The Closer You Come

Hard. As. A. Rock.

“That’s fine,” he gritted out.

“Thanks.” She vanished.

A few more hours passed, and he spent almost every minute imagining the things she was doing to herself. At last the sun began to set on the horizon, dusting the sky with a wealth of gold, pink and purple, drawing his full attention. He stopped what he was doing, utterly transfixed.

While locked away, he’d missed the simple things most. The everyday things he’d once taken for granted. Sunrises and sunsets. Holidays with his friends. The smell of fresh-baked bread and—

Fresh-baked bread?

He sniffed, and sure enough, he caught the telltale scent of yeast. His mouth watered. Almost in a trance, he made his way into the kitchen. Brook Lynn stood at the stove, stirring something in a pot, and oh...damn. Her hair was still damp from her shower, curling at the ends. The shirt she’d chosen read I’m In for the Win, and even though it was too big for her, she made it look like something out of a high-fashion magazine.

My every fantasy made flesh. She was gorgeous. Sexy. And completely within reach...

He rubbed at the newest ache in his chest.

And a meal made from scratch? That was something he’d never really had, even in foster care, where most of the dishes he’d eaten had come from boxes or cans.

Brook Lynn noticed him and waved the steam away from her face. “I hope this shirt isn’t one of your favorites.”

It is now. “No,” he managed.

“Good. I’m afraid I dribbled sauce on it. Oh, and I’m assuming you like cheesy chicken spaghetti and rolls because that’s all you had the groceries for.”

He had no idea if he liked them or not. He hadn’t even bought those groceries. They’d arrived yesterday, a gift from one of the women hoping to sleep with Beck a second time. “We’ll have to learn the answer together.”

“Well, you’re in for a treat,” she said, the heat flushing her cheeks to a deep rose. “Everything will be ready in forty-five minutes.”

A lump grew in his throat, and he wasn’t sure why. “I’m going to shower.” Desperate to escape her, he stalked to his bedroom, locked himself inside.

His bathroom smelled of disinfectant and gleamed like a diamond, and all he could do was curse. Damn that girl. She’d cleaned it, even though he’d forbidden it. Did I honestly expect anything less?

He showered quickly, toweled off and dressed. He moved toward the door, only to realize he wasn’t quite ready to face Brook Lynn. The urge to touch her still plagued him—and it was stronger than before. He wanted to shake her...then make everything better with his mouth.

Sick to his stomach, he sat down and wrote out a very long, very detailed list. Then, and only then, his mind centered on her upcoming chores, did he return to the kitchen; he placed the list, a wad of cash and a key on the counter.

Brook Lynn looked at everything, looked at him and arched a brow in question.

“Your chores for tomorrow,” he said, gazing past her. The ache in his chest bloomed with renewed force. “Also money to pay for the supplies, and a way into the house. I’ll be gone. Personal business.”

“Well, I am your personal assistant. Right?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I have to go.”

“Go?” she echoed. “Now?”

This minute. This second. “I...I’m sorry.” He strode out of the kitchen...out of the house, not turning back.

* * *

SHOCK HELD BROOK LYNN immobile. He’d left. He’d really left. Without telling her about his plans for the evening. Without tasting the food she’d slaved over. Without commenting on all her hard work.

Uncle Kurt had taught her a lot of things she would be better off not knowing, but there was one fact he’d unwittingly driven home. When actions contradicted words, actions won. Every time.

I love you, girls, Uncle Kurt had said. But leaving them destitute wasn’t an act of love.

Just now, Jase’s actions had said plenty. She wasn’t important to him. Her efforts weren’t important. But okay. All right. She wasn’t here for back pats and flattery. Show me the money. She had worked for grumpy, gruff Mr. Calbert, and she could work for—gorgeous—gruff Jase. Probably. Maybe.

At first, she’d hardly gotten anything done. She’d been too busy peeking out the windows, savoring the sight of him and his mighty hammer, trying to avoid his notice whenever he’d glanced her way. But then she’d somehow found the strength to force him out of her mind and buckle down. She’d cleaned as if the Lord Himself planned to come for a visit, no speck of dust left behind. And, surprise surprise, she’d enjoyed every moment of it, knowing she was making Jase’s life just a little bit better, the way he was making hers better. So of course, she’d started thinking about him again...about his strength, his tattoos and his hands...all the naughty things he could do with them.

Then she’d walked past his bedroom and remembered finding her sister in bed with him.

Anger and indignation had hit Brook Lynn, and part of her had even yearned to quit. If only giving up were in her nature. The other part of her had demanded she take a stand and let Jase know she was no pushover. He’d tried to baby her, which was why she’d disobeyed his orders. She’d expected a thank-you afterward, maybe even an admission that he’d been wrong. Hello, backfire.

She put the casserole in the fridge without baking it and left a note on the counter with heating instructions. She bagged the rolls, leaving an air pocket to prevent condensation, and finally read over his list—nearly fainting.