The Closer You Come. Gena Showalter

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СКАЧАТЬ chuckled. “Fixing to start?”

      “Something they love to say here. Just go with it.” West frowned and said to Brook Lynn, “You do realize I’ll be breaking all kinds of bro-code rules if I tell you.”

      “Better you break the rules than I break your face.”

      “Fair enough.” Looking suddenly and inexplicably irate, he said, “She’s in Jase’s bedroom.”

      Jase, their other friend? Jessie Kay had turned her sights from Beck to him? Meaning Charlene Burns hadn’t been blowing smoke. Great! “Where is Jase’s bedroom?”

      “Third door on the right,” West said, even pointed.

      Beck slugged him in the arm. “Dude. What if they’re still busy?”

      Busy? As in exactly what she suspected?

      A tightness came over West’s features but he shrugged. “Her corneas will burn, but they’ll heal.”

      “Dude,” Beck said again. “There is such a thing as privacy.”

      Leaving the pair to their argument, she stalked out of the kitchen and down a hallway. The couples who’d migrated this way were pressed against the walls, making out, so no one noticed her. She came to the correct door and prepared to knock, announcing her presence...only to hesitate. If Jessie Kay was totally tee-rashed, the guy was taking advantage of her, and if Brook Lynn gave him any warning, he would stop whatever crime he was committing and hide the evidence. He needed to be caught red-handed.

      Then again, if she walked in and interrupted two consenting adults while they were getting “busy,” her corneas would indeed be burned.

      What was more important? Her sister or her eyes?

      Okay, then. Decision made.

      Brook Lynn turned the knob. Or would have, if it hadn’t held steady. Dang it! Locked out.

      Well, too bad for Mr. Hand-in-the-Cookie-Jar. A lock wasn’t actually a problem for her. Brook Lynn’s con man of an uncle had taught her how to pick anything with a tumbler. And hustle at pool. And cheat at poker. He’d actually taken her allowance every time she’d lost during a “practice” session.

      She backtracked, avoiding the kitchen, and soon came to an office with a Keep Out sign posted on the door. Please. After confiscating two paper clips from the top drawer of the desk, she returned to the bedroom door. A quick insertion and twist...yes!...and she was able to push her way inside.

      The lights were on. A man stood at the far edge of the bed, pulling a black T-shirt over his head and oh...wow...wow. She caught a delectable glimpse of olive skin and a delicious eight pack that could only be made from adamantium. A maze of intriguing tattoos she would have liked to study in-depth decorated much of his chest, but unfortunately the material covered him a second later, hiding the visual feast of sexy.

      One thing became very clear very fast. West and his supposed most perfect perfection could suck it. There was a new and even juicier slice of beefcake in town.

      Beefcake paused when he noticed her, snaring her with the most intense green eyes she’d ever seen, making her shiver. Why? Those were not bedroom eyes; they were far too cold for that. They were frosty, practically arctic...but they were also an invitation to do whatever proved necessary to warm the guy up.

      She watched as those beautiful, sensual eyes narrowed.

      Mortified to be caught staring, she cleared her throat. “Are you Jase?”

      He gave a clipped nod. “I am.”

      Only two words, and yet she had trouble tracking the motion of his lips. They’d thinned with displeasure, his tone probably stilted and stinging.

      “Who are you?” His gaze swept over her as he ran a hand through his dark hair. The strands stuck out in spikes. “How’d you get in here?”

      Never admit to your crimes. Uncle Kurt’s voice reverberated through her head.

      Never follow your uncle’s advice, baby girl. And there was her beloved father, just before he’d died.

      Never forget lies are poison. Her cherished mother.

      All three, now gone. A pang in her chest.

      “Maybe you forgot to lock the door?” she suggested. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t an admission, either.

      “Maybe I didn’t.” His lips were thinning again.

      She shrugged. “Faulty lock? Who’s to know?”

      He arched a brow. “Did you come here hoping to be spanked?”

      Her heart rate kicked into overdrive, the organ pounding against her ribs, as if she’d just been shot up with enough adrenaline to revive a dead horse. “No, I didn’t, but you’re certainly welcome to try—if you want to have your balls surgically removed from your throat.” Had threats of bodily harm replaced proper meet-and-greets, and she just hadn’t gotten the memo?

      “What do you want?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

      Was he trying to intimidate her? She studied him more intensely—and got caught up in his appeal. He wasn’t classically handsome, but then, he didn’t need to be. His features were rugged, total male, with a nose slightly out of alignment and a square jaw dusted with inky stubble, leading to a tattooed neck. Two necklaces hung just over his sternum, one an oval, one a cross. He had wide shoulders, leather cuffs anchored around his wrists and silver rings on several fingers.

      He wore jeans that weren’t fastened and combat boots that weren’t tied. Clearly he’d dressed in a hurry. And he could be talking to her right now, but deaf as she currently was, she wouldn’t know it. She returned her attention to his mouth. Once again it was a hard slash.

      “I’m sorry,” she blurted out. “I need you to repeat that.”

      He frowned. “Who are you?”

      “Brook Lynn Dillon. I’m looking for my sister, and I was told—” Movement atop the bed drew her gaze. “She’s in here with you,” she finished. If Jase said anything else, she didn’t know and didn’t care anymore. She approached the bed.

      The person beneath the covers stretched before sitting up, pale, shoulder-length hair falling into place around a sleep-soft face Brook Lynn recognized all too well. Relief blended with an irritation she didn’t understand as her sister blinked over at her.

      Jessie Kay’s lips were moist and red as she clutched a sheet to her naked chest. “Brook Lynn? What are you doing in here?”

      She wasn’t wasted, as Brook Lynn had feared, but she was clearly exhausted—from too much pleasure. The irritation spread and spiked.

      “What do you think I’m doing?” she demanded.

      “Well, the first thing that pops into my head is—annoying the crap out of me.”

      A typical Jessie Kay response. СКАЧАТЬ