The Closer You Come

A soft, sleepy moan registered, followed by a breathy sigh. Relief poured through Brook Lynn as her sister rolled to her side, soon returning to a sleep coma anyone suffering with exhaustion would envy.

A quick scan proved the girl was unharmed and fully dressed, missing only her shoes. Brook Lynn was fully dressed and without shoes, as well, wearing the same T-shirt and shorts she’d worn last night. But though she searched, she found no sign of their footwear.

Bits and pieces of memory teased the fringe of her mind. Searching bar after bar with West and Beck while Jase opted to guard the car. At some point she must have fallen asleep. She had a vague recollection of Jase carrying her to his bedroom. For a moment, she’d thought she was floating. Then she’d felt a strong heartbeat against her temple...steel-hard arms undergirding her...the most delicious heat wrapping around her.

Why hadn’t Jase taken her and Jessie Kay home? To their home? And dang it, where was her cell phone? If she didn’t call Edna soon, there would be hell to pay. Who was she kidding? There was already hell to pay. The clock beside the bed proclaimed 10:03 in bold red numbers. Brook Lynn was seriously late. And if she lost that job...

She stalked into the bathroom, took care of business and washed up quickly, brushing her teeth with paste on her index finger. It wasn’t ideal, but the only other option was using Jase’s toothbrush, and she would rather die than allow his mouth to come that close to hers, even by proxy.

Her reflection revealed a bedraggled mess with rosy cheeks and eyes sparking wildly. With anticipation? Excitement? No, no. Of course not. More like frustration and annoyance.

In the hallway, the scent of bacon and eggs saturated the air, causing her mouth to water and her stomach to rumble all over again. She hadn’t had a decent meal in... Crap, when was the last time she’d had a decent meal? There was rarely enough time to shop or cook, even though she loved to do both, so she usually snacked on bread and cheese at Two Farms.

Won’t be able to do that anymore.

Before she could work up another cry over the loss of a major source of income, the sound of banging registered. She followed the noise to the kitchen, where two plates piled high with food rested on the table. Somehow she found the strength to keep walking without snatching a piece of bacon—or twelve.

Hinges creaked as she pushed her way outside. The temperature instantly rose...oh, if she had to take a guess, she’d say seven hundred degrees. Bright rays of sunlight burned her eyes.

Squinting, she padded onto the cement. “Ow, ow, ow.” It burned, too! She jumped onto the soft grass, two black birds taking flight in front of her. She scanned the yard—and finally found the source of the banging. Jase, with a hammer. Shirtless Jase. Muscles honed from intense manual labor bulged as sweat glistened and trickled down tanned skin and more tattoos than she’d realized. One of his arms was fully sleeved, the colorful ink wrapping over his shoulder and covering his pectoral. On his other side, his rib cage and torso were etched with intricate designs. A handful of what looked to be letters rose above the waist of his shorts.

Am I drooling? I’m probably drooling. Wow. Just wow. He was major man-candy. Gourmet. The house specialty. He radiated the most sublime sex appeal, the kind that shattered the most ingrained resistance and battered the staunchest inhibitions, and he would definitely satisfy even the most intense sweet tooth. He worked the hammer with masterful expertise, as though he could fix anything, anywhere, anytime, and she had to admit it was total girl porn.

How she longed to close the distance and study every inch of him more closely. Study, yes...

Perhaps touch...

He paused to wipe his face with a rag, and she almost moaned at the increased deliciousness of him. If almost was the new word for loudly.

He looked up and stilled.

“Brook Lynn.” His sunglasses were light enough that she was able to watch his gaze travel over her slowly, leisurely.

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