CHAPTER TWELVE
JASE DOVE INTO the deep end of the pool. The hot sun beat down, burning his shoulders and heating the water as he swam one lap after another. All around him, cotton drifted through the air, so thick it looked like snow.
After a night of constantly replaying the best damn kiss of his life, craving Brook Lynn, desperate for her, he’d gotten up at dawn to finish shingling the roof. He’d worked like a madman, pouring his sexual frustration into the task.
He’d had a mere taste, and now his body hoped to gorge. He wanted her more now than he ever had before.
He yearned to go to Brook Lynn, to talk to her...to kiss her again—and more, so much more. Hence the laps. If he kept himself busy, he had a better chance of resisting temptation and staying away from her.
The kiss had been a mistake. Clearly. His favorite mistake, yes, but a mistake nonetheless. It had split him open, allowing some of his secrets to spill out. He’d willingly shared bits and pieces of his past with her, leaving him vulnerable, shaky, on edge. And yet, strangely sated.
Can’t go further with her. Can’t share other secrets.
She thought a woman—herself—would be able to forgive Jase’s past, but her uncle had been a no-good con man, predisposing her to dislike anyone who broke the law. She probably wouldn’t take the time to distinguish a career criminal from a onetime offender, especially when the single crime was so horrific.
More than that, she clung to hope of a happily-ever-after. He knew better, knew there was no such thing. Did he really want to be the one who destroyed her dreams? Of all his crimes, that would be the worst.
He rounded the end of the pool—and found the object of his torment seated on the other side with her bare feet dipped in the water. He stopped abruptly, nearly sinking to the bottom before he had the presence of mind to tread.
The sight before him... Killing me. Flaxen hair glimmered in the sunlight. Tanned skin appeared brushed with hints of copper and gold. A white tank and faded jean shorts hugged the very curves he’d had underneath him almost twenty-four hours ago.
A rush of testosterone...endorphins...whatever revved him up. “I thought I fired you,” he said, annoyed by the way his heartbeat sped up.
“Congrats! You’ve just rehired me.” She whipped a small object from her back pocket and grinned at him—a wicked grin that made him as uneasy as it did hot. “To celebrate, I brought you a present.”
As he reluctantly swam closer, she lifted her fingers from the object, one by one...and he came face-to-face with a tube of Preparation H.
He barked out a laugh, the burst of humor as new to him now as it had been the last time. “You really are a pain, you know that?”
“Well, I’m not letting you rub the medication all over me, if that’s what you’re hinting at.”
Wrong words. Provocative words. He lost his amusement in a nanosecond, his mind trapped by images of his hands moving on her, all over her.
Sinking again... He’d been reaching for his erection, because yes, he now had one, his length as hard as a steel pipe. He’d almost stroked himself in front of her.
“You’re not working for me anymore, Brook Lynn.” He meant those words, he really did.
“Please, Jase.” She clapped her hands together, creating a steeple. “Please. I need this job.”
No. Absolutely not. He couldn’t be exposed to this kind of temptation every day.
His silence must have propelled her in another direction. “I still owe you sandwiches, remember?”
“Okay, you’re rehired,” he said, unable to stop the words from leaving his mouth. What the hell was wrong with him? His only excuse was that she gave good lunch. The best he’d ever had.
She rewarded him with a wide, toothy grin. “Thank you, Mr. Hollister. You’re a doll.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he muttered. Though he would have liked nothing more than to climb out of the pool, he continued to tread. He was as far from perfect as she was close to it; his scars might appall her...or lead to questions he wasn’t prepared to answer. “You haven’t heard your new duties.”
“I don’t care what they are,” she said, completely earnest. “I’ll do them.”
Oh, angel. You should have kept those words to yourself. The things I want you to do to me...
This time, his silence must have unnerved her, because she began to babble. “I’m going to work for you from sunup till sundown, and every week you’re going to deduct a hundred dollars from my paycheck, until I’ve paid back every penny you spent on me.”
“Uh, that would be a big, fat no.”
She kicked water at him, saying, “What’s yours is mine, but what’s mine is mine, is that it?”
“Something like that. Which is something you should thank me for, honey.” Something he’d never offered to another woman, but knowing her, she would protest. She always—
“Fine,” she said and sighed. “Don’t take out the money.”
He eyed her with suspicion and thought, Too easy. This has to be a trick. Would he soon find surprise wads of cash stuffed in his dresser drawers?
Bingo. She was just sneaky enough to try it.
He was sneakier.
“Let’s backtrack a bit,” he said. “How can you work for me from sunup to sundown? What about your hours at Rhinestone Cowgirl?” When he’d spoken to Edna the day of Brook Lynn’s injury, her daughter had just returned to town, and the woman had made it sound as though she would be too busy to man the counter herself, that she would need Brook Lynn more than ever.
Brook Lynn waved a hand through the air, dismissing his question as unimportant, even as her eyes filled with shadows. His skeptical nature shouted a high-pitched alert. She’d been fired, hadn’t she?
Part of him was angered on her behalf, demanding he tear the jewelry store apart brick by brick and present the remains to her as a gift. The other part of him just wanted to weep with relief that she would no longer be working herself to the bone.
“If we’re going to do this...if we’re going to make this—” What? It wasn’t a relationship. “This thing between us work, there will have to be a few changes. Or rather, rules.”
“Agreed,” she said with a nod. “And the first is definitely—”
“Uh-uh. I make the rules, honey, not you. The first is definitely no kissing. The second is no thinking about kissing. The third is no flashing me. No matter how badly you want to do it.”
“Hey,” she snapped. “You practically begged me to do it.”
“Be that as it may.” Another glance at her magnificent breasts would finally crumble what remained of his resistance. They’d been so plump and round, her nipples as ripe as the strawberries the town was famous for, tightening under his gaze. And damn it, he was sinking again...his hands like heat-seeking missiles. “I’m going to expect you here at eight every morning, and you’ll stay until eight every night.” It was the only way to ensure his little workhorse wouldn’t go out and get yet another job. “And because I’m increasing your hours, I’m increasing your pay.”
“But—”
“Nonnegotiable,” he said. “You will be on call every weekend. With pay.” Again to keep her from getting another job. “I anticipate many casserole and sandwich emergencies in my future.”
“But—”
“Agree or not. Those are my terms. The rest is up to you.”
“Agree,” she gritted out.
“Then it’s settled.” At last he climbed out of the pool, deciding it was better she see his scars than get the peep show of a lifetime as he unintentionally stroked himself to completion while drowning.
Her gaze followed a trickle of water down his chest, and she gulped. “Anything else?”
His step faltered. Was that arousal he heard, turning her voice to smoke?
He swallowed a groan, deciding to drape the towel around his waist rather than his shoulders, hiding his growing erection instead of the damaged tissue left over from multiple fights.
“Yes, there’s something else,” he said. “Your chores. You’re in charge of cleaning the house, grocery shopping, laundry, meals. All meals. Breakfast, lunch and dinner, and every snack in between. And just so you know, we like dessert with each of our meals and even our snacks. You’ll also be in charge of writing a positive affirmation every morning.”
She blinked up at him. “Maybe you’ve forgotten, but I was doing most of that stuff already. I’ve been your non-wife wife for days.”
He couldn’t stop the tide of warmth spilling through him, and it made his tone snappier than he’d intended. “You are not my wife, non or otherwise. Understand?”
She held up her hands, all innocence. “Whatever you say, Mr. Hollister, sir.”
When she went prim and proper like that, he just wanted to drag her against him and kiss her breathless.
“I like when you call me sir, Miss Dillon. Let’s make that a new requirement.” And now he needed distance. “You’ve got work to do. You’re days behind. Just don’t do anything too strenuous. I mean it.”
“Ten-four, sir.”
If he had any hope of abiding by his own rules, he might need even more than distance. He might have to create some kind of emotional rift between them. He knew of only one way to do that.
He led her inside the house, gave her a gentle push toward the couch. “I seriously think you should rest before you begin. You’re a delicate flower, and I respect that.”
“Flower? Rest?” She glared at him. “For how long?”
“Just a few hours.”
“Hours?” she echoed hollowly. “I told you before. I’m not an invalid.”
“Maybe I should get you a bell,” he persisted. “You can ring it anytime you need me.”
She hissed like a cat that had just been poked with a stick. “Do it, I dare you. The bell will only stop ringing after I cram it down your throat.”
Wouldn’t do to smile at such a threat. He turned away, certain it would be best to end the conversation now.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” she said. “Jessie Kay asked me to give you something.”
He curbed the urge to take off like a bullet before facing her once again. “What?” he asked, unable to hide his sudden stash of wary. Jessie Kay had been a mess when she’d first arrived at the hospital. She’d clung to him, and he’d comforted her as best he could. She had faults, yes, but so did he. He’d gotten a glimpse at the heart of her, and it was clear she loved her sister. But she’d called and texted him countless times since, asking him out, telling him how much she cared about him, how perfect they would be together.
“This.” Brook Lynn held up a strawberry-shaped locket. “You can put a picture of your girlfriend inside it.”
He stiffened. Did she want him to date her sister? “I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“I know. But maybe one day you’ll find someone willing to put up with you.”
“I won’t.”
“That’s what I told Jessie Kay,” she announced.
He frowned, not liking her adamancy. He could commit if he wanted. Look at Daphne. If she’d stayed with him, he would still be with her. They’d be married, maybe even have a kid.
A pang of longing hit him, but he quickly quashed it.
There’d be no kids. Not for him. Not ever, he reminded himself. He didn’t want to be responsible for someone else’s emotional or physical well-being. If he screwed someone up the way he’d been screwed up, allowed his own flesh and blood to be hurt, the increase of guilt would finally choke him. He was sure of it.
“Jessie Kay wants to prove a picture of a girl won’t burn the skin off your chest,” Brook Lynn added. “If you open it up, you’ll find her favorite selfie.”
Something about her tone stuck with him... Was that jealousy? He wanted to study her features, but wouldn’t permit himself the luxury. “Being with her was a mistake,” he said softly. “You know that, don’t you?”
She hesitated before starting, “But—”
“No. No buts. She’s a good girl. Pretty, smart and capable, if only she’d try, but she’s not for me. That’s never going to change.”
“Fine. Sir.”
The word he’d meant in jest somehow created the very distance he’d thought he needed between them, but he realized now he couldn’t stand it. “I’ve changed my mind. You’ll call me Jase.”
“You’ll be lucky if that’s all I call you,” she muttered.
The sun must have shifted outside, because a beam of light suddenly spilled through the curtains, hitting the locket; the beads glimmered, and he couldn’t pull his gaze away. Clear stones in varying shades of red were anchored together with tiny black ones. Such exquisite detail, each piece glinting in perfect harmony. He remembered seeing similar trinkets in the shop and being impressed by the craftsmanship.
“Did you make this?” he asked.
Silence.
Finally, he glanced up. Brook Lynn’s attention had moved from him to...he wasn’t sure where. She would be totally deaf this week, he remembered Jessie Kay telling him.
He tapped her arm, careful not to linger too long on her softness, and when she faced him, he repeated his question.
“I did, yes,” she said, her pride obvious.
“I—” Love it. “Thank you,” he said, carefully placing the necklace in his pocket.
“I’ll tell her you were pleased.”
“Don’t,” he said. “That will only encourage her.”
Her eyes narrowed to tiny slits. “Sleeping with her also encouraged her.”
He thought he heard irritation mixed with another hint of jealousy. As if. Only hearing what I want to hear.
He gnashed his teeth. “Rest. I’ll be outside if you need me.”
“I don’t have my bell,” she replied with sass.
“All you have to do is shout, and I’ll come running.”
* * *
THIS DAY IS going wonderfully, Brook Lynn thought. And terribly.
She didn’t rest, and she didn’t leave her implants on silent, as ordered; she got started on her chores, listened for Jase and pondered. Her mind was like a playground for naughty toddlers, different thoughts swinging from different parts of the jungle gym.
After her bout of crying last night, she’d picked herself up yet again and decided to put all of her eggs in Jase’s basket. And okay, that was a stupid saying, making her think of female eggs and Jase putting his—
Never mind. Now that she was putting all of her time and energy into her job with Jase—better—she would be able to get a full eight hours of sleep every night. A dream come true! She would get to cook, one of her favorite activities, and still have time for fun. Finally! She and Jessie Kay would be able to eat right because she would ensure Jase and his friends ate right, the four main food groups part of everyone’s daily diet: something fried, something with gobs of butter, something with heaps of sugar and sweet tea.
For the first time in a very long time, she had nothing to complain about. She had hope again, all because of the man interested in seeing to her every need.
So...why do I feel so unsatisfied?
Jessie Kay had taken off before Brook Lynn had awoken, so she’d sent her sister a text telling her she’d be at Jase’s and afterward, Brad’s. It was time to plan the details of their date.
Her sister’s response?
Will U B drinking while UR w/Brad?
No.
Playing strip anything?
No.
Having sex?
NO!
Then why the heck R U going 2 see him?
A woman rounded the corner, her short, dark hair mussed, her cheeks flushed from exertion. Her clothes were wrinkled and her button-up top misaligned. She also had on a pencil skirt and mile-high heels, and she was clearly a professional of some sort, not in the hooker sense, but in the someone-who-worked-inside-an-office sense.
She spotted Brook Lynn, skidded to a stop and scowled. “Who are you?”
“Uh, that would be my line.” The woman was unfamiliar, not from Strawberry Valley.
Professional tightened her hands around the strap of her briefcase. “Beck told me he was single. If you’re his wife—”
“Wife?” she heard from around the corner before the man in question sauntered in and wrapped his arm around Professional’s waist. “Nah. She’s my permanent side slice, so she doesn’t mind sharing me for an hour or two. Isn’t that right, pookie?”
“Not right,” Brook Lynn said with a shake of her head. “Not ever.”
Beck shrugged, unabashed. “She’s just mad because I only ever let her role-play the exalted position of wife in bed.”
“We have never been in bed together,” Brook Lynn gritted out. “Never will.”
“You’re kidding, Beck. I know you are.” His newest conquest relaxed against him. “You have the most amazing sense of humor.”
Gag me. Please.
Beck wore a suit and tie, his clothing as straight and perfect as if they’d just been pressed. Not a strand of his hair was out of place.
He kissed the woman on the temple. “You should take off, pretty. Work is calling your name.”
She turned in his arms, and Brook Lynn thought she responded with “I’d rather hear you scream it.”
Could he even remember it?
O-kay. My cue to vanish. Brook Lynn moved out of the kitchen. But Beck and his lady lover followed hot on her heels. Or rather, Beck followed, dragging the gal with him.
“Though it pains me to say it, there’s no time for a repeat performance.” Beck patted Professional on the bottom. “You know I need at least two hours to enjoy you properly, and that’s only if I’m in a rush.”
The woman ate up the flattery as if he meant it, clinging to the lapels of his suit.
Beck ushered her to the porch and blew her a kiss—just before he shut the door in her face.
Brook Lynn shook her head. “You are the man parents warn their daughters about.”
“Thank you.”
“Because it was totally a compliment.”
He wagged a finger at her. “You’re my assistant,” he said. “And yet, I strangely do not recall being assisted with this bang and bail.”
“Actually, I’m Jase’s assistant.”
“Why limit yourself? You can work for us both. Besides, if Jase had been inside, he would have commanded you to get rid of my date for me.”
“You did fine on your own, and you didn’t even have to prepare your special breakfast.”
“That’s because it’s lunchtime,” he said, as if she were missing a few brain cells. “What are you serving?”
“To Jase? Sandwiches. They’ll be ready in thirty. To you? Only advice. If you don’t want your conquests to get the wrong idea, don’t let them stay the night. Or, I don’t know, maybe keep it in your pants once in a while.”
“I met Helen...Harriet?...this morning. We came back here for a quickie. Her idea.”
“Seriously?”
He walked over and cupped her cheek. “Yes, cupcake. I’m that good. And for your information, I would be willing to keep it in my pants, no problem, but I keep getting requests for showings.”
She batted him away. “I know where that hand has been.”
Unoffended, he adjusted the cuffs at his wrists.
“You need a new hobby,” she told him.
For a moment, only a moment, his expression registered seriousness. “Sometimes sex is the only way to keep the darkness at bay.”
“Beck,” she said, suddenly wanting to hug him.
He grabbed his car keypad from the kitchen counter—apparently he drove some kind of alien vehicle with a keyless start—and flashed her a wicked grin meant to shut down any sympathy on her part. “By the way, I’ve been tracking down a surprise for Jase. Someone from his past. I don’t think he’s interested anymore, but he has a right to choose, you know? Anyway, I’m close to success, so for my reward I’d like a ham and cheese casserole for dinner.”
“Someone from his past?” If he wanted a meeting with an old school chum, she would like to be the one to track the guy down. Because she owed him. Not for any other reason. “And what do you mean, choose?”
“Sorry, pretty, but I only share information that important when I’m naked.”
“Then I’ll happily go to my grave ignorant of the person’s identity and the choice Jase has to make, whatever it is.” She motioned to the sandwiches she’d spent the past two hours preparing. Even rapid-rise fresh-baked bread took time. “Take a look at the lunch you’re not going to get.”
He might have whimpered. “I’ll change your mind. Just see if I don’t.” Beck gave her a jaunty salute before stalking from the room.
Well. While the bread was cooling, she had better check on Jase. He was probably dying of thirst. And she couldn’t let that happen, now, could she? She filled a glass with water and carried it outside, the sun hotter and brighter than it had been a few hours ago. She scanned the backyard. The shed Jase had refurbished so expertly looked brand-new. The redbuds and magnolias were in full bloom, the towering oaks throwing umbrellas of shade in every direction. Lovely, but there was no sign of Jase.
“Jase?”
The squawk of black birds was the only response.
She trudged around the side of the house—and that’s where she found him. His back was to her, and he was as still as a statue.
“Jase,” she repeated and walked around him.
He was staring at his hand. His bloody hand. Crimson pooled in his palm and dripped onto the ground...a discarded hoe.
She gasped, horrified, and dropped the water. “Jase, are you okay?”
He gave no indication that he’d heard her, just continued to stare down at his injury. His expression disturbed her. It was totally and completely blank. As if he wasn’t all there, his thoughts far away.
Not wanting to startle him, but knowing he needed help, she gently tapped his shoulder. “Jase.”
The contact jolted him out of the trance, and before she could blink, his arm shot out. He shoved her with enough force to send her tripping backward, falling to her bottom. She landed in the cold water she’d spilled, the glass rolling away from her. His face contorted into the darkest, meanest scowl she’d ever seen, scaring the crap out of her. His hands fisted, the blood now pouring from the wound.
He took a menacing step toward her, and she would have sworn she saw her death shining in his eyes. He looked at her as he’d never looked before: as if she were a stranger to him. A faceless threat to be eliminated.
She crab-walked backward, uttering a trembling, “Jase? Please. Listen to me. It’s me, Brook Lynn.” There was no way she could defend herself against him if he attacked, the strength she’d once lauded enough to kill her.
Fear moved through her like an avalanche, growing stronger, bigger. Consuming her.
He just kept coming. Closer and closer...
“Jase.” She lumbered to her feet and held out an arm. A puny move, but what else could she do? “You’re scaring me, and I need you to stop. Jase!”
He blinked, skidded to a halt. “Brook Lynn?” Frowning, he shook his head, as if to clear cobwebs. “Are you okay?”
Relief gradually melted the avalanche. “I—I’m fine.”
“You have blood on your shirt. A palm print.” He frowned, peered down at his hand, then peered at her shirt. When his gaze finally met hers, she saw a flash of horror and guilt—even anguish—before it went blank.
He started to close the distance between them. She flinched, and he planted his heels in the ground, remaining in place. “Did I hurt you?”
He didn’t know? Couldn’t remember?
What the heck had just happened?
If he was a cop, maybe...maybe the sight of the blood had taken him back to a violent memory?
“No,” she said, her trembling growing worse for some reason. She wrapped her arms around her middle.
“You...should go home,” he said. “Please go.”
Maybe I should. Or maybe we’re finally making progress. She’d just seen a side of him she’d never seen before. One that didn’t just hint at vulnerability but screamed it. And though it had scared her—there was no way around that fact—it was kinda like catnip to her. She wanted to curl into his lap and purr against his throat, tell him everything was going to be okay, that they would get through this...whatever this was...together.
“I’m going to bandage your wound,” she said.
“No.”
“Yes,” she insisted. “Don’t argue. You’ll lose. I’ll meet you in your bathroom.”