The Closer You Come

  "I met Helen...Harriet?...this morning. We came back here for a quickie. Her idea."

  "Seriously?"

  He walked over and cupped her cheek. "Yes, cupcake. I'm that good. And for your information, I would be willing to keep it in my pants, no problem, but I keep getting requests for showings."

  She batted him away. "I know where that hand has been."

  Unoffended, he adjusted the cuffs at his wrists.

  "You need a new hobby," she told him.

  For a moment, only a moment, his expression registered seriousness. "Sometimes sex is the only way to keep the darkness at bay."

  "Beck," she said, suddenly wanting to hug him.

  He grabbed his car keypad from the kitchen counter--apparently he drove some kind of alien vehicle with a keyless start--and flashed her a wicked grin meant to shut down any sympathy on her part. "By the way, I've been tracking down a surprise for Jase. Someone from his past. I don't think he's interested anymore, but he has a right to choose, you know? Anyway, I'm close to success, so for my reward I'd like a ham and cheese casserole for dinner."

  "Someone from his past?" If he wanted a meeting with an old school chum, she would like to be the one to track the guy down. Because she owed him. Not for any other reason. "And what do you mean, choose?"

  "Sorry, pretty, but I only share information that important when I'm naked."

  "Then I'll happily go to my grave ignorant of the person's identity and the choice Jase has to make, whatever it is." She motioned to the sandwiches she'd spent the past two hours preparing. Even rapid-rise fresh-baked bread took time. "Take a look at the lunch you're not going to get."

  He might have whimpered. "I'll change your mind. Just see if I don't." Beck gave her a jaunty salute before stalking from the room.

  Well. While the bread was cooling, she had better check on Jase. He was probably dying of thirst. And she couldn't let that happen, now, could she? She filled a glass with water and carried it outside, the sun hotter and brighter than it had been a few hours ago. She scanned the backyard. The shed Jase had refurbished so expertly looked brand-new. The redbuds and magnolias were in full bloom, the towering oaks throwing umbrellas of shade in every direction. Lovely, but there was no sign of Jase.

  "Jase?"

  The squawk of black birds was the only response.

  She trudged around the side of the house--and that's where she found him. His back was to her, and he was as still as a statue.

  "Jase," she repeated and walked around him.

  He was staring at his hand. His bloody hand. Crimson pooled in his palm and dripped onto the ground...a discarded hoe.

  She gasped, horrified, and dropped the water. "Jase, are you okay?"

  He gave no indication that he'd heard her, just continued to stare down at his injury. His expression disturbed her. It was totally and completely blank. As if he wasn't all there, his thoughts far away.

  Not wanting to startle him, but knowing he needed help, she gently tapped his shoulder. "Jase."

  The contact jolted him out of the trance, and before she could blink, his arm shot out. He shoved her with enough force to send her tripping backward, falling to her bottom. She landed in the cold water she'd spilled, the glass rolling away from her. His face contorted into the darkest, meanest scowl she'd ever seen, scaring the crap out of her. His hands fisted, the blood now pouring from the wound.

  He took a menacing step toward her, and she would have sworn she saw her death shining in his eyes. He looked at her as he'd never looked before: as if she were a stranger to him. A faceless threat to be eliminated.

  She crab-walked backward, uttering a trembling, "Jase? Please. Listen to me. It's me, Brook Lynn." There was no way she could defend herself against him if he attacked, the strength she'd once lauded enough to kill her.

  Fear moved through her like an avalanche, growing stronger, bigger. Consuming her.

  He just kept coming. Closer and closer...

  "Jase." She lumbered to her feet and held out an arm. A puny move, but what else could she do? "You're scaring me, and I need you to stop. Jase!"

  He blinked, skidded to a halt. "Brook Lynn?" Frowning, he shook his head, as if to clear cobwebs. "Are you okay?"

  Relief gradually melted the avalanche. "I--I'm fine."

  "You have blood on your shirt. A palm print." He frowned, peered down at his hand, then peered at her shirt. When his gaze finally met hers, she saw a flash of horror and guilt--even anguish--before it went blank.

  He started to close the distance between them. She flinched, and he planted his heels in the ground, remaining in place. "Did I hurt you?"

  He didn't know? Couldn't remember?

  What the heck had just happened?

  If he was a cop, maybe...maybe the sight of the blood had taken him back to a violent memory?

  "No," she said, her trembling growing worse for some reason. She wrapped her arms around her middle.

  "You...should go home," he said. "Please go."

  Maybe I should. Or maybe we're finally making progress. She'd just seen a side of him she'd never seen before. One that didn't just hint at vulnerability but screamed it. And though it had scared her--there was no way around that fact--it was kinda like catnip to her. She wanted to curl into his lap and purr against his throat, tell him everything was going to be okay, that they would get through this...whatever this was...together.

  "I'm going to bandage your wound," she said.

  "No."

  "Yes," she insisted. "Don't argue. You'll lose. I'll meet you in your bathroom."

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  JASE REMAINED IN place long after Brook Lynn walked away, trying to put the pieces of what had happened together. He'd been removing weeds from the side of the house. That's right.

  He'd thought he'd heard a noise behind him and jerked, cutting his hand on the hoe as he glanced over his shoulder. He'd thought he spied a man dressed in brown darting behind the bushes. Jase had stepped forward, intending to give chase, only to realize it had to be a deer. He caught glimpses of wildlife every day.

  He'd glanced down to see a well of blood in his hand, and he'd flashed back to all the times he'd been jumped. Sometimes with fists, sometimes with shivs. In nine years he'd endured a total of twenty-three stabbings across his torso and a few more scattered over his legs. He'd lost count of the number of fights he'd participated in, only knew he'd won more than he'd lost. He'd endured several broken bones and had suffered...other things. Things he rarely ever allowed himself to remember.

  Held down...too many hands to knock away...

  A knee in my back...

  Clothing being ripped.

  His breath sawed in and out faster, hotter. Brook Lynn must have come upon him while he'd been trapped inside his head. He remembered the softest of touches on his shoulder, the softest of voices saying his name. Soft--when soft was the last thing he'd ever gotten in prison. The contrast had been enough to pull him out of the abyss. At least partway.

  He'd...pushed her.

  The image of his bloody palm marring her shirt would forever plague him.

  He stumbled to the side until he came into contact with the house. He leaned his forehead against the brick. Little tremors slipped down his spine, dislodging beads of sweat.

  He couldn't face Brook Lynn, and he certainly couldn't let her help him. He deserved castigation, and she deserved better.

  West and Beck were right. Jase had judged her from the first as someone too good for him--because she was.

  Something else his friends had nailed? Jase had feelings for her. Feelings he could no longer deny.

  With the admission, a bright light suddenly shone inside his mind, chasing away the darkness, causing the monsters of his past to hiss and run for cover, letting him confirm what he'd suspected. His armor had indeed been cracked, and Brook Lynn was the cause. She had somehow burrowed deep, deep inside him, and he might not ever be able to pry her loose.

  Panic rose, swift and sur
e. One day, he would lose her. That was just plain fact. If she didn't meet someone else, she'd have questions about what just happened. Even if he managed to omit the worst of the details, she would eventually find out about his prison stint, about what he did to Pax. She could grow to fear him...hate him.

  He could have lost Brook Lynn today, even. He could have done serious damage to her, without even realizing it. Still could, if ever he lost control again.

  Can't take that risk.

  He managed to pull himself together and stomp inside the house. Now wasn't the time for brooding. It was the time for action. He found Brook Lynn in his bathroom, standing by the sink.

  She'd anchored her mane of pale hair into an adorable ponytail, two tendrils hanging over her ears. She'd washed her face and changed into one of his shirts.

  How was she more beautiful every time he saw her?

  You know what you have to do. He did, but first things first. "I'm sorry I scared you, honey."

  "Don't worry. I'm over it," she said.

  At least she hadn't tried to deny her fear. "Good. That's good."

  "I hear a but."

  Just do it. "I hate to say this, but...you're fired."

  "No, I'm not." She motioned to the closed toilet seat. "Sit."

  "I'll still pay you," he said.

  "Of course you will. Because I'm still working for you."

  "Brook Lynn--"

  "Jase." She anchored her hands on her hips. "You don't like what just happened. I don't, either, but now we know it's a possibility. We'll be on guard against it and handle it better if it happens again."

  So that was it? No questions about what had caused it to happen in the first place?

  Far, far too good for me.

  The ache he'd by now grown used to intensified, sharper than ever before, as if it had sunk deeper inside him, spread and taken up more space--but he sat.

  She cleaned the wound with soap, water and then peroxide. Blood continued to leak from the long slit that stretched from his index finger to his wrist, and though her touch was gentle, every bit of pressure stung. He'd endured worse countless times before, so maintaining a neutral expression wasn't difficult. He'd never allow her to feel guilty about hurting him.

  The fact that she'd stayed to help baffled him. Thrilled him. Even humbled him. He felt as if she might actually...care for him.

  How was that possible?

  After she squeezed antibiotic cream on the injury and wrapped a bandage around his hand, she studied her handiwork and frowned. "I'm clearly not a medical professional. You probably need stitches."

  "Nah. The cut isn't that deep."

  She met his gaze with a gentleness that confused him. "How do you know?"

  "I just do."

  "Jase." She crouched between his legs. "We need to talk."

  Words every man dreaded, but she was so close he could smell the sweetness of her scent, feel the sensual heat of her, and both short-circuited his brain waves. He had to grip the sink on one side of him and the tub on the other to keep his hands away from her.

  Tension grew between them, sharpened, until it was utterly unbearable. He imagined his mouth on hers and had to cut back a groan. He imagined his fingers trailing over her curves and had to cut back a plea.

  He was clean. He even had the paperwork to prove it. He could take her, thrust inside her and--

  "Be honest with me," she said quietly.

  Reason returned, and he tensed. Here came the questions.

  "Were you a cop?"

  Wait. What? "A cop?"

  She nodded, the ends of those pale tendrils caressing his thighs.

  "Why would you think that?"

  "Okay, I'll take that as a no." Her mouth tugged into a frown. "Were you in the military?"

  Understanding suddenly dawned, bright and devastating. She thought he had PTSD because he'd defended his country. She wanted to think the best of him, probably couldn't even conceive the horrors that had led to the incident outside.

  How disappointed she would be when she learned the truth.

  Another reason to get rid of her.

  "Brook Lynn," he said and sighed. "It's time for you to go." He'd beg her if necessary.

  She shook her head, stubborn. "No way. I'm staying until either West or Beck return. I'm not leaving you on your own."

  The ache...so much worse. "It's just a cut."

  "And it could open up again, and you could pass out, bleed out."

  "It won't. I won't."

  "Jase," she said, raising her chin with more stubborn determination. "The only way you're getting me out of this house is if you carry me kicking and screaming."

  *

  BROOK LYNN SETTLED on the plush leather couch in the living room. Jase had not been happy with her refusal to leave and had muttered, "If you're going to stay, fine. But I'm going to work, and you're not, because you're still fired," before stomping into the kitchen to peel wallpaper. He'd admitted he eventually needed to open up the walls and replace all the wiring and pipes, but he didn't want to be without a kitchen while she was the chef.

  He didn't peel long. From the sounds of it he'd noticed the sandwiches she'd prepared and dug in. A short while later, he called, "You're rehired, effective immediately."

  She was worried about him. Not about the cut on his hand. He was right--it wasn't that deep and probably wouldn't open back up. But he was so closed off right now. It scared her even more than the push. And the fact that he hadn't flinched as she'd doctored him, when it must have stung like an SOB...there was something wrong with that. Though it had been sexy.

  But mostly wrong. And sexy.

  Why did he go to such lengths to keep his emotions hidden? Because he did have them. She knew that now. The intensity of his rage...

  If he'd served in the military, he could be having flashbacks.

  She remembered how Beck and West had mentioned "six months" the night of the party. Had Jase been discharged six months ago? Well, no wonder he hadn't yet acclimated.

  "Need any help in there?" she called, knowing he'd finished his meal and had restarted his newest task.

  He came barreling into the living room, pointing a sheet of wallpaper at her as if it was a weapon. "You're on a break. You shouldn't be offering to help."

  She leaned against the arm of the couch, getting more comfortable. "Good friend that I am, I'm willing to cut the break short just for you."

  "I'd rather you--" His gaze landed on her midsection, and he sucked in a breath. The muscles stretching from his shoulders to his fingers flexed as he stepped closer to her.

  She glanced down. The hem of her shirt had ridden up, baring her midriff--now quivering under the heat of his masculine attention.

  Her eyes flipped back up, locking on his. The whole atmosphere of the room seemed to change in an instant, the air sizzling with sudden awareness. Of him. Of her. Of what they could do together...

  "Jase," she said, the neediness of her tone almost enough to make her cringe. Let me make you forget your inner wounds. Let me feel what I haven't felt in years: pleasure.

  "Brook Lynn, I can't--I shouldn't. I--"

  He turned abruptly and stalked back into the kitchen.

  She pushed out a shaky breath. Despite what had happened outside--or maybe because of it--her fascination with this man hadn't lessened. She imagined his warrior hands all over her, his mouth following in their path, and nearly slid off the couch.

  He was a puzzle. He was damaged by his past. He had secrets, and he would die before he admitted he needed her. He may not have realized it, but he'd leaned into her every time she'd put her hands on him, his body telling her what his expression and tone had not.

  But...there was Jessie Kay. There was also the date she had with Brad, the one she'd thought to firm up later today. However, they hadn't actually set a date, so she could get out of it pretty easily.

  Should she?

  And what about Jase's stance on happily-ever-afters?

  Th
e guy was clearly more of a fixer-upper than she'd ever realized, and she'd sworn off fixer-uppers for all of eternity.

  The end result might make all the work worth the effort.

  She rested her head on the back of the couch and closed her eyes, picturing Jase and Brad side by side. What she wanted versus what she thought she needed. Passion against compatibility.

  She imagined Brad trying to kiss her and shied away from the image.

  She imagined Jase trying to kiss her and moaned for more. Fire ignited in her veins as her nipples drew up tight and arousal dampened her panties.

  A few minutes later--surely that was all the time that had passed--she felt as if she was floating...floating...gently stretching over a cloud.

  "Sleep, angel."

  "Jase." A breathy sigh escaped her as she realized he had carried her to bed. "Want," she admitted, hovering somewhere between awake and asleep, where nothing but sensation existed.

  "You're going to be the end of me, I know it." Strong but gentle hands smoothed over her brow, warm and callused, comforting, but just as she leaned into the heat, it vanished.

  Her eyes popped open. The bedroom was dark, all the lights out, and though there was a crack in the blackout curtains, no sunlight seeped through. Hours must have passed. But even in the gloom she could make out the strength of Jase's silhouette--he hadn't walked away.

  "Come back," she begged, reaching for him.

  She heard a soft curse before he shucked his shirt and pants and climbed in beside her, surrounding her with his heat once again. She snuggled close, loving the feel of his skin against the exposed parts of her. Warm, mint-scented breath tickled her scalp. The scent of soap and musk filled her nose. Tingles danced over her, driving her to move against his hard-as-stone body. She couldn't not move, a week's worth of pent-up desire desperate for an outlet.

  A broken moan sounded in her ears. "Brook Lynn, honey. You have to stop...what you're doing... You have to..."

  "Can't." Her limbs were heavy, achy, her body writhing, writhing of its own accord, searching for release.

  He gripped her hips to still her with his strength.

  Every bit of willpower she possessed was needed to roll to her other side, away from him--before she started up again, despite his grip. Even that innocent action was too much for her sensitized nerves to tolerate, and she moaned.