 100 percent melt-in-your-mouth delicious. And kind of emotionless. What was up with that?

Doesn’t matter. Not my problem.

At the end of her shift, she drove straight home, more convinced by the minute that she’d made the right decision. But Jessie Kay’s car wasn’t in the driveway, and she wasn’t inside the house.

Brook Lynn baked the sandwiches for Kenna and Dane, and chatted with the pair for half an hour when they came to collect the food.

She had made sandwiches for Jessie Kay and herself, as well, and wanted to eat them together, but as she waited for her sister to return, one hour bleeding into two, hunger got the better of her and she caved, devouring her own.

She watched two old episodes of The Walking Dead. She paced the living room, watched another episode of The Walking Dead and practiced severely cool head-chopping moves. And...still there was no sign of her sister.

Finally she could stand it no more and texted:

Where R U?

Duuuuude, her sister replied. Lost my phone. Will call U when I find it!

UR srsly telling me U can’t find UR phone? she texted back, wanting to scream You’re using it right now! How drunk R U?

Only had a few, swear! But sis! Sis! My liver was a bad girl 2day & NEEDED 2 B punished.

Attached was a photo of Jessie Kay and her favorite partner in crime, Sunny Day.

Sunny’s parents had probably thought “so cute” when they’d come up with the name. Brook Lynn’s verdict? So not.

The two were in quintessential selfie mode—Jessie Kay was bent over, lips parted in a perfect O, while Sunny held a paddle at her bottom. Sweat dotted both of their brows. From dancing? Probably. Men stood all around them, practically drooling.

Another text came in, the misspellings out of control.

Knw eve prom 2 all bt came we postpo? Plese?? Pleas???????

Translation: know we promised to talk, but can we postpone? Please? Please?

Beads of anger rolled through Brook Lynn. From the moment their father died, she’d done her best to protect her sister from any sort of emotional pain. She’d even upped her already stellar efforts after their mother died. And this was the result?

Brook Lynn had known she needed to change her ways, but this just cinched it. If she wanted different results, she had to do something different. And she would start by refusing to coddle Jessie Kay.

Yay! a part of her cheered. Finally.

She wouldn’t feel guilty about this. She wouldn’t! She’d had enough.

She scrolled to Jase’s number in her address book. After only two rings, he answered, the roughness of his voice greeting her, bypassing the usual hello, how are you and getting right to business. “Nice to hear from you, Brook Lynn.”

Shivers danced through her. This is stupid, dangerous for my peace of mind. But she said, “I’ll take the job,” before she could talk herself out of it. “Most days I can be there shortly after noon, but tomorrow I can’t make it till two. After my shift at Rhinestone Cowgirl I have a personal errand.” Her doctor was good about getting her in whenever she had a spare hour. Because yes, she was sticking with the birth-control part of her plan no matter what.

“Two is good.” His breath crackled over the line. “I’m looking forward to seeing you.” Something about his tone...

It was deep as always, but it sounded like...a promise? Or a warning?

“Me, too,” she whispered.

CHAPTER SIX

JASE MIGHT HAVE made the biggest mistake of his life. Then again, he’d done nothing illegal and wouldn’t end up in prison, so...

Nope. Somehow this was still a top contender for Worst Mistake Ever.

As another knock sounded at his front door, this one faster and louder, he trudged into the entryway. He knew Brook Lynn waited on his porch, eager to begin her first day as his “assistant.” Eager...dreading—little difference.

What the hell am I going to do with an assistant?

It was the last thing he needed or wanted. Until she’d mentioned the loss of her second job. He’d hated the thought of her struggling to find another, one that might not pay as well, then working herself to the bone and slogging her way into an early grave.

He’d tried to prepare himself for his first boss-employee encounter with her, but a man couldn’t ever really prepare for torture. And that was exactly what the situation would be. Somehow, she made him feel as if he’d been stripped and strapped to a rack, his chest carved open and his every nerve ending exposed.

And I signed myself up for a daily dose.

Tense, girding himself for impact, he opened the door—the sight of her utterly stole his breath. Silky hair hung around her shoulders in gleaming, platinum waves. Wide, baby-doll eyes that should only ever sparkle with passion were now hardened with determination, but no less arresting. She wore no makeup, and he found he liked the natural rose flush on her cheeks, the golden tips at the ends of her lashes. Liked the sheen of moisture left on her lips as she traced her tongue over the plump bottom one.

That deep, throbbing ache kicked off in his chest, and he gnashed his molars in annoyance.

Feel nothing. Want—

Screw that. He wanted something. He wanted her.

He simply wasn’t going to do anything about it.

Her T-shirt read Math Problems? Call 1-800-{(10x)(In{13el)]-[sin(xy)/2.362xl. A pair of faded jean shorts displayed the spectacular length of her legs to perfection. So did the scuffed, dirt-caked cowgirl boots.

Was his tongue hanging out? The girl could probably rock a garbage bag.

“Reporting for duty, sir,” she said, the words flippant...but the little tremor in her voice betrayed her agitation.

He remained in place, blocking her from entry. “First things first. What made you change your mind about working for me?” He’d wondered all night.

Her eyes narrowed, her lashes practically fusing together. “Maybe I used the eenie meenie miney moe method.”

“Do you also settle arguments by sticking out your tongue?” I shouldn’t be thinking about her tongue. “Never mind. Don’t answer.” He waved her inside.

She stopped in the living room and stuffed her hands in her pockets. “Are West and Beck here?” How hopeful she sounded.

Did she not want to be alone with him? Not irritated by that—thrilled. “West is in the city for business. Beck is out trying to find a place in town for him and West to set up shop.”

“And probably sleeping with his real-estate agent,” she mumbled. “What do West and Beck do, anyway?”

“Create different kinds of computer programs and games.” Jase was as far from tech savvy as possible. Being cut off from society for so long meant everything digital that was so commonplace for everyone else was alien to him. He wasn’t even sure how to use some of the apps West had put on his phone.

“Why don’t they just work from home?” she asked, her tone now reverent, as if working from home was a dream everyone entertained. “I mean, it’s not like they’re going to drum up a whole lot of business in Strawberry Valley.”

“They drum up business all over the world, wherever they are, but they aren’t their most productive while I’m making repairs on the house. Or so I’ve been told.” He motioned to the peeling wallpaper. “The boys are part of the reason so little has been done.”

Beck, far more than Jase and West, hated change—which was surprising, considering he changed lovers almost every night. Jase had to ease him into each and every home improvement. And West, well, he liked to plan every detail down to the studs—which usually took months.

“Ah.” Caught up in their conversation, Brook Lynn forgot to be leery and smiled up at him. The amusement brightened her entire face. “Gave you a verbal spanking for your noisemaking, did they?”

So bright...blinding me to everything else. Making the ache a thousand times worse.

“Nah, they know better than that,” he managed, rubbing the spot just over his heart. “I finally kicked them out so I could get started on the larger tasks.” Not because he’d wanted to be alone with Brook Lynn.

“Why don’t you work with them?” she asked. “Considering how close you guys are, I mean.”

“Cubicles and computers aren’t my bag.”

“Are you a silent partner, then? Is that how you guys met? Business?” She blinked and shook her head, as if she’d just realized something important. “You know what? Forget it.” She lifted her chin, squared her shoulders. “We might as well get started. What’s my first assignment?”

Good question.

He looked around, considering his choices. Something easy. Maybe something that required very little bending over—or a lot of bending over.

He must have taken too long to reply, because she added, “How about I give you a detailed history of your house? It’s been in the Glass family for a million generations, but there is now only one Glass left. Harlow. She refused to get a job when her mom died, which is how you guys were able to snatch it up, I guess. She was the town bully once upon a time, before becoming a recluse. She’s a year older than me and still hangs around town, though no one knows where she’s living right now.”

Detailed history...or cautionary tale?

“I promise not to bully you. Now, start with the living room,” he said, “and end with the kitchen.” That way, she’d feel as though she’d contributed something to his day without actually straining herself. And he could make himself scarce so that he wouldn’t have to see any bending or not bending.

“You mean...clean them?”

“Spotlessly.”

She pursed her lips. “So I’m a maid, as suspected.”

“You’re an assistant.”

“An assistant who cleans your house.”

“Good for you. You catch on so quick.” He patted the top of her head and tried not to marvel at the silky softness of her hair—or to think about twining a lock in his fist and angling her head for better access to her lips.

What the hell was wrong with him? Since his release, he hadn’t kissed a woman. Not even the handful he’d bedded. Not because he thought kissing was anything special. It wasn’t. The less distraction, the better, especially while already vulnerable.

Brook Lynn neither stepped away from him nor batted his hand away. “It’s funny to me. You truly aren’t afraid to lose that hand,” she said, utterly calm. “But okay. Fine. Where are the supplies?”

“You’ll find everything you need under the kitchen sink. And now, I need to return to my own work.” He left her then, forcing himself to walk away.

What else could he say to her, really? Besides, getting chatty with her would be a huge mistake. Already she’d asked a question he hadn’t been prepared to answer. Is that how you guys met?

His past was his business and not a topic for conversation.

He shut himself outside, hoping the distance between them would help him relax. He only tensed further. It was almost as if he...missed her? Already? She was just so bright, a total contrast with his mind, which was always so dark. He felt drawn to her, and it both ramped him up and soothed him. It was difficult not to crave her presence.

Had to be the summer heat. Yeah. Definitely the heat. The air was thick with humidity, already stifling. He removed his shirt and picked up his hammer. He’d finished repairs on the shed just before Brook Lynn arrived, knowing it was always best to ensure his tools had a proper place for storage before he took on any other projects. Without tools, a man couldn’t work. Without work, Jase would have to listen to his own thoughts.

He labored on the house for an hour...two...replacing slats on the shutters. His gaze constantly strayed to the kitchen window, his desperation to catch a glimpse of Brook Lynn maddening but undeniable. The first time she appeared, he struck his thumb with the hammer and had to choke down a curse. He was grateful she never glanced in his direction.

When he finished with the shutters, he moved on to siding, removing and replacing damaged panels. Sweat continually poured from him and had he been alone, he would have stripped bare and jumped in the pool he’d repaired the first week he’d moved here.

What would Brook Lynn think about skinny-dipping?

She’d let him know, that was for sure. Girl was opinionated. He didn’t have to wonder where he stood with her, a trait he liked. In prison, inmates smiled to his face and stabbed at his back. In a few of his foster homes, parents laughed with him at lunch and had hushed, closed-door conversations about him after dinner.

Not that every moment of his life had been terrible. There’d been good times. A lot of good times. With Beck and West. Tessa. Daphne. A few foster families. But the bad times had been so damn bad, they often completely eclipsed the good. Could he even remember the last time he’d laughed?

What had Brook Lynn’s childhood been like? She seemed well-adjusted, if a little overly concerned with her sister. Straitlaced. Normal. The kind of girl who would fear a guy like him, once she discovered the truth. He wouldn’t be able to blame her.

Keeping her at a distance was now his only defense.

Tomorrow he had a meeting with his new parole officer and— Jase stiffened as problems crystallized. Brook Lynn wouldn’t understand a day off so soon. And what if his parole officer ever came for a surprise home visit while she was here?

Damn it, he should have thought this through. Now it was too late.

He’d give her the list of supplies he’d planned to pick up. She could— No, she couldn’t. Her beater of a car wouldn’t be able to hold pipes and wood planks and boxes of marble. He didn’t even want her trying to carry those things.

He’d tell Beck to let her borrow the truck. And for Beck to go with her, do all the heavy lifting.

Jase stiffened all over again. He didn’t like the thought of Brook Lynn and Beck spending time together. Alone. In a cramped space.

“Thirsty?”

Her voice startled him, and he almost reintroduced his thumb to the hammer. Damn it! He never lost awareness of his surroundings. He’d trained himself to listen for every incoming footstep, every whisper of movement. That kind of OCD diligence had saved his life on more than one occasion.

In an act of self-preservation, he threw the hammer in the toolbox. As he climbed down the ladder and faced her, this new bane of his existence, she held a glass of ice water out for him.

The thoughtful gesture unnerved him. “Thank you,” he muttered and drained the contents. The chill of the liquid soothed the dry heat in his throat.

“You’re welcome.” She took the empty glass from him and stepped away. “So...three women have already come to the door looking for Beck.”

“So few?” And what do you think of Beck, Miss Dillon? He looked her over, noticing the streak of dirt on her cheek, the smudges of grease on her shirt. So adorable. “How old are you?” he asked then flinched at the accusation in his tone.

Most women would have glared at him. She didn’t miss a beat. “Twenty-five. What about you?”

“Twenty-eight.” Considering he had the life experience of a gutter rat, he felt decades older.

“Have you ever been married?” she asked.

There was only one reason the answer would matter to her, and it caused him to shoot harder than those steel pipes he was going to ask her to buy.

“No,” he rasped. “No wife.” He’d had a few girlfriends before Daphne, but nobody nearly as serious.

Daphne had seemed to accept him just as he was...until his sentence was handed down, and she realized she’d have to live without him for almost a decade—more than that, he wouldn’t be the same when he got out. He’d be different. An ex-con. Harder. Probably mean as hell. Teenagers never fared well behind bars.

He’d begged her to stick around, to trust him, promising to be whatever she needed the day they were reunited. Part of him had still been a little boy, desperate to hold on to some kind of family.

She’d sobbed while she’d walked away, but she’d still walked. He’d cursed her, apologized, begged some more. She hadn’t turned around, hadn’t even slowed. It had hurt then, and yeah, it still hurt now, but he saw it for what it was. Self-preservation. He couldn’t blame her for that.

Had life treated her well? Hell, maybe she was married with a dozen kids. Maybe not.

What would he say to her, if he saw her again? You were the best thing to happen to me. I miss you.

Was that still true? And would the man he had become even appeal to her? If she found out some of the things he’d endured throughout the years...would she react as fearfully as he suspected Brook Lynn would?

“Jase?”

Brook Lynn’s voice, gentle now, summoned him out of the dark mire of his head. He blinked and found her standing directly in front of him, her cool, dainty palm resting on his knotted shoulder. His hands were fisted, he realized, his nails cutting into his skin. Razors seemed to have grown in his nose and lungs, turning every breath into an act of torture.

Steady. When his gaze met hers, she dropped her arm and backed away.

“So...uh...yeah. I’ve finished the living room and kitchen.” She ran her bottom lip between her teeth, suddenly nervous. “What would you like me to do next?”

Put your hand on me again. Never let go. “Nothing.” He cleared his throat. “Go home.” Before I do something stupid.

“But I’ve only worked three hours.”

Only, she’d said. “Your check isn’t contingent on the number of hours you’re here, honey. Simply on doing what I say.”

She shook her head, saying, “Why don’t I clean the bathrooms?”

He did not like the thought of this girl scrubbing toilets. “No bathrooms.”

“Bathrooms,” she insisted. “Then I’ll wash up and cook dinner. Unless you have plans?”

He bristled. “No bathrooms. No dinner.”

“I’ll take that to mean ‘no plans.’”

“If you want to do something, clean the garage.”

“Great. I will. After I take care of the bathrooms.” With a saccharine-sweet smile, she skipped into the house.

“Stay away from the bathrooms. That’s an order, Brook Lynn,” he called. “My word is law.”

She waved at him through the glass door...and might have also flipped him off.

Did she think she could do whatever she wanted without consequences?

Well, she would have to be taught differently.

Anticipation zinged through him, so strong it was almost a shock to his system.

Boom!

The noise sent Jase to the ground, already reaching for the hammer, the closest weapon. Sweat beaded at his temples, trickled down, and he had trouble catching his breath—until the purr of a car engine registered, and he realized a vehicle had simply backfired.

He lumbered to unsteady legs. His heartbeat refused to calm, bucking in his chest like a horse trapped in a stall.

It’s okay. I’m okay.

At the end of the day, feelings didn’t matter. They were unreliable. He chose to believe he was okay, so that would be that.

Once he regained his composure, he toiled over the shingles. A few more hours passed, and he somehow managed to maintain his focus until Brook Lynn stuck her head out the door.

“I spilled cleaner on myself. I need a shower and a shirt,” she said. “Would it be okay for me to use your bathroom and dig through your closet?”

Just like that, she fried what was left of his brain. A thousand cars could have backfired, and he wouldn’t have noticed.

Shower—she would be naked. Water—it would drip down her body, catching in all the places he longed to lick. A towel—the cloth would rub all over her curves, caressing her skin. His shirt—something that had touched his bare skin would soon cling to hers, his scent fusing with hers.

Hard. As. A. Rock.

“That’s fine,” he gritted out.

“Thanks.” She vanished.

A few more hours passed, and he spent almost every minute imagining the things she was doing to herself. At last the sun began to set on the horizon, dusting the sky with a wealth of gold, pink and purple, drawing his full attention. He stopped what he was doing, utterly transfixed.

While locked away, he’d missed the simple things most. The everyday things he’d once taken for granted. Sunrises and sunsets. Holidays with his friends. The smell of fresh-baked bread and—

Fresh-baked bread?

He sniffed, and sure enough, he caught the telltale scent of yeast. His mouth watered. Almost in a trance, he made his way into the kitchen. Brook Lynn stood at the stove, stirring something in a pot, and oh...damn. Her hair was still damp from her shower, curling at the ends. The shirt she’d chosen read I’m In for the Win, and even though it was too big for her, she made it look like something out of a high-fashion magazine.

My every fantasy made flesh. She was gorgeous. Sexy. And completely within reach...

He rubbed at the newest ache in his chest.

And a meal made from scratch? That was something he’d never really had, even in foster care, where most of the dishes he’d eaten had come from boxes or cans.

Brook Lynn noticed him and waved the steam away from her face. “I hope this shirt isn’t one of your favorites.”

It is now. “No,” he managed.

“Good. I’m afraid I dribbled sauce on it. Oh, and I’m assuming you like cheesy chicken spaghetti and rolls because that’s all you had the groceries for.”

He had no idea if he liked them or not. He hadn’t even bought those groceries. They’d arrived yesterday, a gift from one of the women hoping to sleep with Beck a second time. “We’ll have to learn the answer together.”

“Well, you’re in for a treat,” she said, the heat flushing her cheeks to a deep rose. “Everything will be ready in forty-five minutes.”