“What the hell is that?” He pointed to the scruffy bay horse with short legs.
“Oh, this bad ass thing?” Bentley rubbed the horse’s neck. “Don’t listen to him, Frodo, he’s just pissed because his dick isn’t balls deep in—”
“Finish that sentence, I dare you.”
“In his hand?” Brant said with a laugh. “By the way you look really sexy out here, your hair blowing in the wind. I almost orgasmed twice.”
Brock rolled his eyes. “Why are you guys following me?”
“Oh, that.” Bentley kicked Frodo’s sides and the poor horse trotted forward, its eyes wide. “We came to tell you what a jackass you are.”
Brock groaned out loud. “Is this about Jane?”
“It’s sure as hell isn’t about us.” Brant shrugged. “You’re lucky Bentley’s off his game or he’d swoop in and steal her before you could make up your mind if you’re man enough to even go after her.”
“What the hell!” Brock yelled. “She isn’t some prize to be won, and she sure as hell isn’t up for grabs! Not by either of you.”
Brant narrowed his eyes at Brock. “Are you actually going to grow a pair of balls and go after her?”
Brock growled. “Back the fuck off. I mean it. She isn’t like the girls you normally date.” He cleared his throat. “She’s better than that.” The idea that they would even contemplate actually doing more than hitting on her made Brock want to punch something.
“She seemed embarrassed that you just took off after making out with her. Probably isn’t used to all the attention only to have the guy who just kissed her run out of the house like she has Ebola,” Bentley said softly. “And stop looking at me like I’ve grown another head. I’m a manwhore, not heartless.”
“I didn’t,” Brock said defensively. “I just needed to think.”
“We know.” Brant’s eyes flashed. “But we grew up with you so we know how you deal with shit. She, however, doesn’t.”
“I never thought I’d see the day where you two are the ones lecturing me.” Brock shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. They were right. And he hated it.
“So.” Bentley rubbed his hands together. “Who’s going after the girl? First man back to the house wins?”
“First man to the house, my ass.” Brock leaned over the horse’s neck as they glided across the pasture and made it back to the barn in record time. He made sure Buttercup had fresh water and gave her a handful of oats before putting her in her stall, promising to take the saddle off once he made sure Jane was okay.
Buttercup seemed too immersed in the oats to care.
Long strides took him up the stairs and into the house.
The kitchen was spotless.
No Jane.
“Jane?” he yelled.
Nothing.
He took the stairs two at a time and swore as he spotted her, bent over in front of him, washing the floor with a rag.
He gulped. “No mops?”
Her ass was pointed straight at him, and so help him God he wanted to take a bite out of it. He gripped the wall with one hand and let out a rough exhale.
“This hard wood deserves more attention than a simple mop. I want to get in all the crevices.” She didn’t stop moving her hands back and forth.
His dick ached with each movement, as if she was stroking him instead of the wood. What the hell was it about this woman? This small, intimidating woman with her silky brown hair and chocolate eyes?
She let out a little grunt, turning on her hands and knees to get the section directly in front of his feet, and slowly she raised her head, cheeks flushed.
His breathing slowed as she moved one hand back and forth across the wood, and the smell of lemon soap and water filled his nostrils as he watched her work. Pieces of hair poked out of her bun, kissing her neck and shoulders. Her hand moved a bit faster.
He clenched his free hand into a fist.
She was stunning.
From her freckles to her toes.
Damn it.
“You’re really good at that.” Brock wanted to slap himself in the face, or run headfirst into the wall. Did he really just say that out loud?
She smiled. “Cleaning hard wood?”
Hard wood. Yeah, his wood was definitely hard. Fuck. If he kept watching, he was going to explode on the spot, like a teenage boy.
“Cleaning,” he said with a rasp.
“I love it.” She smiled down at the floor, her body visibly relaxing. “I know some people think it’s demeaning, but there’s nothing better than removing the dust and grime and seeing what’s beneath a dirty surface. There’s always something, you know? Something beautiful. No matter how it starts, it ends beautifully. I think objects deserve that, just…” She sighed. “Just like people.”
“You’re a fixer.” He almost groaned. Was he her next project?
“I like to think of myself as a helper. After all, you can’t fix others, only yourself.”