The Closer You Come

  A handful of bikers arrived, removing their helmets, locking up their gear. One glance, and Jase had them pegged as trouble-seekers. He'd encountered plenty of guys just like them in prison. They had a chip on their shoulder the size of a two-by-four and always had something to prove.

  His assessment was soon confirmed. Just to be contrary, one of the younger guys stepped in West's path, causing West to bump into him.

  The biker snapped, "Why don't you watch where you're going, man?" and shoved him.

  West plowed into Beck, who plowed into Jase. Of course, all the bikers laughed as they gathered around their comrade in a perfect show of unity.

  West rolled his shoulders, saying, "Instead of watching where I'm going--" his tone even, perhaps even anticipatory "--why don't I teach you how to move out of my way?"

  "I vote...yes," Beck said with a cold smile.

  West and Beck were not afraid to fight anyone. Even a group of anyones. And they were damn good at it. But Jase was better. He turned "dirty" into "downright filthy." The only problem? His opponents tended to end up in the ER--or dead.

  Fear of returning to the life he'd despised screamed: can't risk it. He was so close to finishing parole. Proving a point by knocking the bikers down a peg or two would help nothing but his pride.

  Jase grabbed his friends by the arm and dragged them away, going around the bikers, who snickered. One even called, "That's what I thought. Cowards."

  Rage joined the rest of Jase's emotions. Despite his armor, he'd never been able to rid himself of the switch inside his mind; it was either flipped to "fight" or to "calm," but rarely anything in between. And it was difficult to blaze from "fight" to "calm" in an instant--the two were such different states, and really, he could only flip that switch so many times before a wire shorted out and he just...went...insane.

  Beck drew in a deep breath. "Sorry, man. I'm sorry."

  West paled, scrubbed a hand down his face. "I didn't think... Jase, I'm sorry."

  He waved the apologies away. He understood the instinctive need to annihilate all challengers, to protect what was yours.

  Brook Lynn's angelic face flashed inside his mind, and he quickly blinked to clear it. She wasn't his, and she would never be his, but even still, desire for her sank claws in his chest, cutting deep and holding on. He wanted her, and it was time to stop denying it, even though admitting it was more dangerous to his peace of mind.

  "Let's head home," West said, and Beck nodded.

  Jase's car was parked beside theirs. He paused to say, "Do me a solid and take the long way," before climbing inside.

  He wanted a few minutes alone with Brook Lynn. What he would say to her, do with her--to her--he wasn't sure, but he was looking forward to finding out.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  OUTDID MYSELF, IF I do say so, well, myself.

  Brook Lynn stacked a packet of papers she'd found haphazardly stuffed inside Jase's underwear drawer, a blush heating her cheeks. He'd told her to clean everything, so everything she was cleaning. His room was her final chore--one she'd been putting off all day. This task was her last.

  Her gaze latched on the words Department of Corrections, and her heart skipped a beat. Was he a cop? A parole officer?

  The idea...intrigued her.

  Would he have hunted down her uncle Kurt and forced the man to return her mom's life-insurance money?

  Super Jase to the rescue!

  And oh, the sexiness of that image.

  Red alert! If she wasn't careful, she would fall deeper into like with him.

  Frowning, Brook Lynn finished tidying the dresser. As she strolled through the house for a final inspection, avoiding the game room as instructed, she slapped her hands together in a job well-done. She hadn't moved the furniture around, but she had added feminine touches to the decor, and they were--in a word--ah-mazing. A lace doily over the coffee table. Colorful, decorative pillows on the couch. Bowls of lavender potpourri on the mantel. And for her own amusement: boxes of tampons in the bathroom cabinet for any overnight guest who might be in need.

  She'd talked with her sister at last and had actually received a blessing for this new gig, though not for the cash Brook Lynn would make. Oh, no. Jessie Kay planned to use her as an excuse to visit...and a direct line of communication to Jase.

  My sister still wants him. And I still...don't like it.

  But what could she do about it? What could she say? Her attraction to him was wrong on every level.

  There was only one right way to proceed. Let Jessie Kay do her thing, and resign herself to being Jase's personal assistant, nothing more, nothing less. She would work hard--would give this her all. In return, Jase would treat her and her efforts with respect, never again requesting she do more than was humanly possible. And she would inform him of that the second he returned. She had balls, dang it. Yeah. That's right. She had big, fat lady balls.

  Hinges on the front door creaked. Footsteps sounded.

  "--told you to take the long way," Jase was saying.

  "Don't recall agreeing to that," West said. "Do you?"

  "Nope," Beck replied, laughter in his tone. "But I do wonder why you wanted to be alone. Would it have anything to do with offering hands-on instruction to the staff?"

  "You both suck," Jase muttered.

  In the kitchen, she gulped, her lady balls shriveling. Bossman had finally come home.

  "Go ahead and admit-- What the hell?" Beck demanded.

  Silence.

  Tense, oppressive silence.

  They'd noticed the new decorations.

  "I...don't even know what to say right now," West gasped out. "I think I need to add a breakdown to my schedule."

  Seconds ticked by. No reaction from Jase. Or maybe he'd spoken so quietly she hadn't heard him. A real possibility. For the past hour, her inner ears had been itching as though bees buzzed inside. Never having experienced anything like it, she wasn't exactly sure what was going on.

  "Brook Lynn," Jase called.

  Well, she'd certainly heard that.

  "Back here," she replied, trying not to tremble.

  Jase entered the kitchen alone, and oh, wow. His presence somehow caused the air in her lungs to evaporate in an instant, leaving her lightheaded. There would never be a better example of raw masculinity. He wore a black tee that hugged his muscular biceps and displayed a good portion of his tattoos. His jeans were ripped, the hems tucked haphazardly into combat boots. He wore his necklaces, his silver rings and the leather cuffs around each of his wrists.

  Total bad-boy hot.

  Never knew that was my thing.

  He met her gaze, and she would have sworn she detected a hint of...mirth? Maybe even approval? But they were both so well contained, she couldn't be sure.

  "The changes are nice," he said.

  What! It was one thing to suspect approval, but quite another to have it confirmed. "Thank you?" She liked the changes; they were everything she would have wanted in her own home, if she hadn't spent her entire adult life counting every penny.

  "But you have to return everything to the way it was," he added.

  "What!" The word escaped her this time. "Everything?" she asked, her brows drawing together.

  "Everything."

  "But..."

  "No buts."

  Caveman speak for subject closed. "But why?" she insisted.

  "Because I said so."

  The most frustrating words in the history of the world!

  "I'm sorry," she gritted out, "but that's not good enough for me."

  Jase peered at her for a long while before saying, "You did too much too fast." He looked past her, to the counter. "What are those?"

  From cryptic to inquisitive in a blink. Someone needed to explain the effects of whiplash to him. "Those are special deliveries for Beck. An array of desserts from countless women who stopped by throughout the day."

  Charlene Burns had come with strawberry muffins and a word of warning: Do yourself a favor. Don't get
involved with these men, darlin'. They're users, each one of them.

  Brook Lynn had wanted to quip, And you will be the exception to their use-and-lose rule, which is why you've come back for more? but had somehow found the strength to hold her tongue.

  Newly legal Missy Thompson had come with strawberry cake and questions. Has Beck said anything about me? Do you know if he likes brunettes or blondes better? Because I can rock either look. Will you give him my number?

  Even Harlow Glass stopped by, though Brook Lynn had gotten the feeling she hadn't come to scope out the guys. Instead, the black-haired, blue-eyed beauty had just thrust out a plastic bag of fresh wild strawberries she'd most likely plucked from the field out back--and had probably spit on. The girl had once been famous for her cruelty. But she had shyly--a trick, surely--asked to come inside to chat. Suspicious of her intentions, Brook Lynn had flatly refused.

  But...I have to tell you...there's a man... He's come to the house and... the girl had stumbled out.

  A man? Brook Lynn had finally relented and moved aside to allow the girl entrance, saying, If you're doing this to hurt me in some way, there will be hell to pay.

  Harlow scanned the foyer and turned puke green before backing up, apologizing a thousand times and leaving the house in a hurry.

  Brook Lynn could hardly believe the seemingly timid, softly spoken mouse was the same bold femme fatale who'd once terrorized kids at school. Including Kenna. Brook Lynn remembered holding her friend time and time again while she sobbed about the awful things Harlow had said.

  If her new demeanor was the real deal, something had happened to the girl. More than the loss of her mom and her home. Or maybe that was what Harlow wanted her to think. For once in this small town, rumors were scarce. All Brook Lynn knew? Harlow had left public school in the middle of her junior year in favor of being homeschooled. She'd stayed in town, but few people had seen her out and about. And when they had, she'd kept her head down and her pace swift, discouraging any kind of interaction.

  For now, Brook Lynn wasn't going to worry about what Harlow had said, some strange man who may or may not have come to the house to do...something? Nothing? And how did Harlow even know that?

  "No one's gotten the message yet," Jase said. "The way to a man's heart is not through his stomach."

  "Duh. It's through his ribs."

  "Funny." He pointed to the platters. "There's a bite missing from each one. Why?"

  "I thought I'd do my due diligence and test everything for poison." Nothing compared to her creations, and that wasn't bragging; that was pure fact.

  "If there was poison, what would you do? Feed it to me anyway?"

  "There's only one way to find out." With her sweetest smile, she offered him a fork.

  He took it, saying, "If I die today, you'll be the first one the cops question."

  "I'm willing to risk it."

  The corners of his mouth twitched as he motioned to the stove, his first undeniable display of amusement. It did funny things to her insides. "That casserole is still intact. Why?"

  "I made it, and it's fresh from the oven." Steam wafted all around it, scenting the air. This one contained chicken and waffles, even maple syrup, and it was one of her favorites. "But it's for Beck, not you," she said. "I'm sure you already have dinner plans." Oops. My bitterness is showing.

  His gaze landed on her and narrowed. "Tell me, honey. Between the two of us, who do you consider the boss, and who do you consider the employee?"

  The starch in her spine dissolved. How could she expect him to respect her if she wouldn't respect him? "You are the boss," she said without any heat. "Would you like me to fix you a plate?"

  "No," he grumbled, and after the fuss he'd kicked up, she kind of wanted to slap him. Then he added, "I'll do it," and totally redeemed himself.

  He stalked past her, careful not to touch her, and gathered a plate and ladle. The itch intensified in her ears, and she scratched gently, always making sure hanks of hair covered the big, bulky implants. Everyone who'd ever seen them had either flinched or stared in morbid fascination. A few kids had even called her Frankenlynn.

  Jase filled his plate with the casserole she had prepared and faced her with a frown. "Are those waffles I'm seeing? Mixed with chicken?"

  "Does it matter?"

  "Yes."

  Lord save me. "Just try it."

  Standing there, he scooped up a forkful...and then simply peered at the sample with distaste. She rolled her eyes and approached, claiming the fork and shoving the food into his mouth.

  His eyes widened as he chewed. "What else did you put in it? Crack?"

  "Only a little," she said, deadpan. Then she flinched. Maybe she shouldn't have teased a cop about drugs. Former cop? But he didn't even blink at her comment. "While you eat I'll just go and remove the necessary improvements I made in the living room. Even though I don't understand why you asked--commanded--that I do it."

  "I'll just stay in here, eating my crack," he replied, his attention never straying from his food. "But come back in here when you're done."

  The way to every man's heart might not be through his stomach, but it certainly looked to be the way to Jase's. Not that she wanted his heart.

  She entered the living room and found West and Beck doing the work for her, and not happily. For the first time the perpetually upbeat guys were actually scowling. Beck's motions were clipped as he ripped away the doily, dumped out one of the bowls of potpourri and swiped up the pillows.

  He noticed her and gritted out, "You can't just change things, Brook Lynn. Especially when everything was perfect the way it was."

  So...it wasn't the fact that she had turned a bachelor pad into a chick paradise? It was simply the fact that she'd altered the hobo-hideous design? Too much too fast, Jase had said. Got it.

  "Why don't we keep the rest of the potpourri?" she suggested. "It smells so nice and--"

  He tossed the remaining bowls of potpourri out the window, then did the same with the garbage bag of items he'd gathered.

  O-kay. She made a mental note to retrieve everything on her way to the car. Today she'd driven straight to the driveway to avoid the awkward ride home Jase would have insisted on giving her. Maybe she would reintroduce the potpourri tomorrow and pray Beck failed to notice. Bottom line: the house wasn't yet a home; it was simply a place to stay, as generic as a motel. She would be doing him a favor, and one day he would see that. Surely.

  It will be for his own good, she thought.

  Her sister's voice mocked her. Warden always knows best, doesn't she?

  Ugh. How many times had Jessie Kay spoken those words? Countless.

  Maybe Brook Lynn should leave things alone. Allow Beck and West to deal with their demons--whatever they were--on their own, without any "help" from her.

  Nah. Not my style. When she noticed a problem, she wanted to do everything in her power to fix it.

  "Brook Lynn. You done yet?"

  Jase's voice sent a shiver traipsing along already sensitized nerve endings. "I suppose so." Feet suddenly as heavy as boulders, she trudged into the kitchen. He sat at the table, a plate in front of him and another steaming in front of the chair beside him. He motioned for her to take it.

  The moment she settled, he said, "Don't change things, all right. Beck doesn't like it."

  "Figured that out on my own, thanks."

  "Yeah, but I wanted you to hear it from your boss."

  Had stressing those last two words really been necessary?

  "You're in charge," she said, somehow managing not to roll her eyes. "I get it."

  "Good."

  "Why doesn't Beck like change?"

  Jase stiffened, his fork pausing midway to his mouth. A haunted gleam darkened his eyes, turning the emeralds into stormy onyx. "He has his reasons" was all he said. "We all do."

  And they weren't pleasant reasons, she realized. Like maybe a change in his past had devastated him so terribly he now preserved what he could of his present.


  After the death of her dad, she'd experienced a similar reaction, not wanting his things to be altered in any way. "I'm surprised you and West convinced him to move here."

  He shifted in his seat, inching away from her. "How long have you lived in Strawberry Valley?"

  Message received. Beck wasn't her business. "All my life," she said.

  "Must be nice, having roots."

  Meaning he'd never had them? The thought saddened her. "A lot of the people here have their quirks, but when my mom died, they really stepped up to the plate to help Jessie Kay and me."

  "How old were you?"

  "Fifteen."

  "What happened?"

  "Long story."

  "Then you should probably get started."

  "I'm sure you've got better things to do," she began, shifting uncomfortably.

  "I don't. Talk. I want to hear."

  She rarely shared the gruesome details, but his desire to know eased her reservations. "Well, we'd lost our dad years before in an explosion at Dairyland. Every year since we would spend a weekend camping in his favorite spot. I don't know if you've noticed, but there's a river that runs through the north edge of town. He loved it there. We would plant flowers in his honor, but that year Jessie Kay was doing twirls and tripped on a rock, and she dropped the flowers in the water. She dove in after them, and our mom dove in after her. The current was strong and swept them away. I gave chase on land, screaming for help, but no one was around. Jessie Kay finally managed to drag Mom to shore, but she...she was already dead and neither of us could revive her."

  "Jessie Kay blames herself?"

  "Yes." Nothing Brook Lynn had said had ever changed the girl's mind. She cleared her throat, once, twice, waiting as the trembling in her chin stopped. "Speaking of my amazing sister, did I tell you she bakes the best strawberry cookies in the history of ever?" Truth. If Brook Lynn helped her do the baking.

  He blinked at her, as if he wasn't quite sure how the topic had veered so drastically.

  "Do you like strawberry cookies?" she asked.

  "Who took care of you?" he asked, focusing only on that. "Jessie Kay had to be...what? Seventeen?"

  "Yes. An uncle came to stay with us for a while."

  "Was he good to you? Were your parents?"

  "My parents were awesome, the best of the best. Mom used to tell us she loved us with all her heart, adored us with all her mind and would always momma-bear-protect us with her whole body." She smiled with fond remembrance. "My dad called us his favorite princesses and built us castles made out of blankets."