“I’m sorry, Jane,” he whispered, tucking her hair behind her ear over and over again, as if he couldn’t stop touching her. “Like I said, I was surprised, and apparently I turn into an ass when I’m caught off guard.”
“Most old people do,” she joked in a deadpan voice. “I think they’re afraid of heart failure. Either that or their hearing is already going so they get defensive.”
His eyes darkened. “Very funny.”
She laughed into the blankets. “I thought so.”
“Keep making fun of me and I’ll throw you over my knee.”
She stilled.
His smile froze and then turned very dangerous, so dangerous she could feel the impact of it all over her body.
“I should go,” he whispered, still not moving.
“Probably.” Her throat worked hard to swallow as he leaned over the bed and pressed a kiss to her forehead. His lips slid down to her temple and then her cheek. An inch from her mouth he waited, hesitated.
Her body burned for more of his kisses, more of his touch.
But she didn’t know what to do. The last man who had kissed her had told her she was frigid because she wouldn’t sleep with him.
Would Brock be the same?
He was used to women giving him whatever he wanted—she’d fall short.
Finally, she sank back into the pillows. “Goodnight, Brock.”
He let out a heavy sigh and pulled back. “Goodnight, Just Jane.”
When he was almost to the door, she called out, “Don’t forget to remove the dentures!”
With a curse, Brock stumbled into the door and then turned around and glared. “What did I say about teasing me?”
Feeling braver now that he was farther away, she arched her brow. “Maybe I like being punished.”
He gripped the doorway with his large hands and swore. “Now she tells me.”
“I figured you were already leaving so I was safe.”
“I could always sprint back toward that bed.”
“But you won’t.”
He sighed. “Not tonight. But Jane?”
“Yes?” Was that her voice? All husky and desperate?
“Tomorrow is a new day, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” she croaked, “It is.”
“Sweet dreams.”
“You too.”
“If you think I can leave your room and actually sleep…” He shook his head, then gave her a sad smile. “Cheers to a night of tossing and turning.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
The next morning, Brock yawned over his scrambled eggs and toast, then yawned again as he took a long draw of coffee, and one last time as he stabbed his sausage with a fork.
“Long night?” Bentley said with a grin. “Dreaming about all the possibilities that didn’t actually happen? Dancing like little erotic ballerinas in your head? Ones who rhyme with shame? Lame? Game?”
Brock let out a grunt and flipped off his brother just as Brant helped Jane to the table. Brock nearly jumped to his feet, knocking his chair backward against the floor. “You’re up?”
Jane thanked Brant by kissing him on the cheek, and sat in the chair across from Brock. The rutting bastard, thought Brock. “Yes, sorry I slept in.”
Damn, if that’s what sleeping in looks like, sign me up. From her bright chocolate eyes to the pink spreading across her cheekbones, she looked stunning.
He gripped his fork so damn hard he was surprised it didn’t bend in half.
“Pity, it’s such nice silverware, too. Some might say an antique.” Bentley grinned at Brock’s hand while Jane gave them both a confused look.
“You clearly slept well, my beautiful, sexy, sweet—” Bentley stopped talking the minute Brock slid a knife toward him and glared. “Jane?”
“It’s too early for violence,” Brant muttered.
“Um, I slept okay.” Jane stared down at her empty plate, a smile curving her lips like she was keeping a secret.
Brock found himself grinning at her, like he had a right to, like he’d spent the night in her arms, when really he’d taken a cold shower and slept with half a bottle of whiskey. Thus the hangover currently pounding on both sides of his head.
“Glad to hear it,” Bentley sighed. “I was worried you’d be all hot and bothered.” He paused, sharing a look with Brock. “You know, because of all the blankets I’m sure this jackass piled on top of you before abandoning you.”
“Oh, Brock didn’t abandon me.” Jane shrugged. “We shared a midnight drink last night.”
“No,” Brant said in a dry tone. “That’s a shock. What did he do? Pound down your door and demand you pour whiskey into his cup because he lacks the intelligence to do it himself?”
Brock groaned. “I don’t know why I put up with either of you.”
“Family sticks together,” Bentley pointed out. “Just ask Grandfather.”
The room fell silent and tense.
“Jane.” Suddenly desperate to spend more time with her away from his brothers—even though he knew nothing could come of it—he stood. “Why don’t you eat a few more bites and I’ll start the cleaning.”
Bentley choked on his coffee while Brant hid a laugh behind his hand.
“What?” Brock shrugged. “I’m going to help her. What are you jackasses going to do? Take a selfie and post it on Instagram?”