The Closer You Come

A lump grew in his throat, and he wasn’t sure why. “I’m going to shower.” Desperate to escape her, he stalked to his bedroom, locked himself inside.

His bathroom smelled of disinfectant and gleamed like a diamond, and all he could do was curse. Damn that girl. She’d cleaned it, even though he’d forbidden it. Did I honestly expect anything less?

He showered quickly, toweled off and dressed. He moved toward the door, only to realize he wasn’t quite ready to face Brook Lynn. The urge to touch her still plagued him—and it was stronger than before. He wanted to shake her...then make everything better with his mouth.

Sick to his stomach, he sat down and wrote out a very long, very detailed list. Then, and only then, his mind centered on her upcoming chores, did he return to the kitchen; he placed the list, a wad of cash and a key on the counter.

Brook Lynn looked at everything, looked at him and arched a brow in question.

“Your chores for tomorrow,” he said, gazing past her. The ache in his chest bloomed with renewed force. “Also money to pay for the supplies, and a way into the house. I’ll be gone. Personal business.”

“Well, I am your personal assistant. Right?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I have to go.”

“Go?” she echoed. “Now?”

This minute. This second. “I...I’m sorry.” He strode out of the kitchen...out of the house, not turning back.

* * *

SHOCK HELD BROOK LYNN immobile. He’d left. He’d really left. Without telling her about his plans for the evening. Without tasting the food she’d slaved over. Without commenting on all her hard work.

Uncle Kurt had taught her a lot of things she would be better off not knowing, but there was one fact he’d unwittingly driven home. When actions contradicted words, actions won. Every time.

I love you, girls, Uncle Kurt had said. But leaving them destitute wasn’t an act of love.

Just now, Jase’s actions had said plenty. She wasn’t important to him. Her efforts weren’t important. But okay. All right. She wasn’t here for back pats and flattery. Show me the money. She had worked for grumpy, gruff Mr. Calbert, and she could work for—gorgeous—gruff Jase. Probably. Maybe.

At first, she’d hardly gotten anything done. She’d been too busy peeking out the windows, savoring the sight of him and his mighty hammer, trying to avoid his notice whenever he’d glanced her way. But then she’d somehow found the strength to force him out of her mind and buckle down. She’d cleaned as if the Lord Himself planned to come for a visit, no speck of dust left behind. And, surprise surprise, she’d enjoyed every moment of it, knowing she was making Jase’s life just a little bit better, the way he was making hers better. So of course, she’d started thinking about him again...about his strength, his tattoos and his hands...all the naughty things he could do with them.

Then she’d walked past his bedroom and remembered finding her sister in bed with him.

Anger and indignation had hit Brook Lynn, and part of her had even yearned to quit. If only giving up were in her nature. The other part of her had demanded she take a stand and let Jase know she was no pushover. He’d tried to baby her, which was why she’d disobeyed his orders. She’d expected a thank-you afterward, maybe even an admission that he’d been wrong. Hello, backfire.

She put the casserole in the fridge without baking it and left a note on the counter with heating instructions. She bagged the rolls, leaving an air pocket to prevent condensation, and finally read over his list—nearly fainting.

Clean the entire house. Even the rooms you cleaned today. All except for the game room, which you are to avoid. Did you get that, Miss Lynn? AVOID.

Grocery shop. At least two carts’ worth.

Bake three cakes—one for every owner of the home. There WILL be a taste test.

Wash the windows. Even the hard-to-reach ones.

Wash and fold the laundry.

She shuddered, wondering if he sorted his laundry like most other men—“filthy” and “filthy but wearable”—and wondering why she wasn’t horrified by the thought of handling his underwear.

Iron everything in my closet.

Rearrange the furniture in the living room. Lady’s choice. Take a picture, then put everything back the way it was.

Stack the wood outside. Never know when a cold front will come in.

The slam of a door startled her, and she glanced up, her heart beating in time to the newcomer’s pounding footsteps. Had Jase returned?

Beck rounded the corner, flooding her with disappointment. No, no. Not disappointment. Relief. Of course.

He drew up short when he noticed her—and grinned. “Well, well. My Christmas present came early this year. West scheduled a late night out, and Jase is obviously gone, considering his car is missing, so it’s just you and me, all alone. Whatever should we do?”

Flirting? Really? He probably couldn’t even help himself, it was so ingrained. While Jase had showered, two other women had come knocking, wanting to speak with “my Beck.” They’d also demanded to know who the hell Brook Lynn was and what the hell she was doing in My Beck’s house. The blatant hostility had merely amused her.

“I don’t know if Jase told you,” she said, “but he hired me to be his assistant.” Maid. “And then he had to go...somewhere.”

“An assistant, huh?” Beck pointed at her, waving his finger to indicate her entire head. “You should probably wear glasses and put your hair in a bun.”

“Why?”

“For the role-play. Fully committing to your character makes all the difference.”

She nearly choked on her tongue. “We are not role-playing. I really am his assistant.” Maid.

“If you say so.”

“I do. And now I’m leaving. Office hours are officially over.”

Beck held out an arm, stopping her from passing. “Hold on a sec, pretty. Your car isn’t parked out front.”

“That’s good, because I walked.” There was no reason to use up precious gas when this house was only a mile—or three—from Rhinestone Cowgirl.

He gaped at her. “So...Jase left without giving you a ride?”

“Clearly.” Or were they talking about role-playing again? In which case the answer would still be the same. “I’ll be fine,” she said.

“You sure will, because I’ll be driving you to your car.” Beck scanned the kitchen and sniffed. “After I eat. Something smells amazing, and I’m not just talking about you.”

Good to know. “Hungry?” she asked.

“Starved, actually.”

She placed the casserole in the oven. “It’ll be ready for consumption in twenty to thirty minutes.”

“Just enough time for a shower.” He undid the top button of his shirt. “Looks like you could use one, too. Why don’t we conserve water and do it together?”

“I would rather be stabbed in the kneecaps before walking on hot coals.”

“So...maybe next time?”

“Maybe never.”

“Your loss.” He winked at her before disappearing around the corner. A door shut.

Another knock sounded from the living room. Another of Beck’s women?

With a sigh, she strode to the foyer—and found Jessie Kay on the porch.

“What are you doing here?” Brook Lynn asked with a frown. Her sister had been too hungover this morning to chat about the new job.

“What are you doing here?” Jessie Kay removed her sunglasses and stepped inside without an invitation.

“I work here. Something I would have liked to discuss with you.”

The statement of fact was met with a glower. “Was that last night?”

“You know it was.”

“Well, did you account for Jessie Kay Standard Time?”

Meaning, what Jessie Kay agreed on shouldn’t ever be counted on, and it was Brook Lynn’s bad for assuming otherwise. “No. I actually thought you’d keep your word for once.”

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