As soon as she heard the words leave her mouth, Payton could have kicked herself in the ass. What a Freudian slip.

She drew in a quick breath, praying that her face wasn't as red as she thought it was, before pulling out of the cupboard, first-aid kit in hand. "Just throw them in the washer and we'll get it started."

Avoiding his eyes, she turned the machine on, throwing a couple of Tide pods into the rushing water. "I'll be in the kitchen when you're ready. You can wrap a towel around yourself."

She could feel his gaze burning into her back, but Payton didn't know what to do about it. As soon as she got to the kitchen, she poured herself a tall glass of iced tea, then feeling generous, poured him one as well. The sugar might not settle great on his stomach but Brock needed the hydration.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, she tried to estimate how much time it would take to get him out of her house. Probably at least an hour and a half to run the washer and dryer. Jeans always seemed to take a little longer in her old machines.

She closed the door on the dishwasher and set a few things in the sink, straightening up. Not that Brock would care.

The Hannifords and the Lowells had known each other for at least a couple of generations. They'd all been in the cattle business at one time, just different breeds. Lowells were well known for their Hereford line, while the Hannifords ran Simmental and Angus cross. Each had their market.

The families had mingled at pot-lucks, get-togethers and BBQs. All of the kids had gone to the same school system, hence the girls growing up such close friends. Payton remembered looking up and seeing Cheyenne asking to sit at her table in middle school. They'd hung out a little beforehand on the ranch, but she'd never sought her out at school. That day, for some reason she had, and even though she was a grade ahead of Payton and two years older, they had still stayed connected.

They became fast friends, and from that day forward, Payton always had Cheyenne's back, and vice versa. They'd ridden the school bus together, done homework together, and stayed at each other's houses as often as they were allowed. There was one year when Cheyenne had gone into high school as a freshman and Payton had been in eighth grade, but even that hadn't been bad, considering the high school and middle school shared the same building.

Payton had known Cheyenne had an older brother, but he'd been a senior in high school at the time. Payton had only gotten a few glimpses of him. Age-wise, Payton was sandwiched between Cheyenne’s younger siblings. Chad, a year older than Payton, had been a cute pest that liked to make her blush all the time. Emily, a year younger than Payton, had been studious and introverted, the total opposite of the rest of the Lowell family. She hadn't even been in middle school yet when Payton and Cheyenne met.

Then, on a sleepover at Cheyenne’s, she'd seen Brock up close and all of her preteen fantasies had changed in a heartbeat. Tall, with black curly hair and pretty Caribbean blue eyes, he'd been the most gorgeous thing Payton had ever seen, even at seventeen, covered in horse sweat and range dust.

His Wranglers had rested low on his hips as Brock had washed off beneath the hose his brother Chad held for him. When he'd glanced up and noticed her looking, a bright white smile had spread easily across his mouth.

Cheyenne introduced them, but entranced with Brock, Payton never heard what she’d said. It must have been okay because he tipped his hat to them and disappeared into the barn with Chad trailing along behind him.

Every time she'd seen Brock after that her heart had raced and her hands had turned clammy, but he'd seemed oblivious. There had always been older and more developed girls hanging around him then. She didn't think that Brock had even noticed her until that night at the bar when everyone had been celebrating her twenty-first birthday.

Damn. What a night that had been. If he'd had any idea how very inexperienced she'd been at that time, he wouldn't have touched her.

She wasn’t exactly super experienced now, either but she'd seen the types of women he hung out with. There was certainly no comparison between their in your face sexiness and Payton’s more subtle, confident womanliness.

She felt him enter the room behind her and straightened her spine before turning around and leaning against the counter. Good thing she did because she could now grip it for support. The man was positively luscious, even grizzled after a night in jail and a bar fight.

"Use the bathroom in the hallway for your shower. I'll listen for your laundry to get done."

He nodded, taking a few steps across the room. "I have to thank you, Payton. This is pretty embarrassing. I sent Jackson a message to hold down the fort till I get there."

"Jackson is a good guy. Did you even have to send him a message?"

Brock laughed and ran a hand through his mussed hair. The movement arched his body like a damn cover model, abs tightening in his stomach.

"No, I probably didn't have to. He could run the Blue Star with one hand behind his back."

Payton nodded at his words. "So, don't stress about it then. We'll get you cleaned up and back to the ranch in no time. Aren't your parents going to rehab today?"

His pale eyes lit with realization and he stepped forward excitedly. "You're right! I totally forgot about that!"

Before she could even think about moving, he'd leaned forward and popped a kiss to her forehead, then turned and headed down the hallway to the bathroom. Payton only had enough energy to watch his tight ass walk away from her as she sagged against the counter.

That brotherly kiss on the forehead thing made her die a million little deaths. It was obvious Brock hadn’t given it a second thought. Yeah, he was older than her by a few years, but he still acted as if she were a child. Did he think she was trapped in some kind of time warp where he grew up but she never would?

No more forehead kisses, she vowed. They would drive her to madness.

Twenty minutes later Brock emerged from her bathroom, water still glistening on his broad shoulders. Every hokey romance novel description rolled through her mind as she seriously tried not to stare at the man, but her kitchen shrank by about fifty percent as soon as he walked in. Desperately, she motioned for him to sit at the table.

"I scrambled up some eggs. Thought you might need something in your gut."

He sat at the table, fist still gripping the towel to his hips.

Payton held her breath as she waited for him to trip or something and give her the show of her life, but it didn't happen.

"Damn," she whispered.

Those brilliant eyes that reminded her of cool Caribbean water flicked up at her. "What?"

She shook her head, aggravated, and tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Nothing. I might have some sweats that would fit you or something."

Brock blinked and glanced down her body, looking skeptical.

Yeah, probably not, she thought. Brock outweighed her by a good sixty pounds, even as curvy as she was. Payton doubted her sweats would cover anything of his. Towel it was.

The washer went into the spin mode, the distinctive squeak building as the drum flung the water from the clothes. Payton glanced at the clock on the wall, wondering why this was so damn hard. All she had to do was entertain the man for a little while, then she could drive him home. They could be done with each other until they ran into each other again for a family function. She wasn't sure when Chad and his fiancée were getting married, but surely it had to be months from now. If she was away from Brock, this ridiculous attraction would fade to something manageable again.

Consumed with her own inner turmoil, she didn't realize that Brock hadn't moved until her gaze connected to his.

"It really is good to see you, Payton. I know it's only been about a couple weeks since you helped out on the round up, but it seems longer. What have you been doing?"

She blinked at the warmth in his eyes and looked away quickly. "Well, you know. Working, mostly. Same as always. Helping Cheyenne with the girls when I can."

"Are you dating?"

She blinked, wondering if she'd heard him correctly. That had come completely out of left field. Brock was looking down at his omelet, so she couldn't really get a feel for his emotions.

"Yes," she admitted. "I date."

His stunning eyes flicked up to look at her. "Seriously?"

She frowned, wondering why he was asking. "Seriously enough, I guess. One guy works with Sheridan Lane. He's a deputy and asked me out a few times, but it's more friendly than anything."

Brock held up a hand, cutting her off. "Wait, one? How many men are you dating at a time?"

She shrugged. "Just a couple, but it's not like we're going out every night. Just every few weeks or months, if we have something social to go to."

"Which deputy?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, wondering if she should even tell him. For that matter, why was he so interested? If she told him, and he knew the guy, he wouldn't be happy. Morgan didn't have the greatest dating record.

"Morgan Hampton."

As expected, Brock's face darkened, making him look fierce. The dark stubble on his normally clean-shaven jaw helped that too.

"Hampton is a womanizer. You need to stay way the fuck away from him."

She leaned back, shocked at his vehemence. More than once she'd had to defend her buddy Morgan, but she didn't think Brock would even hear her. He looked to be pretty mad.

"And how about the other guy," he snapped. "Anyone I know?"

Had his voice deepened? What the hell was going on?

"No, you don't know him. He's a professor at the college in Austin."

This time he scowled at her. "You're dating your professor from college?"

"Brock, how old do you think I am?" she cocked her head, curious to hear his answer.

His eyes flicked down her body then back up. "I don't know. Twenty-three or four. No, twenty-five."

She shook her head, amazed at his density. "I'm thirty-two, two years younger than Cheyenne. I haven't been in college for like, ten years. If I am dating a professor, I think I'm okay. I'm not a child anymore."

Blinking slowly, his gaze wandered down her body again, this time lingering a little at her breasts. "I know you're not a child, Payton."

Those words made her shiver. Peyton had never felt anything like it before and she probably wouldn't again. She didn't appreciate his patronizing attitude, though. She'd taken his brushoffs for years and never said a word. What would he do if she hit on him?

Her heart raced as she thought about leaning in for a kiss, or to stroke a finger down his incredibly ripped physique. Oh, damn. His incredibly bruised physique. Great paramedic she was, not even noticing the painful-looking injury.

Tentatively she reached out to stroke her fingers over the heavy purple coloring on his side, checking for heat. He hissed in a breath, but when she looked at his face she didn't think it was because she'd hurt him. There was an awareness in his eyes that hadn't been there before. And it made something throb deep in her body.

When he reached out to brush her hair away from her face, Payton didn't dare move. She was too scared it would make him stop what he was doing. If he kissed her on the forehead like a child again though, she was going to string Brock Lowell up by his balls.

The iris of his eyes darkened and he started to pull away, but she didn't let him. Covering his hand with her own, she turned her lips into his palm, pressing a kiss there.

Brock swallowed, the heavy Adam's apple in his throat bobbing. "I thought you were dating?"

"I am," she confirmed.

"I don't know if I'm dating material," he told her softly.

She lifted a challenging brow at him. "Are you kissing material?"

Without a word, he pushed to his feet in front of her. "I'm damn well kissin' material, but I don't know if I should be kissin' you. You're my sister's best friend. And I’m not such a great guy, Payton."

Without letting him think about it too much, she reached up to cup his neck in her hand and pull him down. Brock didn't fight her hold, but he didn't take control either. He let her do the leading, which was totally fine with Payton.

Years ago, when he'd kissed her in the bar, she hadn't had a chance to prepare herself. Now, after thinking about that incident for so long, she'd vowed to herself that if she ever had the chance to do it again, she would make every effort to remember everything about it—his smell, his taste, the emotions it evoked in her.

All of that analytical thinking flew out of her head the moment he rested his lips on hers. Excitement and nervousness made her heart race, but it was a good feeling. It made her feel vital and supremely womanly. The blood in her body headed to places that hadn't had attention in a very long time. And the same thing seemed to be happening to him. The towel still held, but something was changing behind the terrycloth. Deliberately, she leaned into his strong body, wanting to feel every one of those hard-wrought muscles against her.

Brock groaned, his mouth opening wide to kiss her deeply. His tongue glided along her own, and she was amazed that she remembered the taste of him. That tiny little kiss he'd given her years ago may not have left much of an impact on him, as far as she knew, but as soon as she tasted him now—oh, yes, she remembered. The taste of him had haunted her for months, waking her in the depths of the night with the sheets twisted around her and her breasts peaked with arousal. The memory had eventually worn away, but it flared into brilliant relief now.

She gasped as one hand drifted down to cup her side, pulling her tighter against him. There was no missing the erection straining into her hip now. It was hard and unyielding, and she wanted to strip away the towel to look at him. Even better, she wanted to tug him to her bed and have him scratch the itch he'd given her so long ago.

Arching into him, she let him know beyond a doubt that she was interested, but instead he jerked away, panting. His ocean colored irises were almost completely swallowed by his pupils, he was so aroused.

But his jaw firmed as he stepped away.

"No," he ground out. "This is not happening."

Payton was shocked. Things had been happening pretty damn near perfectly and he'd just jerked everything to a screeching halt. What the hell?

"Why?"

"It's just not… dammit! I respect you too much to sleep with you. You need to get over this crush you have. I know I can be a dick, but I refuse to alienate the only sibling that still talks to me by sleeping with you."

Without another word, he gripped the straining towel and walked out of the house.

Payton collapsed to the chair, wondering what the hell they were going to do. She’d crushed on him long enough. She needed to resolve this situation one way or the other. The taste and need for him had haunted her for years and it was time to be done with it.

But honestly, was it still just a crush? Maybe it had started out that way, but it had morphed into something so much stronger over the years.

No man ever measured up to Brock Lowell. They needed to commit to something, or be done all together. Either way she could be done with daydreaming about him.