The Closer You Come - Gena Showalter

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Something about his tone...

      It was deep as always, but it sounded like...a promise? Or a warning?

      “Me, too,” she whispered.

      JASE MIGHT HAVE made the biggest mistake of his life. Then again, he’d done nothing illegal and wouldn’t end up in prison, so...

      Nope. Somehow this was still a top contender for Worst Mistake Ever.

      As another knock sounded at his front door, this one faster and louder, he trudged into the entryway. He knew Brook Lynn waited on his porch, eager to begin her first day as his “assistant.” Eager...dreading—little difference.

       What the hell am I going to do with an assistant?

      It was the last thing he needed or wanted. Until she’d mentioned the loss of her second job. He’d hated the thought of her struggling to find another, one that might not pay as well, then working herself to the bone and slogging her way into an early grave.

      He’d tried to prepare himself for his first boss-employee encounter with her, but a man couldn’t ever really prepare for torture. And that was exactly what the situation would be. Somehow, she made him feel as if he’d been stripped and strapped to a rack, his chest carved open and his every nerve ending exposed.

       And I signed myself up for a daily dose.

      Tense, girding himself for impact, he opened the door—the sight of her utterly stole his breath. Silky hair hung around her shoulders in gleaming, platinum waves. Wide, baby-doll eyes that should only ever sparkle with passion were now hardened with determination, but no less arresting. She wore no makeup, and he found he liked the natural rose flush on her cheeks, the golden tips at the ends of her lashes. Liked the sheen of moisture left on her lips as she traced her tongue over the plump bottom one.

      That deep, throbbing ache kicked off in his chest, and he gnashed his molars in annoyance.

       Feel nothing. Want—

      Screw that. He wanted something. He wanted her.

      He simply wasn’t going to do anything about it.

      Her T-shirt read Math Problems? Call 1-800-{(10x)(In{13el)]-[sin(xy)/2.362xl. A pair of faded jean shorts displayed the spectacular length of her legs to perfection. So did the scuffed, dirt-caked cowgirl boots.

      Was his tongue hanging out? The girl could probably rock a garbage bag.

      “Reporting for duty, sir,” she said, the words flippant...but the little tremor in her voice betrayed her agitation.

      He remained in place, blocking her from entry. “First things first. What made you change your mind about working for me?” He’d wondered all night.

      Her eyes narrowed, her lashes practically fusing together. “Maybe I used the eenie meenie miney moe method.”

      “Do you also settle arguments by sticking out your tongue?” I shouldn’t be thinking about her tongue. “Never mind. Don’t answer.” He waved her inside.

      She stopped in the living room and stuffed her hands in her pockets. “Are West and Beck here?” How hopeful she sounded.

      Did she not want to be alone with him? Not irritated by that—thrilled. “West is in the city for business. Beck is out trying to find a place in town for him and West to set up shop.”

      “And probably sleeping with his real-estate agent,” she mumbled. “What do West and Beck do, anyway?”

      “Create different kinds of computer programs and games.” Jase was as far from tech savvy as possible. Being cut off from society for so long meant everything digital that was so commonplace for everyone else was alien to him. He wasn’t even sure how to use some of the apps West had put on his phone.

      “Why don’t they just work from home?” she asked, her tone now reverent, as if working from home was a dream everyone entertained. “I mean, it’s not like they’re going to drum up a whole lot of business in Strawberry Valley.”

      “They drum up business all over the world, wherever they are, but they aren’t their most productive while I’m making repairs on the house. Or so I’ve been told.” He motioned to the peeling wallpaper. “The boys are part of the reason so little has been done.”

      Beck, far more than Jase and West, hated change—which was surprising, considering he changed lovers almost every night. Jase had to ease him into each and every home improvement. And West, well, he liked to plan every detail down to the studs—which usually took months.

      “Ah.” Caught up in their conversation, Brook Lynn forgot to be leery and smiled up at him. The amusement brightened her entire face. “Gave you a verbal spanking for your noisemaking, did they?”

       So bright...blinding me to everything else. Making the ache a thousand times worse.

      “Nah, they know better than that,” he managed, rubbing the spot just over his heart. “I finally kicked them out so I could get started on the larger tasks.” Not because he’d wanted to be alone with Brook Lynn.

      “Why don’t you work with them?” she asked. “Considering how close you guys are, I mean.”

      “Cubicles and computers aren’t my bag.”

      “Are you a silent partner, then? Is that how you guys met? Business?” She blinked and shook her head, as if she’d just realized something important. “You know what? Forget it.” She lifted her chin, squared her shoulders. “We might as well get started. What’s my first assignment?”

      Good question.

      He looked around, considering his choices. Something easy. Maybe something that required very little bending over—or a lot of bending over.

      He must have taken too long to reply, because she added, “How about I give you a detailed history of your house? It’s been in the Glass family for a million generations, but there is now only one Glass left. Harlow. She refused to get a job when her mom died, which is how you guys were able to snatch it up, I guess. She was the town bully once upon a time, before becoming a recluse. She’s a year older than me and still hangs around town, though no one knows where she’s living right now.”

      Detailed history...or cautionary tale?

      “I promise not to bully you. Now, start with the living room,” he said, “and end with the kitchen.” That way, she’d feel as though she’d contributed something to his day without actually straining herself. And he could make himself scarce so that he wouldn’t have to see any bending or not bending.

      “You mean...clean them?”

      “Spotlessly.”

      She pursed her lips. “So I’m a maid, as suspected.”

      “You’re an assistant.”

      “An assistant who cleans your house.”

      “Good for you. You catch on so quick.” He patted the top of her head and tried not to marvel at the silky softness of her hair—or to think about twining a lock in his fist and angling her head for better access to her lips.

      What the hell was wrong with him? Since his release, he hadn’t kissed a woman. Not even the handful he’d bedded. Not because he thought kissing was anything special. It wasn’t. The less distraction, the better, especially while already vulnerable.

      Brook Lynn neither stepped away from him nor batted his hand away. “It’s funny to me. You truly aren’t afraid to lose that hand,” she said, utterly calm. “But okay. Fine. Where are the supplies?”

      “You’ll find everything you need under the kitchen sink. And now, I need to return to my own work.” He left her then,

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