[English] THE CLOSER YOU COME (Gần bên anh)

The Closer You Come
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The words reverberated in her head, the burn returning to her cheeks. “I mean,” she added, “what skills do you think I bring to the table?” She’d graduated high school, sure—barely. After her mother died, she’d stopped caring about her grades. And after Uncle Kurt left, she’d been too busy working any odd job she could find, trying to make money and remove some of the burden from Jessie Kay’s shoulders. Delivering newspapers and running errands for her neighbors hadn’t exactly allowed her to build a sought-after skill set.

Jase thought for a moment, sighed. “You’re loyal and dedicated, two of my favorite things. In an employee,” he was quick to add.

Her brow furrowed as she considered his words. “How do you know I’m loyal and dedicated? This is only our third conversation.”

His expression said do we really need to get into that?

No, she supposed they didn’t. The answer was simple. The way she chased after Jessie Kay.

“I’ll pay you five hundred dollars a week,” he said.

What! Did he expect her to hand over a kidney, too? Did she care? The greatest opportunity of her life had just presented itself on a maple-syrup-soaked breakfast platter. And, really, the job would be easy. A basic fetch and carry, with a little of this and that on the side. Baking? Getting rid of one-night stands?

Done, done and done. With a smile.

But she couldn’t rush into anything, had to chat with her sister, weigh the pros and cons. “I need a day to think about it,” she said.

He nodded, as if he’d expected such a response. “Call me tomorrow.”

“I’ll need your—”

“My number is already programmed into your phone.”

Uh... “How is it programmed into my phone? I didn’t add it.”

“No, you didn’t. But I did.”

How— Oh! There was no pass code to safeguard her list of contacts—because she couldn’t afford a new phone and had to make due with an old flip.

Her hands curled into fists. “You had no right to do that.”

“Delete it, then,” he replied, shrugging. “Whatever.”

“Delete what?” Jessie Kay strolled into the kitchen, looking as fresh as a daisy. No sign of a hangover, which hardly seemed fair. She patted Jase’s behind as she passed him, saying, “Hey, handsome. You sure are looking good this morning.”

His lips almost—almost—deepened into a scowl as he backed away from her. Did he ever feel anything? Really feel?

“What?” Jessie Kay asked with an unrepentant grin. “Just appreciating the machinery. Nothing wrong with that.”

Brook Lynn battled an intense surge of jealousy at the thought—

Jealousy? No, no. Indigestion. Almost definitely for sure there was a chance indigestion was all it was. “There’s food for you on the table,” she said, and her sister immediately changed directions. “After you eat, Jase will drive you home.” The indigestion grew worse. “Stay there. Please. After my shift at Edna’s, we need to talk.”

You were supposed to go see your doctor and ask out Brad today.

Well, crap. Forget the doctor and Brad. Forget the fun list. Opening lines of communication with Jessie Kay was far more important. How would her sister react to Jase’s job offer? Happy for her? Envious?

“Dude,” Jessie Kay said. “Don’t we have a shift at the restaurant tonight?”

As if she cared. Heck, as if she really would have shown up.

“News flash. We got fired.”

“What?”

“Mr. Calbert fired us. He said he couldn’t rely on us anymore.”

“Us? Or me?”

“Both of us. I got looped in because I couldn’t hack double shifts all the time.”

“Well, he did us a favor. I did us a favor.” Her sister shrugged. Actually shrugged. “That job sucked donkey balls.”

“Maybe, but we needed it.” Brook Lynn sighed. “Just...make sure you’re home when I get back from Edna’s. We need to talk about things. I mean it.”

“Sure, sure.” One slice of bacon vanished, then another, and her sister moaned with delight.

“I don’t think you heard me. You go home, you stay.”

Jessie Kay rolled her eyes. “I’m not a total slag. I said I’ll be there, so I’ll be there.”

“Like yesterday at work?”

“Extenuating circumstances.”

“Such as?”

“I’d lost most of my stomach lining and probably a lung.”

That was fair. “All right.” Brook Lynn allowed herself a final glance at Jase—those dark eyes were still locked on her. She shivered, cursed herself and her apparent weakness for the forbidden and left the house.

* * *

BROOK LYNN PARKED her car in a lot a few blocks from Rhinestone Cowgirl. Edna claimed the spaces in front of the shop needed to remain free for customers, but the truth was she considered Rusty an abomination.

She wasn’t wrong.

As the sun glared, Brook Lynn raced down the sidewalk. People she’d known her entire life waved and hollered out greetings.

“Running late?” Virgil Porter asked from his rocker. Though he owned Swat Team 8—we assassinate fleas, ticks, silverfish, ****roaches, bees, ants, mice and rats—he often sat with the owner of Style Me Tender Salon across the street from the jewelry store, playing checkers.

“Unfortunately,” she replied. In a town this small, everyone knew everyone else’s schedule.

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“Explains why Edna was pacing the sidewalk, telling everyone who passed you’d broken her heart,” Mr. Rodriguez said. He gave the best buzz cut in a twenty-mile radius. His only competition, Rhett Walker, gave what Mr. Rodriguez referred to as “bootleg butchers” in his mother’s garage.

“Edna’s going with a broken heart?” Peachy. Usually, whenever Brook Lynn messed up, she went with betrayed trust.

Brook Lynn flew through the shop doors so late she’d missed more time than she would actually work, a horror of horrors for a perpetual early bird.

“I’m so sorry, Edna.”

The owner of the RC leaned against the counter and crossed her arms.

Brook Lynn expected to be scolded, wanted to be—deserved it—but in the ensuing minutes Edna somehow made her feel as if she’d dropped an H-bomb on the town.

Oh, the guilt trip.

“Do you know how many frantic calls I had to deal with this morning, people wondering if I was going out of business?” Edna asked.

“No, ma’am.”

“Two!”

Wow. That many?

“It ruined my entire morning, Brook Lynn—you ruined it. And after everything I’ve done for you.”

“I’m sorry, Edna,” she said again. “I promise to bring you a Swiss enchilada casserole tomorrow. Your favorite.”

Edna dabbed at eyes that weren’t even close to watery. “You were once my favorite, too. I loved you like the daughter I never had.” Edna had always been one of those people who craved the sympathy hardship bought her and milked every situation to her advantage. “It’s like my heart is breaking right inside my chest.”

“You actually have a daughter,” Brook Lynn pointed out.

“Yes, but she’s such a disappointment. You never were...until today.”

Ouch.

Edna puttered around the shop, dusting display cases that didn’t need to be dusted. She was a short, round woman with miraculously unlined skin and a pretty crop of silver hair. Her cheeks were always rosy, and to be honest, she could have passed for Mrs. Santa Claus...until she opened her mouth.

“Caroline moved to the city to attend massage school, you know,” Edna continued, stuck on the topic of her daughter. “Never mind the fact that I have back pain and could use a healing touch every now and then.”

Brook Lynn faded in and out of the ensuing lecture about giving being better than taking, offering the occasional “Mmm-hmm” and “You’re so right.” Heard this a thousand times before. But at least they were back on familiar territory.

Then the words “If you’re serious about buying this shop one day...” caught her attention.

“I am,” she rushed to reply.

“Yes, but if you’re truly serious—”

“I truly am.”

“I mean truly, truly serious, then you’ll show up on time,” Edna said with a sharp stare. “Every. Single. Day.”

“Absolutely.” Brook Lynn would offer no excuses for today’s tardiness. She’d heard too many over the years and had learned to hate them.

They had it coming, baby girl. Always courtesy of Uncle Kurt.

Dude. I had to. That beer was calling my name. Always courtesy of Jessie Kay.

So, even though this was one of Brook Lynn’s first official offenses at the RC, she made no effort to defend herself. “I promise you it won’t happen again.”

Edna released a long-suffering sigh. “We’ll see.”

“I’d be happy to stay super late to make up for it.”

“That might be a start.” Edna gathered her purse and strolled to the front door, saying, “I’m headed to my new book club. We’re deciding whether to call ourselves The Strawberry Bookcakes or Strawberry Fields of Books.” She gave another heavy sigh before saying, “I’m not sure I’ll recover if I missed the vote.”

More guilt. “Which one are you voting for?”

“Not sure yet,” she replied and disappeared outside.

“If you don’t know,” Brook Lynn muttered, knowing Edna would never hear, “why do you even care which name is picked?”

The next few hours passed without incident...or a single customer. As Brook Lynn gathered her tools to create a spectacular necklace for the window display case, sure to draw the eye of those passing by, she phoned Kenna to tell her about Jase’s job offer, keeping her phone on speaker to save herself from having to press the device against her implants.

“Are you going to take it?” her friend asked.

“Yes. No. Oh, I don’t know.”

“He’s offering a lot of money.”

“Yes.” She could be debt free in a little over two years. The impossible finally made possible.

“So what’s the problem?” Kenna asked. “Do you think there’s more to the job than he told you?”

“Like washing and ironing the clothes his myriad lovers leave scattered on the floor? Yes.”

Crackling silence over the line before Kenna chuckled softly. “What is that I hear in your tone? Is that jealousy?”

“What? No!” More calmly she repeated, “No. I’ve been battling indigestion today.”

“Indigestion. I see.”

“You see? What do you think you see, Miss Starr?”

Sweet, tinkling laughter echoed. “I see fun times ahead—for me. By the way, I’ve booked an appointment at some place in the city for you and Jessie Kay to try on bridesmaid dresses. And I will, of course, reimburse you for any time off work—” A gasp. A low, needy moan. A giggle. “Dane. Stop.”

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Well, well. Her fiancé had arrived. Never far from her side.

A pang of envy as the man whispered, “I’ll stop when you’ve given me everything I want,” and oh, wow, his voice was so low, so hot, even Brook Lynn shivered.

I want a happily-ever-after like theirs. Surely I’ve earned one.

“Brook Lynn,” Kenna said, breathless.

“You’ve got to go. I know. Love you.”

“Love you, too. But oh, oh. Wait a sec. I meant to tell you I would be eternally grateful if you would make me a smoked chicken salad sandwich with fresh-baked bread...like, tonight for dinner, maybe? Because you love me and want me happy. I’ve got a craving.”

“You’ve always got a craving.” When they’d lived together, Kenna had left little sticky notes all over the house, begging for this or that sandwich.

“She meant to ask for two sandwiches.” Dane’s voice shot over the line.

“I meant two sandwiches,” Kenna said. “I can have the ingredients waiting at your house and pick the sandwiches up later...”

“You know I can’t resist your pleas,” she said.

“You’re the best!”

“I know.” Click.

Brook Lynn sighed, wondering if she should rethink her plan to stop by Brad’s auto shop after work and just do it, live a little. Her shoulders drooped. No, he still didn’t rate higher than her conversation with her sister. Or, for that matter, Jase’s job offer. Or her sister’s lack of employment. Or past-due notices. Fingers crossed she and Jessie Kay discussed everything without a single argument.

She still wasn’t sure how her sister would react to finding out her lover—her onetime lover—had asked Brook Lynn for help. As if she’d been rejected by him—again?

Can’t do that to her.

Well, then, decision made. As easy as that.

Tomorrow, she would find another second job. Virgil at Swat Team 8 had just lost Kenna and might be willing to take a chance on Brook Lynn. He wouldn’t pay nearly as much as Jase, but killing bugs might be better for her state of mind than killing the hopes and dreams of his scorned lovers. Plus, the job wouldn’t hurt her sister’s feelings. It also wouldn’t test Brook Lynn’s resolve to avoid the most delicious of temptations.

And he was delicious, wasn’t he? Still wrong for her, and nothing her life needed, but 100 percent melt-in-your-mouth delicious. And kind of emotionless. What was up with that?

Doesn’t matter. Not my problem.

At the end of her shift, she drove straight home, more convinced by the minute that she’d made the right decision. But Jessie Kay’s car wasn’t in the driveway, and she wasn’t inside the house.

Brook Lynn baked the sandwiches for Kenna and Dane, and chatted with the pair for half an hour when they came to collect the food.

She had made sandwiches for Jessie Kay and herself, as well, and wanted to eat them together, but as she waited for her sister to return, one hour bleeding into two, hunger got the better of her and she ****d, devouring her own.

She watched two old episodes of The Walking Dead. She paced the living room, watched another episode of The Walking Dead and practiced severely cool head-chopping moves. And...still there was no sign of her sister.

Finally she could stand it no more and texted:

Where R U?

Duuuuude, her sister replied. Lost my phone. Will call U when I find it!

UR srsly telling me U can’t find UR phone? she texted back, wanting to scream You’re using it right now! How drunk R U?

Only had a few, swear! But sis! Sis! My liver was a bad girl 2day NEEDED 2 B punished.

Attached was a photo of Jessie Kay and her favorite partner in crime, Sunny Day.

Sunny’s parents had probably thought “so cute” when they’d come up with the name. Brook Lynn’s verdict? So not.

The two were in quintessential selfie mode—Jessie Kay was bent over, lips parted in a perfect O, while Sunny held a paddle at her bottom. Sweat dotted both of their brows. From dancing? Probably. Men stood all around them, practically drooling.

Another text came in, the misspellings out of control.

Knw eve prom 2 all bt came we postpo? Plese?? Pleas???????

Translation: know we promised to talk, but can we postpone? Please? Please?

Beads of anger rolled through Brook Lynn. From the moment their father died, she’d done her best to protect her sister from any sort of emotional pain. She’d even upped her already stellar efforts after their mother died. And this was the result?

Brook Lynn had known she needed to change her ways, but this just cinched it. If she wanted different results, she had to do something different. And she would start by refusing to coddle Jessie Kay.

Yay! a part of her cheered. Finally.

She wouldn’t feel guilty about this. She wouldn’t! She’d had enough.

She scrolled to Jase’s number in her address book. After only two rings, he answered, the roughness of his voice greeting her, bypassing the usual hello, how are you and getting right to business. “Nice to hear from you, Brook Lynn.”

Shivers danced through her. This is stupid, dangerous for my peace of mind. But she said, “I’ll take the job,” before she could talk herself out of it. “Most days I can be there shortly after noon, but tomorrow I can’t make it till two. After my shift at Rhinestone Cowgirl I have a personal errand.” Her doctor was good about getting her in whenever she had a spare hour. Because yes, she was sticking with the birth-control part of her plan no matter what.

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“Two is good.” His breath crackled over the line. “I’m looking forward to seeing you.” Something about his tone...

It was deep as always, but it sounded like...a promise? Or a warning?

“Me, too,” she whispered.

CHAPTER SIX

JASE MIGHT HAVE made the biggest mistake of his life. Then again, he’d done nothing illegal and wouldn’t end up in prison, so...

Nope. Somehow this was still a top contender for Worst Mistake Ever.

As another knock sounded at his front door, this one faster and louder, he trudged into the entryway. He knew Brook Lynn waited on his porch, eager to begin her first day as his “assistant.” Eager...dreading—little difference.

What the hell am I going to do with an assistant?

It was the last thing he needed or wanted. Until she’d mentioned the loss of her second job. He’d hated the thought of her struggling to find another, one that might not pay as well, then working herself to the bone and slogging her way into an early grave.

He’d tried to prepare himself for his first boss-employee encounter with her, but a man couldn’t ever really prepare for torture. And that was exactly what the situation would be. Somehow, she made him feel as if he’d been stripped and strapped to a rack, his chest carved open and his every nerve ending exposed.

And I signed myself up for a daily dose.

Tense, girding himself for impact, he opened the door—the sight of her utterly stole his breath. Silky hair hung around her shoulders in gleaming, platinum waves. Wide, baby-doll eyes that should only ever sparkle with passion were now hardened with determination, but no less arresting. She wore no makeup, and he found he liked the natural rose flush on her cheeks, the golden tips at the ends of her lashes. Liked the sheen of moisture left on her lips as she traced her tongue over the plump bottom one.

That deep, throbbing ache kicked off in his chest, and he gnashed his molars in annoyance.

Feel nothing. Want—

Screw that. He wanted something. He wanted her.

He simply wasn’t going to do anything about it.

Her T-shirt read Math Problems? Call 1-800-{(10x)(In{13el)]-[sin(xy)/2.362xl. A pair of faded jean shorts displayed the spectacular length of her legs to perfection. So did the scuffed, dirt-caked cowgirl boots.

Was his tongue hanging out? The girl could probably rock a garbage bag.

“Reporting for duty, sir,” she said, the words flippant...but the little tremor in her voice betrayed her agitation.

He remained in place, blocking her from entry. “First things first. What made you change your mind about working for me?” He’d wondered all night.

Her eyes narrowed, her lashes practically fusing together. “Maybe I used the eenie meenie miney moe method.”

“Do you also settle arguments by sticking out your tongue?” I shouldn’t be thinking about her tongue. “Never mind. Don’t answer.” He waved her inside.

She stopped in the living room and stuffed her hands in her pockets. “Are West and Beck here?” How hopeful she sounded.

Did she not want to be alone with him? Not irritated by that—thrilled. “West is in the city for business. Beck is out trying to find a place in town for him and West to set up shop.”

“And probably sleeping with his real-estate agent,” she mumbled. “What do West and Beck do, anyway?”

“Create different kinds of computer programs and games.” Jase was as far from tech savvy as possible. Being cut off from society for so long meant everything digital that was so commonplace for everyone else was alien to him. He wasn’t even sure how to use some of the apps West had put on his phone.

“Why don’t they just work from home?” she asked, her tone now reverent, as if working from home was a dream everyone entertained. “I mean, it’s not like they’re going to drum up a whole lot of business in Strawberry Valley.”

“They drum up business all over the world, wherever they are, but they aren’t their most productive while I’m making repairs on the house. Or so I’ve been told.” He motioned to the peeling wallpaper. “The boys are part of the reason so little has been done.”

Beck, far more than Jase and West, hated change—which was surprising, considering he changed lovers almost every night. Jase had to ease him into each and every home improvement. And West, well, he liked to plan every detail down to the studs—which usually took months.

“Ah.” Caught up in their conversation, Brook Lynn forgot to be leery and smiled up at him. The amusement brightened her entire face. “Gave you a verbal spanking for your noisemaking, did they?”

So bright...blinding me to everything else. Making the ache a thousand times worse.

“Nah, they know better than that,” he managed, rubbing the spot just over his heart. “I finally kicked them out so I could get started on the larger tasks.” Not because he’d wanted to be alone with Brook Lynn.

“Why don’t you work with them?” she asked. “Considering how close you guys are, I mean.”

“Cubicles and computers aren’t my bag.”

“Are you a silent partner, then? Is that how you guys met? Business?” She blinked and shook her head, as if she’d just realized something important. “You know what? Forget it.” She lifted her chin, squared her shoulders. “We might as well get started. What’s my first assignment?”

Good question.

He looked around, considering his choices. Something easy. Maybe something that required very little bending over—or a lot of bending over.

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He must have taken too long to reply, because she added, “How about I give you a detailed history of your house? It’s been in the Glass family for a million generations, but there is now only one Glass left. Harlow. She refused to get a job when her mom died, which is how you guys were able to snatch it up, I guess. She was the town bully once upon a time, before becoming a recluse. She’s a year older than me and still hangs around town, though no one knows where she’s living right now.”

Detailed history...or cautionary tale?

“I promise not to bully you. Now, start with the living room,” he said, “and end with the kitchen.” That way, she’d feel as though she’d contributed something to his day without actually straining herself. And he could make himself scarce so that he wouldn’t have to see any bending or not bending.

“You mean...clean them?”

“Spotlessly.”

She pursed her lips. “So I’m a maid, as suspected.”

“You’re an assistant.”

“An assistant who cleans your house.”

“Good for you. You catch on so quick.” He patted the top of her head and tried not to marvel at the silky softness of her hair—or to think about twining a lock in his fist and angling her head for better access to her lips.

What the hell was wrong with him? Since his release, he hadn’t kissed a woman. Not even the handful he’d bedded. Not because he thought kissing was anything special. It wasn’t. The less distraction, the better, especially while already vulnerable.

Brook Lynn neither stepped away from him nor batted his hand away. “It’s funny to me. You truly aren’t afraid to lose that hand,” she said, utterly calm. “But okay. Fine. Where are the supplies?”

“You’ll find everything you need under the kitchen sink. And now, I need to return to my own work.” He left her then, forcing himself to walk away.

What else could he say to her, really? Besides, getting chatty with her would be a huge mistake. Already she’d asked a question he hadn’t been prepared to answer. Is that how you guys met?

His past was his business and not a topic for conversation.

He shut himself outside, hoping the distance between them would help him relax. He only tensed further. It was almost as if he...missed her? Already? She was just so bright, a total contrast with his mind, which was always so dark. He felt drawn to her, and it both ramped him up and soothed him. It was difficult not to crave her presence.

Had to be the summer heat. Yeah. Definitely the heat. The air was thick with humi***y, already stifling. He removed his shirt and picked up his hammer. He’d finished repairs on the shed just before Brook Lynn arrived, knowing it was always best to ensure his tools had a proper place for storage before he took on any other projects. Without tools, a man couldn’t work. Without work, Jase would have to listen to his own thoughts.

He labored on the house for an hour...two...replacing slats on the shutters. His gaze constantly strayed to the kitchen window, his desperation to catch a glimpse of Brook Lynn maddening but undeniable. The first time she appeared, he struck his thumb with the hammer and had to choke down a curse. He was grateful she never glanced in his direction.

When he finished with the shutters, he moved on to siding, removing and replacing damaged panels. Sweat continually poured from him and had he been alone, he would have stripped bare and jumped in the pool he’d repaired the first week he’d moved here.

What would Brook Lynn think about skinny-dipping?

She’d let him know, that was for sure. Girl was opinionated. He didn’t have to wonder where he stood with her, a trait he liked. In prison, inmates smiled to his face and stabbed at his back. In a few of his foster homes, parents laughed with him at lunch and had hushed, closed-door conversations about him after dinner.

Not that every moment of his life had been terrible. There’d been good times. A lot of good times. With Beck and West. Tessa. Daphne. A few foster families. But the bad times had been so damn bad, they often completely eclipsed the good. Could he even remember the last time he’d laughed?

What had Brook Lynn’s childhood been like? She seemed well-adjusted, if a little overly concerned with her sister. Straitlaced. Normal. The kind of girl who would fear a guy like him, once she discovered the truth. He wouldn’t be able to blame her.

Keeping her at a distance was now his only defense.

Tomorrow he had a meeting with his new parole officer and— Jase stiffened as problems crystallized. Brook Lynn wouldn’t understand a day off so soon. And what if his parole officer ever came for a surprise home visit while she was here?

Damn it, he should have thought this through. Now it was too late.

He’d give her the list of supplies he’d planned to pick up. She could— No, she couldn’t. Her beater of a car wouldn’t be able to hold pipes and wood planks and boxes of marble. He didn’t even want her trying to carry those things.

He’d tell Beck to let her borrow the truck. And for Beck to go with her, do all the heavy lifting.

Jase stiffened all over again. He didn’t like the thought of Brook Lynn and Beck spending time together. Alone. In a cramped space.

“Thirsty?”

Her voice startled him, and he almost reintroduced his thumb to the hammer. Damn it! He never lost awareness of his surroundings. He’d trained himself to listen for every incoming footstep, every whisper of movement. That kind of OCD diligence had saved his life on more than one occasion.

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In an act of self-preservation, he threw the hammer in the toolbox. As he climbed down the ladder and faced her, this new bane of his existence, she held a glass of ice water out for him.

The thoughtful gesture unnerved him. “Thank you,” he muttered and drained the contents. The chill of the liquid soothed the dry heat in his throat.

“You’re welcome.” She took the empty glass from him and stepped away. “So...three women have already come to the door looking for Beck.”

“So few?” And what do you think of Beck, Miss Dillon? He looked her over, noticing the streak of dirt on her cheek, the smudges of grease on her shirt. So adorable. “How old are you?” he asked then flinched at the accusation in his tone.

Most women would have glared at him. She didn’t miss a beat. “Twenty-five. What about you?”

“Twenty-eight.” Considering he had the life experience of a gutter rat, he felt decades older.

“Have you ever been married?” she asked.

There was only one reason the answer would matter to her, and it caused him to shoot harder than those steel pipes he was going to ask her to buy.

“No,” he rasped. “No wife.” He’d had a few girlfriends before Daphne, but nobody nearly as serious.

Daphne had seemed to accept him just as he was...until his sentence was handed down, and she realized she’d have to live without him for almost a decade—more than that, he wouldn’t be the same when he got out. He’d be different. An ex-con. Harder. Probably mean as hell. Teenagers never fared well behind bars.

He’d begged her to stick around, to trust him, promising to be whatever she needed the day they were reunited. Part of him had still been a little boy, desperate to hold on to some kind of family.

She’d sobbed while she’d walked away, but she’d still walked. He’d cursed her, apologized, begged some more. She hadn’t turned around, hadn’t even slowed. It had hurt then, and yeah, it still hurt now, but he saw it for what it was. Self-preservation. He couldn’t blame her for that.

Had life treated her well? Hell, maybe she was married with a dozen kids. Maybe not.

What would he say to her, if he saw her again? You were the best thing to happen to me. I miss you.

Was that still true? And would the man he had become even appeal to her? If she found out some of the things he’d endured throughout the years...would she react as fearfully as he suspected Brook Lynn would?

“Jase?”

Brook Lynn’s voice, gentle now, summoned him out of the dark mire of his head. He blinked and found her standing directly in front of him, her cool, dainty palm resting on his knotted shoulder. His hands were fisted, he realized, his nails cutting into his skin. Razors seemed to have grown in his nose and lungs, turning every breath into an act of torture.

Steady. When his gaze met hers, she dropped her arm and backed away.

“So...uh...yeah. I’ve finished the living room and kitchen.” She ran her bottom lip between her teeth, suddenly nervous. “What would you like me to do next?”

Put your hand on me again. Never let go. “Nothing.” He cleared his throat. “Go home.” Before I do something stupid.

“But I’ve only worked three hours.”

Only, she’d said. “Your check isn’t contingent on the number of hours you’re here, honey. Simply on doing what I say.”

She shook her head, saying, “Why don’t I clean the bathrooms?”

He did not like the thought of this girl scrubbing toilets. “No bathrooms.”

“Bathrooms,” she insisted. “Then I’ll wash up and cook dinner. Unless you have plans?”

He bristled. “No bathrooms. No dinner.”

“I’ll take that to mean ‘no plans.’”

“If you want to do something, clean the garage.”

“Great. I will. After I take care of the bathrooms.” With a saccharine-sweet smile, she skipped into the house.

“Stay away from the bathrooms. That’s an order, Brook Lynn,” he called. “My word is law.”

She waved at him through the glass door...and might have also flipped him off.

Did she think she could do whatever she wanted without consequences?

Well, she would have to be taught differently.

Anticipation zinged through him, so strong it was almost a shock to his system.

Boom!

The noise sent Jase to the ground, already reaching for the hammer, the closest weapon. Sweat beaded at his temples, trickled down, and he had trouble catching his breath—until the purr of a car engine registered, and he realized a vehicle had simply backfired.

He lumbered to unsteady legs. His heartbeat refused to calm, bucking in his chest like a horse trapped in a stall.

It’s okay. I’m okay.

At the end of the day, feelings didn’t matter. They were unreliable. He chose to believe he was okay, so that would be that.

Once he regained his composure, he toiled over the shingles. A few more hours passed, and he somehow managed to maintain his focus until Brook Lynn stuck her head out the door.

“I spilled cleaner on myself. I need a shower and a shirt,” she said. “Would it be okay for me to use your bathroom and dig through your closet?”

Just like that, she fried what was left of his brain. A thousand cars could have backfired, and he wouldn’t have noticed.

Shower—she would be naked. Water—it would drip down her body, catching in all the places he longed to lick. A towel—the cloth would rub all over her curves, caressing her skin. His shirt—something that had touched his bare skin would soon cling to hers, his scent fusing with hers.

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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. ***y. 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.

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Clean the entire house. Even the rooms you cleaned today. All except for the game room, which you are to avoid. Did you get that, Miss Lynn? AVOID.

Grocery shop. At least two carts’ worth.

Bake three cakes—one for every owner of the home. There WILL be a taste test.

Wash the windows. Even the hard-to-reach ones.

Wash and fold the laundry.

She shuddered, wondering if he sorted his laundry like most other men—“filthy” and “filthy but wearable”—and wondering why she wasn’t horrified by the thought of handling his underwear.

Iron everything in my closet.

Rearrange the furniture in the living room. Lady’s choice. Take a picture, then put everything back the way it was.

Stack the wood outside. Never know when a cold front will come in.

The slam of a door startled her, and she glanced up, her heart beating in time to the newcomer’s pounding footsteps. Had Jase returned?

Beck rounded the corner, flooding her with disappointment. No, no. Not disappointment. Relief. Of course.

He drew up short when he noticed her—and grinned. “Well, well. My Christmas present came early this year. West scheduled a late night out, and Jase is obviously gone, considering his car is missing, so it’s just you and me, all alone. Whatever should we do?”

Flirting? Really? He probably couldn’t even help himself, it was so ingrained. While Jase had showered, two other women had come knocking, wanting to speak with “my Beck.” They’d also demanded to know who the hell Brook Lynn was and what the hell she was doing in My Beck’s house. The blatant hostility had merely amused her.

“I don’t know if Jase told you,” she said, “but he hired me to be his assistant.” Maid. “And then he had to go...somewhere.”

“An assistant, huh?” Beck pointed at her, waving his finger to indicate her entire head. “You should probably wear glasses and put your hair in a bun.”

“Why?”

“For the role-play. Fully committing to your character makes all the difference.”

She nearly choked on her tongue. “We are not role-playing. I really am his assistant.” Maid.

“If you say so.”

“I do. And now I’m leaving. Office hours are officially over.”

Beck held out an arm, stopping her from passing. “Hold on a sec, pretty. Your car isn’t parked out front.”

“That’s good, because I walked.” There was no reason to use up precious gas when this house was only a mile—or three—from Rhinestone Cowgirl.

He gaped at her. “So...Jase left without giving you a ride?”

“Clearly.” Or were they talking about role-playing again? In which case the answer would still be the same. “I’ll be fine,” she said.

“You sure will, because I’ll be driving you to your car.” Beck scanned the kitchen and sniffed. “After I eat. Something smells amazing, and I’m not just talking about you.”

Good to know. “Hungry?” she asked.

“Starved, actually.”

She placed the casserole in the oven. “It’ll be ready for consumption in twenty to thirty minutes.”

“Just enough time for a shower.” He undid the top button of his shirt. “Looks like you could use one, too. Why don’t we conserve water and do it together?”

“I would rather be stabbed in the kneecaps before walking on hot coals.”

“So...maybe next time?”

“Maybe never.”

“Your loss.” He winked at her before disappearing around the corner. A door shut.

Another knock sounded from the living room. Another of Beck’s women?

With a sigh, she strode to the foyer—and found Jessie Kay on the porch.

“What are you doing here?” Brook Lynn asked with a frown. Her sister had been too hungover this morning to chat about the new job.

“What are you doing here?” Jessie Kay removed her sunglasses and stepped inside without an invitation.

“I work here. Something I would have liked to discuss with you.”

The statement of fact was met with a glower. “Was that last night?”

“You know it was.”

“Well, did you account for Jessie Kay Standard Time?”

Meaning, what Jessie Kay agreed on shouldn’t ever be counted on, and it was Brook Lynn’s bad for assuming otherwise. “No. I actually thought you’d keep your word for once.”

“Then this is on you.”

Brook Lynn shook a fist in front of her sister’s face. “You are such a pain.”

“As if that’s news.” Jessie Kay flipped her hair and shifted from one foot to the other. “So, where’s Jase? I brought him a seven-course meal. Me...and this.” She held up a six-pack of beer.

She was still interested in him? Stomach twisting. “He’s out, but that shouldn’t matter because you two aren’t dating. I told you what he said. He isn’t looking for a relationship.”

“Oh, my darling sis. What do you call a man with only half a brain? Gifted. Jase doesn’t actually know what he wants. I’ve decided I have to show him.”

Stomach twisting harder. “You’re wrong. Jase knows what he wants.” It wasn’t her sister...and it wasn’t her.

Jessie Kay stared her down and glowered. “What’s with you today? Why are you so snappy?”

“Just because.” Because she was tired and hungry and sore, and Jase had been rude, and she didn’t know where he was or what he was doing—didn’t know who he was doing. And it wasn’t her business. She was his employee and would never be anything more. She shouldn’t want to be anything more.

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“What’d Jase hire you for, anyway?” Jessie Kay asked, running a fingertip along the top edge of a chair. “What is it he needs?”

“Help around the house.” From someone just desperate enough to agree to slave labor.

“So you’re his maid?”

“Executive assistant. Now, go home. Please. And actually wait there this time. I’ll be right behind you, and we’ll talk about everything that’s happened.”

Jessie Kay protested.

“One,” Brook Lynn said.

Her sister hurried onto the porch. “Dude. You are such a pain.”

“I know. We can discuss that, too, if you so desire.” She shut the door. In the kitchen, she waited for the casserole to finish baking, and when it did, she placed the sizzling dish on top of the stove before writing a note to Beck. Short and sweet.

Had to leave, BL

Outside, darkness had fallen, the only light spilling from the porch. She switched her implants to a lower setting, allowing more sound than usual to filter into her ears. Despite the discomfort, she needed to be able to pick up on certain noises, like the snap of twigs or the grunt of the undead. She clutched her industrial-size hand sanitizer close to her chest the entire trek, making it to the RC parking lot without incident—

Only to find Jase standing beside her car, his own parked behind it. He looked as if he’d just stepped out of a violent windstorm. His hair was disheveled, his clothes wrinkled and askew.

Had he tangled with a tornado?

When he spotted her, he crossed his arms over his chest.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her heart pounding wildly.

“Beck called me. Said you’d taken off...that you were walking. Alone.”

And that was a crime? “He didn’t lie.”

Motions clipped, he opened her door for her. “If I don’t like you walking out of Two Farms at night, what makes you think I’d like you walking three miles through a forest and down a darkened street?”

Had Jase feared for her safety? “Well...”

“Do not ever leave my house on foot again, Brook Lynn. Do you understand?”

All she could do was blink over at him. “Or what?” Seriously. She wanted to know.

“Or...” He cursed under his breath. “You’ll get a very stern lecture. Now go home and drive safely.” He climbed inside his own car and backed away from hers, but he didn’t speed away. No, he waited until she was sealed inside her own vehicle.

“He’s a closet gentleman,” she muttered, awed by that fact. Yes, he’d done other nice things for her. Helping her search for Jessie Kay. The job. The pay. But for the most part, he was emotionally closed off or running hot and cold, and he seemed to care about nothing.

Who was the real Jase?

She waved as she passed him, even smiled. He didn’t wave back, and he definitely didn’t smile. But he did follow her home and take off the moment she made it inside.

She had no idea what to think about this new revelation of his character...actions mean more than words...but she would be lying if she claimed she wasn’t looking forward to their next interaction.

CHAPTER SEVEN

JASE’S MEETING WITH his parole officer had gone better than expected. He’d been placed on unsupervised parole, which meant there would be no more monthly meetings and fewer random drug tests. He could mail in his dues and wouldn’t be subjected to monthly inquisitions about his activitiesCHAPTER ONE finances and future plans.

Almost over. Less than six months to go.

Finally. An end in sight.

Jase longed for the days he would no longer have scheduled reminders of a youth spent behind bars and the reason he’d been sent there. Or of all the times he’d been placed in the shoe, forced to spend twenty-three hours of every day by himself, locked inside a too-small room, his “good days” taken away from him.

In prison, every thirty days of excellent behavior earned an inmate forty-four days off his sentence, while every infraction meant those days were tacked back on. Needless to say, he’d had a lot of infractions.

He now sat on the sidelines of a field, watching West and Beck coach the Strikers, a youth soccer team the two had sponsored long before earning enough money to actually do so, made up of boys and girls trapped in the system, whether through foster care or simple financial aid.

“Edward, my man,” West called from one of the goals. “That’s the way. You’re doing great.”

A little girl approached him and asked a question. West listened intently before demonstrating the proper way to kick a ball. Beck—who loved playing soccer but had always hated being teased about his name—was currently helping a redheaded boy improve his goalie skills.

Jase envied his friends. He would have loved to share his own knowledge of the game, to actually make a difference in someone’s life, but these kids had dealt with enough crap. They didn’t need the hassle an ex-con would bring to the table. And as soon as their guardians learned about his past, there would be a hassle and he would be asked to leave.

“Which one is yours?” A thirtysomething brunette placed her lawn chair next to his.

He spared her a brief glance, noticed the yellow sundress hugging generous curves—but he wasn’t even close to tempted. “I’m friends with the coaches. Just waiting for them to finish up.”

“Ah. The coaches the mothers can’t stop talking about. I swear, more moms watch the Strikers practice than any other team on the planet.”

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He nodded, saying nothing else. Encouraging a conversation of any sort wouldn’t be wise. Mistakes were the stepping-stones to ruin, and Jessie Kay had taken him too far down that path already.

Brook Lynn, on the other hand—

Would only take him further, he decided. He’d tossed and turned most of the night, images of her in his shower, naked, wet, using his soap and his shampoo, playing on a continuing loop in his mind. This morning he’d woken up on the verge of climax and gasping her name. Knowing how soft her skin was and just how sweet she tasted would likely turn him into a frothing-at-the-mouth he-beast with only one goal: sinking inside her no matter the cost.

Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing, though. Maybe he would forget her afterward, just like he’d forgotten so many others.

Stop rationalizing, seeking permission.

“Go, Johnny, go!” the woman beside him called. “Yes! Yes! That’s the way. Oh, baby, I’m so proud of you.”

It was clear she loved her son, and a pang of envy hit Jase. He’d been six years old when his mother had packed up and abandoned him in a crumbling, run-down apartment, knowing she would soon be evicted. Days had passed before the super found him.

Being a parent wasn’t a responsibility he would ever want or welcome, but he was damn sure he’d never abandon his own child like that.

“Good going, Ryan,” Beck called.

If anyone would understand his issues about childhood abandonment, it was Beck. The guy’s mom had taken off soon after his birth, and the father he’d rarely ever seen had left him with one aunt after another before signing away his parental rights and moving out of state without even saying goodbye.

How could parents be so uncaring? How could people be so cruel?

Like I have the right to judge anyone.

A sudden prickling at the back of his neck had his gaze darting here and there. Some part of him must have sensed danger his eyes hadn’t yet found. A handful of parents loitered nearby... A man a little younger than him leaned against a car parked at the curb, shading his eyes with his hands as he watched the field... A snow-cone stand had a line of kids from other teams. No one watched him. No one looked to be packing heat.

Jase forced himself to relax. He wasn’t in danger at a freaking Little League practice.

A whistle blew, and Strikers scattered across the field, returning to their parents. West and Beck began picking up cones and balls. Jase rolled his shoulders in an effort to loosen the knots forming there before standing and jogging to the field to help.

He reached Beck, and they bumped fists.

“How’d the meeting go?” Beck asked, stuffing the cones in a bag.

“Better than expected. I’ve been upgraded to unsupervised.”

“Dude,” his friend said, sounding like anything but a millionaire businessman.

“I know.”

They shared a quick grin.

West dumped a basket of soccer balls into the bag. “I need a picture of the two of you in this moment. I’ll create a GIF and tag it with the phrase I Just Found Out I’m Awesome. You Might Want to Get Yourself Tested.”

“It’s funny because it’s true,” Beck said with a nod.

“My results would be negative.” Just like all the others, thank God. Jase had paid a visit to his doctor immediately after his release. He’d had a full workup done and received a clean bill of health. But months had since passed, and he’d been with multiple women. He’d used a condom with each of them, but maybe he should do another round of testing. Not because he had any interest in unprotected *** with anyone particular. Of course not. Never. Just for his own peace of mind.

“You guys ready?” West hefted the oversize bag behind his shoulder. “I’ve allotted myself two hours for lunch.”

“More than ready.” Beck kicked into gear. “I’m starved.”

West snorted. “You’re always starved.”

Deadpan, Beck said, “I also think I want to take two hours and eight minutes for lunch.”

West punched him in the shoulder. “Forget it.”

Jase drank in their easy camaraderie.

On the way to their cars, three moms blocked Beck’s retreat in an effort to “question” him about upcoming practices and games. Those need-answers-now questions sure were punctuated with a lot of giggling, but Beck responded as if the upcoming championship depended on the words that left his mouth. Somehow, despite his seriousness, he managed to flirt with each of them. But then, flirt was his default setting.

West glanced impatiently at the time on his phone. “Beck. Man. My two hours are already running down.”

“Pencil me in for another minute,” Beck said before returning to his convo with the women.

Jase didn’t stick around to hear the rest of the mating dance, but met the boys at their favorite dive. A hole-in-the-wall located in one of the rougher areas of Oklahoma City. Surrounded by government housing, with gang signs spray-painted on every wall and streets littered with potholes. His home turf.

They ate greasy burgers and heart-attack fries, and for a while, it was just like old times, when they had teased each other and laughed, nothing between them but a bond thicker than blood.

But the reprise didn’t last long. A clatter of breaking dishes sent Jase hopping to his feet, a butter knife clutched in his white-knuckled grip.

Horrific memories flashed through his mind. Memories that had been seared in his brain, a disease without a cure. Darkness he couldn’t shake. Inmates surrounding him, forming a wall so the guards couldn’t see what was happening. A cold shiv pressing into the back of his neck. His clothes...ripping...