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.
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,
