JASON—JASE—CARTED the petite bundle of fury into the backyard. She fought him every step of the way, but he held on as if she were a prized football and never lost his grip on her. The party guests watched with wide grins, enjoying the show. A few even followed him, curious to see how this little scene would play out.
Behind him, the firecracker he’d just slept with shouted, “Put my sister down this instant, you overgrown Neanderthal!”
If he hadn’t regretted sleeping with Jessie Kay before Brook Lynn had stormed into his bedroom, he would have regretted it in that moment. He’d just moved to Strawberry Valley, and this was the first time he’d ever really put down roots. He’d decided not to shit where he ate, so to speak, and mess everything up. This was his fresh start. A clean canvas, and he’d intended to keep it that way. Not create a perfect storm of drama. But he’d had a few beers too many and Jessie Kay had crawled into his lap, asked if she could welcome him to town properly, and that had been that.
At least he’d had the presence of mind to make it clear there would be no repeat performance, no blooming relationship. Ever.
He liked his freedom.
Besides, it wasn’t like women ever stuck around for long, anyway. His mother sure hadn’t. Countless foster moms hadn’t. Hell, even his girlfriend hadn’t. Daphne had taken off without ever saying goodbye.
Light from the porch lamps cast a golden glow over the swimming pool, illuminating the couple who’d decided to skinny-dip. They, like everyone else within a ten-mile radius, heard the commotion, and scrambled into a shadowed corner.
Without a word, Jase tossed Brook Lynn Dillon into the deep end.
Jessie Kay beat at his arm, screeching, “Idiot! Her implants aren’t supposed to be waterlogged. She’s supposed to cover them with a special adhesive.”
Please. “Implants are always better wet.” He should know. He’d handled his fair share.
“They aren’t in her boobs, you moron. They’re in her ears!”
Well, hell. “Way to bury the lead,” he muttered.
Brook Lynn came up sputtering. She swam to the edge and climbed out with her sister’s help, then made sure her hair covered her ears before glaring up at him. An avenging angel.
He’d hoped the impromptu dunk would lessen her appeal, but...no. She wore a plain white T-shirt, and a pair of black slacks. Now each piece of clothing clung to her, revealing a breathtakingly slender build, breasts that were a perfect handful...nipples that were hard...and legs that were somehow a mile long.
Those traits, in themselves, would have been dangerous for any man’s peace of mind. But when you paired that miracle body with the face of an angel—huge baby blue eyes and heart-shaped lips no emissary from heaven should ever be allowed to have...wicked lips...an invitation to sin—it was almost overkill.
His thought at first glance? I want.
His thought the moment he discovered her identity? Damn, I picked the wrong sister.
But there was no help for it now. What was done was done.
“I’m sorry about your hearing aids,” or whatever they were, “but catfights aren’t allowed in my room. You’re supposed to save all disputes for the ring, during the Jell-O Fight Night Beck plans on hosting.”
Brook Lynn lifted her chin, the very picture of stubborn female. Without looking away from him, she said, “Jessie Kay, get in the car.”
For the first time that evening, her sister heeded her command and took off as if her feet were on fire.
West and Beck came up beside him, both taking in the scene: a gorgeous woman who was soaking wet, probably chilled, standing as still as a statue, and Jase, who was fighting a freaking hard-on.
“What the hell happened?” Beck demanded, running a hand through his hair.
The action elicited a feminine whistle of appreciation somewhere in the background.
Standard reaction. Women tended to go batcrap crazy for Beck, despite the fact that he was a self-proclaimed he-slut and was always moving from one lover to the next.
“This is between him and me,” Brook Lynn said, pointing to Jase.
“Your hand is bleeding.” Frowning, West reached for her.
“I’m not your concern.” She stepped away from him, avoiding contact, and would have toppled back into the pool if Jase hadn’t caught her arm.
Such a slender bone structure, he noted, with skin as soft and smooth as silk, and as warm as melted honey. Not chilled, after all. The longer he held on, the more electric the contact proved to be, somehow cracking through the hard shell he’d spent years erecting around his emotions, until he practically vibrated with the desire to touch all of her...to hold on to her...
What the hell?
He released her and widened the distance between them. That hard shell wasn’t just for grins and giggles. It was for survival. Emotions were a weakness that could be used against him. Desire, love, hate, hope. It didn’t matter. He fought everything but lust, something as fleeting as it was forgettable. To feel anything else meant he’d placed value on something, whether for good or ill, and that meant the something—whatever it was—could be taken away from him.
Feel nothing. Want nothing. Need nothing.
Brook Lynn peered down at her wrist, as if she felt something she couldn’t explain, before focusing on him, her eyes narrowing. “Don’t touch me again,” she said.
“Don’t worry. I won’t.” To Beck and West, he said, “Get everyone inside. I’ll handle her.”
Copyright © 2015 by Gena Showalter