The Closer You Come. Gena Showalter
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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. “Just...get dressed,” Brook Lynn said. “Let’s go home.”
“No way. You go.” Her sister settled more comfortably against the pillows. “I’m good right where I am.”
“Too bad. It’s late, and we have to work tomorrow.”
“Actually, you have work. I’m calling in sick.”
“No, you are not sticking me with a double two days in a row,” Brook Lynn said. “I’ll tell Mr. Calbert the truth. You know I will.”
Jessie Kay shrugged, unconcerned.
How are we related? “I’m very close to losing my temper with you.” Brook Lynn had only three goals in life: save money, buy Rhinestone Cowgirl and turn her sister into a viable human being.
Love the girl, but I don’t know how much more I can take.
Jessie Kay loved her, too, and hadn’t purposely set out to make her life hell. That was just collateral damage.
“Calm down, Warden,” her sister said. “No need to blow a gasket.”
Warden. A nickname Jessie Kay had given her at the age of fifteen. Brook Lynn gritted her teeth, saying, “Get dressed. I mean it.”
Her sister’s eyes, a darker shade of blue than her own, flashed with impatience. “I told you. I’m not going anywhere.” Jessie Kay said something else, but she’d turned away, and Brook Lynn couldn’t follow the movement of her lips.
“I’m on silent,” she interrupted. “I need to see you.”
Jessie Kay immediately turned toward her, but her gaze got caught on Jase, and she flinched. Before Brook Lynn was able to comment, her sister rushed out, “Okay. All right. I’ll get dressed. Jeez.”
Brook Lynn dared a glance at Jase. He hadn’t relocated from his spot at the end of the bed, his muscled arms still crossed over his chest. His frosty gaze was locked on her rather than the woman he’d just slept with, and she gulped.
“We’d appreciate a little privacy,” she said, praying she wasn’t breathless.
He gave a single, clipped shake of his head. “Sorry, honey, but this is my room.”
Honey? Had she misread his lips? “Well, we want to borrow it for a few minutes.”
“I doubt you could afford my rental fee.”
Depended on the currency. Shivers? Tingles? She currently had those in spades. He exuded the most potent levels of testosterone she’d ever encountered, her deepest instincts recognizing him as the kind of guy every girl should have by her side when the zombie apocalypse occurred.
After a marathon viewing of The Walking Dead, she and Kenna had even mapped out survival plans A, B and C. Glomming on to the first strong (and handsome) man they came across just happened to be the heart of B. Plan A, her personal favorite, revolved around kicking zombie butt while stealing supplies from other survivors—girls had to do what girls had to do—while C boiled down to burning the entire world to the ground.
“Can you at least pretend to be a gentleman and turn around?” she asked.
“I would—if