don’t believe in credit myself,” Brooke told her, noting the frilly bookmarks displayed on the counter, studying each one carefully. “It’s too easy to lose your head.”
Rita looked at Jason. “Isn’t it, though?”
This time Jason counted to ninety-nine in multiples of three. Still didn’t help.
After Rita handed the bag to Brooke, she smiled. “You’ll be staying with the Captain?”
“Oh, no,” Brooke laughed, as if the idea was ludicrous. “He’s my boss.”
Rita raised her brows. “Really?”
Brooke laughed again, not so quickly this time. “I needed a job, and he offered me a position at his house. Inventory. I think I’d like to organize things a bit better. It’s a little chaotic.” She pulled the package tight to her chest. “I’m new here. I’m trying to start off right. I know I’m a stranger, but I hope you’ll give me a chance.”
Seeing the sincerity in Brooke’s face, Rita thawed. Jason understood. “We don’t get much entertainment out here, so sometimes we make up our own.”
Brooke leaned in closer. “I know exactly what you mean. Maybe sometime I could come in and chat?”
Through the window, Jason could see the setting sun and he wanted nothing more than for this day to be through. “I think Rita wants to close up,” he told Brooke, in case she decided that now was a good time to chat.
Rita clucked her tongue. “They are always impatient, aren’t they?”
Brooke laughed and Jason hurried her out the door.
ON THE DRIVE BACK, Jason watched as Brooke took out her new shirt and laid it over her lap. Her fingers worked the buttons, and he realized that this was a woman who wasn’t used to a lot of clothes.
“I’m sorry about the sweater,” he apologized again, but this time, he felt like words weren’t enough.
“I wouldn’t have kept it,” she told him with a forgiving smile, as if it didn’t matter, but Jason knew she would have kept that sweater until she died. The right thing to do would be to buy her a new sweater. Something pretty. Something nice. Something extravagant.
“I’m sorry about what Rita was thinking,” he continued. Apparently, today was the day that apologies were flowing like wine. Sonya had always hated that he never apologized.
“She thought we were having sex. It’s not a big deal.” Brooke’s head was down, dark hair hiding her face from view.
“It wouldn’t be if it were true, but it’s not, so it is a big deal.” He sounded like the world’s biggest prude, but he didn’t mind. He didn’t know why he didn’t mind, but when Brooke smiled up at him, he knew he’d said the right thing.
“I can cook dinner for you if you like.”
Such nice words, such dangerous words. In the back of his head, Jason knew this wasn’t smart, but on the other hand, he didn’t want her to starve, either.
“I have a frozen pizza, not much else.” It wasn’t meant to be an invitation. But it was.
“A frozen pizza and a can of peas,” she reminded him with a smile that shot straight to places he’d rather not be thinking about right this second, but like a dog, he kept on thinking, anyway. He kept on panting, too, kept on remembering the sight of her perfect breasts.
A tiny voice urged him to take, but there was something in her eyes that held him back. He saw desire there, sure, but also he saw gratitude, and he felt as if he should lay out the ground rules before she did something they would both regret.
“Brooke?”
“Yes?”
Suddenly, a rabbit jumped across the road, and Jason swerved to avoid it. Brooke fell against him, her hand clutching his thigh, his engorged crotch.
Damn.
Quickly, her hand was gone, and Brooke shot to the opposite side of the bench seat. It was safer with her there.
Jason cleared his throat. “This is a very small town, and there are a lot of behaviors that are frowned upon.”
She glanced at him, a provocative smile on her provocative mouth. He wanted to taste that provocative mouth.
“Are we having the sex talk?” she asked.
“It’s not a sex talk,” he protested, then rubbed his face where his scar was starting to throb. “It’s more of an anti-sex talk. This is a dangerous situation and I know you think you’re attracted to me but, hell, Brooke. I don’t want a woman in my bed because I bought her a shirt.”
It was the wrong thing to say because off came her shirt. Jason tried desperately not to stare at the twin mounds of taut flesh. Failed. “Can we please wear our clothes?”
She turned, offering her breasts before him like some buffet plate. “It’s your shirt and you think I want to sleep with you because you gave me a shirt. Ergo, no shirt. No problem.”
His mouth grew dry, his cock started to ache and his foot was pushing as hard as it could on the gas. “Put on the shirt.”
She grinned and ran a hand through her hair, dark against her perfect ivory skin. “No.”
“Please,” he asked nicely, hearing the crack in his voice.
“No. I’m an adult, capable of following the call of my loins, and if your shirt is going to get in the way…”
Jason kept his eyes on the road, but it didn’t help distract him from his desire for her. Up ahead he could see his long, gravel drive. His bed, her laying across his bed, wearing nothing but him.
“Brooke,” he tried again, not looking. Damn. He was looking. The woman had the most perfect set of breasts on the planet, and apparently she wasn’t shy about showing them off.
This was probably how Hart got in trouble with her. They were probably somewhere in Vegas, she pulled off her shirt and kapow. Circuits were fried, good intentions were lost and sex was had. Halfway up the drive, he slammed on the brakes because he needed clothes on her before they made it to the house. In the truck, there were rules, gear-shifts. In the house, all bets were off.
“Is there a problem?” she asked, laying her arm across the back of the seat, so hot, so warm, so…
“Brooke,” he repeated, pleading, since all he wanted to do was touch her, kiss her, take her. Her fingers tiptoed across the edge of his seat, flicking against his neck. It was the first time she’d ever touched him.
Jason turned, met her eyes firmly. “No.”
She cocked her head. “You don’t want me?” She knew he did, but he couldn’t tell her. It was the last armament keeping him in check.
“I don’t want you.”
Her hand slid from his face to his hard-on. Softly, tortuously, she squeezed. “Liar.”
