Not going there.
Just before leaving the house, Brook Lynn had texted Kenna, but her friend's reply had been every bit as ridiculous.
Say this: Is it hot in here or is this relationship suffocating me? No? Then say this: I now pronounce you dumped and single, you may kiss my butt.
Brook Lynn thought about what her mom might have said to her, if she'd still been alive.
He's a person with feelings. Treat him the way you'd want to be treated. Be polite. Gentle.
"Brook Lynn." Brad's voice jerked her into reality.
She blinked into focus, her nervousness returning in a flash. "Hey."
He grinned as he cleaned his hands on a rag. "What a nice surprise. I'm glad you're here."
"Um, can we talk in private, maybe?"
He caught her unease and lost his grin. "Sure." He led her to an office in back.
Along the way a big burly guy she'd seen around a few times stepped into their path.
"Hey. You selling those?" he asked, motioning to the sandwich.
"No," she replied.
"Who does? Where can I get one?"
"No one. Nowhere. I made it." As usual, she'd baked the bread from scratch, and this time she'd even called to have her favorite cheese from the tasting delivered right to her door.
Interest lit the mechanic's eyes. "How much do you charge?"
"Yeah," another guy said as he walked over. "How much?"
Several others wandered over, too, listening intently.
"Smells like a slice of heaven," someone said.
That was surprising, considering it was her consolation prize for Brad, and guilt was the main ingredient.
"Thank you," she said, "but it isn't for sale."
As groans of disappointment sounded behind her, thrilling her, she continued on to the office. Inside, she leaned against the closed door and offered the sandwich to Brad. "This is for you."
"That was sweet of you." He accepted with a mix of dread and hope gleaming in his eyes. "It does smell wonderful."
Her nerves kicked up again, obliterating her excitement. Sweat moistened her hands. Use your lady balls and speak! "Brad, well, I'm so sorry to do this, but I can't go out with you again." Once she started, she couldn't stop, the words pouring from her. "You are such a great man, and I wanted you to ask me out for a long, long time, but you didn't, and then Jase showed up, and I wanted him, though I thought I couldn't have him, but I also thought I needed to have some fun anyway, so I asked you out, and that wasn't fair to you and, well...I'm...I'm sorry. I led you on, and that was wrong of me. I'll understand if you hate me forever, but I'm with Jase now, officially, and we're exclusive."
Brad placed the sandwich on the overcrowded desk and scrubbed a hand over his face. He mulled over her long-winded speech before sighing. "I've wanted to ask you out for a long time, too."
"So why didn't you?" If she had been with him, she would never have allowed herself to notice Jase.
Not notice him? Impossible. But she wouldn't have acted on it.
"Thought you'd say no," Brad said. "You never seemed to notice I was a man when I was inside Edna's store."
So...he'd let the mere thought of failure stop him from pursuing her, which meant the fear of rejection had meant more to him than she had. He'd been unwilling to fight for her.
The clarity of that caused her guilt to drain. The man she ended up with had to be willing to fight for her--her love, her life. Her happiness. The way she would fight for him and his. Otherwise, the relationship would lack a solid foundation to stand on, and they would be doomed.
Would Jase be willing to fight for her?
In a way, hadn't he already?
"Had you asked earlier," she said, "I would have said yes, yes, a thousand times yes."
Clouds of sadness drifted through his eyes, but they were soon replaced by determination. "I'll wait," he said, squaring his shoulders. "I'll wait for you to be single again."
"No. Don't," she said with a shake of her head, but on some level she wondered if he'd have to wait very long. "I'm going to do everything in my power to make this relationship last a long, long time." Maybe even the rest of my life.
*
JASE PACED HIS living room like a caged tiger, waiting for Brook Lynn to arrive. She had ten more minutes, then he was heading to Lintz Automotive, and--
What? The shop was owned by the sheriff's son.
Hell. Instinct said: let the competition know what will happen if he touches my woman. Self-preservation shouted: Do I want to go back to prison?
But...she's mine.
His first "mine" since Daphne, and the two couldn't even compare.
Must take measures to keep Brook Lynn. Can't let her leave me like I've been left in the past.
The ring of the doorbell snapped him out of his daze.
He strode to the door and found a tall, lean man with weathered skin standing outside. The brim of a white Stetson cast shadows over his eyes, and he wore an official SVPD uniform, dark polyester and a bit too tight.
The sheriff, as if Jase's thoughts had summoned him.
"Well, now. I'm Sheriff Lintz, and you must be Jase Hollister."
The sheriff must have found out Brook Lynn and Jase were dating, that she'd chosen Jase over Brad, and had come to warn him off. Worse, Sheriff Lintz had to know about Jase's past. Why else would he be here?
Cold sweat broke out on the back of Jase's neck at the same time as fire blazed in his blood. How soon before Brook Lynn learned the truth?
"I am," he said, lifting his chin.
"Good, good. I paid your boys a visit in town earlier today, introduced myself and let them know I'm here if they need me. Wanted you to know the same."
A welcome? A trick, surely. "Thank you," he said carefully. Why hadn't the boys warned him?
The sheriff rocked back on the heels of his boots. "I hear our sweet little Brook Lynn Dillon is working for you."
"Yes." He offered no more, no less.
"Pretty as a picture, that one."
Fishing? This time, he said nothing.
"Not a very talkative fellow, are you?" Sheriff Lintz laughed, and it sounded genuine. "Well, now. Guess you've got things to do. I'll take my leave. You take care, you hear." He ambled to his black-and-white and drove off.
Jase remained in the doorway until the car disappeared from view. He swiped up his phone to call Beck--and saw his friend had left three messages. Damn it, he'd left the ringer off.
The scare with the sheriff made his need to see and hold Brook Lynn animalistic. What the hell was taking so long?
Hinges on the door squealed a few minutes later, and she sailed inside the house. His body reacted instantly, tensing, heating--readying. Just like that.
He wasn't sure how much longer he'd have her in his life, and urgency filled him. He was on her in seconds, pinning her against the wall.
"Well?" he said. "Is it done?"
She curled into him, not even a little bit upset by his manhandling. "I talked to Brad," she replied, breathless.
"And?"
"And I told him I'm seeing a Mr. Jase Hollister exclusively."
The tension he'd been carrying around, boulders on his back, suddenly dissolved. "Did he cry? I would have cried."
"Please. You are not a crier, Mr. Hollister."
"No, I suppose I'm not." He found himself adding, "I cried the time I was taken from the apartment I'd shared with my mother," surprising them both by revealing a little more of his past. "I expected her to come back...was afraid she wouldn't be able to find me if I wasn't there. And I cried the first time I was pulled out of a decent foster home. After that I had no more tears to give."
She melted against him, warm and soft--and all mine. "I hate that you went through those things."
"I'm learning to appreciate what I have." He nuzzled the line of her jaw. "But all that moving around as a kid gave me a boo-boo that hasn't healed, and I know how you like to kiss those."
"Yes," she said with a tremor. "Tell me. Where is this boo-boo?" She tapped a finger against his heart. "Here?"
"No." He took her hand and curled it around his erection. "Here."
She chuckled, even as she tightened her grip on him. "I'd be happy to kiss this boo-boo...after I tell you a ground rule I have."
Playing me like a piano...and I love it. "Tell me."
"As long as I'm on the clock, there will be no PDA."
It was a little after nine, and this was definitely a public display of affection. "The rule needs an addendum. No PDA, unless I fire you. Then you can tell your boyfriend all about your cruel boss, and your boyfriend will comfort you...naked...and then you can convince your boss to rehire you."
Her warm breath drifted over his skin as she leaned in and licked his throat. "That's the caveat, is it?" As she spoke, she stroked his erection, the pressure building in his groin.
"I have a rule of my own," he gritted out. "You have to wear a garbage bag Monday through Friday. That is your new work uniform. Anything else is likely to be ripped off you the moment you walk through the door."
"And that would be terrible, wouldn't it?" She nipped at his collarbone.
Building...
He forged ahead. "Actually, I have a couple more rules. You aren't allowed to prance around the house if I've got a hammer in my hand. And you aren't allowed to bend over. Ever."
"Such a stern taskmaster," she said...and slid her free hand under the hem of his shirt. Her fingers traced a path of fire to his nipple.
He flattened his palm on her bare thighs and had to bite the side of his tongue to silence his groan. She was so damn soft.
"You're wearing a dress. Which means you've already broken a rule. Which means you'll have to be punished."
She pinched him lightly. "Spanking?"
"Severe tongue-lashing. But as your man, it's only right that I take the punishment for you." He unsnapped his jeans.
"You're so good to me."
He hissed in a breath as she bent her head to bite his nipple just the way he liked. Then she dropped to her knees. Watching as she freed his length from the constraints of his underwear, he braced his hands on the wall. Brook Lynn. On her knees. For me.
She peered up at him with baby blues smoldering all kinds of need and licked her lips. It was the most erotic thing he'd ever seen. Until she opened her mouth and sucked him deep. He could only throw back his head and pant at the overwhelming flood of pleasure.
She worked him good and hard, sucking all the way down, licking all the way up, the pressure never ending. When her teeth scraped against the head, his hips jerked, sending him back down her throat, deep, so damn deep. He tried to gasp out an apology for being too rough, but all he managed to say was her name. When he glanced down, he saw her hand moving between her legs.
Pleasuring me...and herself.
The knowledge nearly sent him hurtling down a spiral of bliss. He cupped her nape and urged her into a faster rhythm.
"That's the way, angel. So good. You're sucking me just right."
As he hit the back of her throat again, she groaned, and the vibration sped down his length, into his sac, and oh...damn...a fire flicked to life there, smoldering, growing... Up and down she bobbed on him, never slowing, only working him faster and faster. Every muscle in his body began to clench on bone, the fire in his sac riding up his length...and finally shooting into her mouth.
She swallowed everything he fed her, still moaning against him, the vibrations little flashes of pure ecstasy.
When at last he'd emptied, she licked her way free of him and glanced up. Her eyes were bright, her features soft and tender. Her lips swollen and red.
He bent down, took her by the wrist and eased her up. She swayed as her knees wobbled, and he brought her wet fingers close to his mouth.
"Tell me how hard you came," he said.
Color flooded her cheeks as she nodded. "So hard I might have broken my soul."
"Good girl." He sucked each finger into his mouth, savoring the taste of her honey.
She shivered. "By the way," she said, dabbing daintily at her mouth when he released her. "You aren't paying me for today's work."
As he tugged up his zipper, he said, "Why?"
"Uh, because you aren't paying me on the days we have sex during work hours. I'll feel like a hooker."
Pain radiated through his jaw as his teeth ground together. He got where she was coming from, but he didn't like it. "Well, congrats. Today is a federal holiday at Chez Hollister. National Blow Job Day. No work, plenty of play, as well as a paycheck."
Her eyes narrowed to tiny slits. "No. Utterly unacceptable."
He wanted to say, "This is the way things are going to be, honey. Get used to it." But the need to make her happy superseded everything else. "Fine. I won't pay you, but you won't work, either." And oh, hell. West and Beck were going to kill him. They lived for her sandwiches and casseroles.
Like I don't.
She made something new every day. There was the corn dog casserole. And the tropical ham casserole. The bacon and blue cheese casserole. And his personal favorite, the turkey and white cheddar tetrazzini casserole.
The sandwiches were just as exotic. There was the one made with a doughnut rather than slices of bread. The one she made with small squares of meats and cheeses to resemble a Rubik's Cube. The one she called the Temple of Southern Doom, with two large pieces of chicken-fried steak stuffed with mashed potatoes, yeast rolls and a scoop of bacon gravy.
His mouth watered, and for a moment, he almost wished he'd waited to kick off National Blow Job Day until after dinner.
"All right," she said at last. "I'll take the day off."
He helped her right her clothing, noticed some scrapes on her knees. "You're injured," he said and frowned. "What happened and when?"
"I fell on the way to the auto shop."
Damn it. He never would have let her go down on him if he'd known she was injured.
He picked her up and placed her on the couch. After he'd found the first-aid box, he crouched in front of her to clean and bandage her knees.
"Do they hurt?" he asked.
"A little. Distract me."
"How?"
"Well...you can tell me if you've ever been in love."
"I have."
"How old were you?"
Leery of the subject--the time frame--he said, "I dated her in high school. She took off when I was eighteen."
"Do you love her still?"
"No." His feelings for Daphne had been true and solid, and because she'd been the only relationship he'd ever had, he'd thought of her often over the lonely years in prison. Also the reason he'd thought to reconnect with her after he'd gotten out. But his feelings had faded completely, nothing but an echo of a past he'd tried to forget.
What he felt for Brook Lynn burned hot and wild. He could love her. Madly, deeply.
But could she love him? The real him?
He would never know...unless he told her the truth. The realization slammed into him, undeniable. The longer he kept his secrets--even at her own request--the more she would resent his silence. The more he would feel the weight of it hanging over them.
The sense of urgency returned.
And what if she found out before he could tell her? What if she heard of his sins from someone else? This was a small town--once people found out, it would be impossible to keep it quiet. Would she ever be willing to listen to Jase's side of the story then?
He peered at her, hoping for understanding, dreading rejection. "Brook Lynn. I have to tell you something."
She tensed, as if afraid of what he had to say, then released a resigned sigh. She traced her finger along his jawline. "What you were going to tell me before?"
He nodded, knowing he had to do it, had to say it, before he lost his nerve.
Like ripping off a bandage. Here goes.
"I spent the last nine years in prison."
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
/> JASE'S WORDS REVERBERATED in Brook Lynn's mind. I spent the last nine years in prison.
She laughed at the joke. Because he was joking. Right? He had to be joking. Her new boyfriend couldn't be an ex-con. He couldn't have done something so terrible he'd had to spend nearly a decade behind bars.
"Don't tease me," she said.
"I'm not teasing." His tone was as hard as granite.
Ice crystallized in her veins.
"You have questions," he said.
"I mean it," she insisted. "This isn't funny."
"I'm not teasing," he repeated.
A lump grew in her throat. Jase, the man she was falling for, really had spent the past nine years in prison?
She stood, jolting away from him. He watched her, his expression losing its hard edge and going blank. The blank one she knew too well. But she didn't know him at all, did she?
Multiple emotions frothed inside her, and she began to pace. "How is that possible? Why didn't you tell me?"
"I tried. You stopped me."
"You should have told me anyway. Should have told me sooner!"
"Maybe. But I'm telling you now."
"Now isn't good enough."
He flinched. A reaction that kept her from bolting out the door.
"Ask anything," he said. Not only did his expression remain blank, but his voice was now deadened. "I will answer."
"Wh--what were you in prison for?"
He closed his eyes for a moment. "Voluntary manslaughter."
He'd killed someone. Her hand fluttered to her throat, her pulse hammering fast and hard. "Tell me everything."
He placed his hands on his knees. "I was eighteen."
A kid. His entire youth had been spent behind bars with hardened criminals. Murderers. Sociopaths. Rapists. They'd shaped the man he would become.
At least his scars made sense.
"There was a guy. Paxton Gillis. Pax. He was nineteen, in college. Tessa had gone to a frat party. He was there and he followed her to her car and raped her."
Brook Lynn flattened a hand over her stomach.
"When West, Beck and I found out, we hunted him down. I don't remember who threw the first punch. So much of what happened is a blur. I was so angry. I lashed out and just...didn't stop. I couldn't."
She remembered the picture and the news clipping she'd seen when she'd searched Jase online--the slim teenager who'd been arrested for beating a college student--and she felt sick.
"So West and Beck were in prison with you?" she asked.
"No."
"Why?"
"I took full responsibility."
"Why?" she repeated, her voice lashing like a whip.