*
JASE HAD NEVER been so turned on, and he’d never watched a clock quite so intensely, trying to stare it into flashing the number he wanted. Brook Lynn’s gift had surprised him. More than surprised him. It had set off a waterfall of the most exquisite, terrifying need inside him—one that had been close to drowning him since he’d gotten her into his bed.
He hadn’t been sleeping well, his attempts to avoid her leaving him restless and irritable. Yesterday West had called him a he-beast without equal, and Beck had just flat-out announced he was an asshole. But how was a man supposed to go about normal business once he’d held Brook Lynn Dillon in his arms?
Jase had continually replayed the things they’d done together. The kissing, the touching. The way they’d writhed against each other. Afterward, as the days passed, his craving for her had begun to seem bottomless, endless, but so had his guilt. He wasn’t right for her, and while he knew it, she didn’t. Not yet.
He wasn’t just a petty con man, like her uncle. He was a murderer. There’d never been a stronger deal breaker.
Plus, he lost complete awareness of his surroundings whenever he put his hands on her, and for someone who liked to stay on guard at all times, that left him exposed. In more ways than one.
Despite all of that, he wanted her. And now she wanted a night with him. He only wished she had demanded more for herself. More from him.
Complaining? Seriously?
Soon he would have her, all of her, and nothing else mattered. His gaze made another mad dash for the clock. Only five. Damn it!
Brook Lynn puttered around in the kitchen, preparing dinner. The smell of home surrounded him—something that was brand-new to him but quickly becoming familiar—a little sweet, a little spicy. He fell on the couch, propping his elbows onto his knees and resting his head in his upraised hands. He was going to have a heart attack before he got her naked, wasn’t he?
And how the hell was he supposed to sit across from her at the table, knowing she ached for him?
He should have carried her to his bedroom the second she’d given him her gift. Like an idiot gentleman, he’d decided to wait, unwilling to let her feel cheap or as if he was paying her for sex. He couldn’t offer to give her the day off, because she would just refuse payment for work she hadn’t done, and the girl needed every cent she could get. Especially since she kept attempting to pay him back for the hospital bill.
He’d lost track of the number of times she’d stuffed bills in remote places, just as he’d expected. Kitchen drawers, under his bed, in his clothes. Every time he found one, he doubled it and stuffed it at the bottom of her purse or somewhere in her car.
The front door opened. West and Beck walked in, returning from a day at the office. They stopped when they spotted him.
West appeared unkempt, his hair sticking out in spikes, his shirt unbuttoned to the center of his chest and a rip in one of his sleeves. Beck was just as unkempt, but he had lipstick on his collar.
“What’s wrong?” they demanded in unison.
“I’m dying of hunger,” Jase replied, and it was true—just not the kind of hunger they might think. “What’s up with you guys? Something happen?”
A muscle jumped in Beck’s jaw. “You don’t want to know.”
“I went to a bar,” West said, defensive. “Big deal.”
“You also punched me while I was making out with your waitress,” Beck said.
“Only the second and third time. You kept drinking the shots she brought me.”
“None of which you needed.”
“And you did?”
“Boys,” Jase said. “Brook Lynn is cooking our dinner. Don’t scare her away.” Please. He needed her afterward.