up.
“Nobody has a phone number for him?”
Brooke shrugged. “I’m handling the situation. You don’t need to be concerned.”
She was surprised when his screwdriver tapped against a metal plate. The Captain wasn’t a tapper. “I can be concerned.”
“Everything is fine. When he comes back, I’ll collect my money, take a room at the Spotlight Inn and I’ll be out of your hair forever.”
“I don’t mind you staying here. I like you staying here, Brooke.”
“Why?”
At her question, his scowl deepened, hard grooves cutting into his face. Realizing she wasn’t going to get an answer, Brooke gestured to the couch. “Do you have an extra pillow and sheet? You’ll need them.”
“Are you going to give me my pillow back?”
She chose to ignore the question. “If the sheets are in the bedroom, you should get them now.” There was an invitation in her voice that irked her, as if all she wanted was some sign that the Captain wanted to be in her bed again. One look, anything…
But, no.
“Get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning,” he said.
All night she watched the clock on the bedroom wall, wishing the time would move on. The bed was big and empty without him, and to make matters worse, she could hear him restless on the couch. Her feet wanted to go to him. She wanted to curl up beside him, but that wouldn’t solve anything. From the other room, she could hear him mumble and swear because the couch wasn’t long enough, and his feet were hanging over the side. His head would be cramped against the armrest, which, if she returned his pillow, wouldn’t be a problem.
But the pillow stayed and Brooke lay there, uncomfortable in her own guilt. If he had come to bed, she would have melted like chocolate in the sun, but he didn’t, and so Brooke pulled the pillow close and breathed in his scent.
Sadly, it wasn’t enough.
T HE DESIGN OF THE HOUSE didn’t necessitate Jason passing by the bedroom to take a shower, but there he was, lurking in the doorway, watching her sleep. Bare shoulders poked out from under the covers, and he was grateful for the early morning chill in the air that kept her safely beneath the sheets.
In fact, as she snuggled deeper in the bed, he was feeling pretty good about the situation. There was nothing in the cloud of dark hair that would ink sexual fantasies on his brain. Nothing indecent in the graceful curve of her neck. In fact, if he wanted to, he could have stood there all day without getting turned on. Of course, then he’d officially be a stalker, which was a helluva lot creepier than just some guy with a hard-on, because 24/7, most men had hard-ons. It was the nature of the beast. Look at a cloud. See a woman’s breasts surrounded by an elephant. Hard-on.
Wait for paint to dry, imagine long, stocking-encased legs hidden in the glossy swirls. Hard-on.
And yet, he thought proudly, here he was, watching her—most likely nude because she wasn’t shy—and he was flaccid, limp, not even a drop of blood heading in the wrong direction.
Then she rolled over, and her arm slipped underneath the pillow. She had wonderfully sensual arms. Thin, but not toothpicks. There was muscle on Brooke Hart, more than she knew. When he had been on top of her, and her eyes were so aware, those sensual arms had locked him close. Her sleek thighs had wrapped around his hips, soldering them together…
Brooke sighed, her breathing deep and even, and Jason swore silently because his cock stood out like Pinocchio’s nose, just as long, just as wooden, just as stupid.
It wasn’t fair. There was absolutely nothing carnal in the way she was so innocently sleeping, except for the way the sheet was drifting lower, lower…
The morning light lingered on her body, the rose-tipped breasts that he’d touched and held, the slender curve of her hip…
Closing his eyes didn’t help. Jason wanted to move, but wisely he told his feet to get a clue. One hand flexed, then the other, so
“Nobody has a phone number for him?”
Brooke shrugged. “I’m handling the situation. You don’t need to be concerned.”
She was surprised when his screwdriver tapped against a metal plate. The Captain wasn’t a tapper. “I can be concerned.”
“Everything is fine. When he comes back, I’ll collect my money, take a room at the Spotlight Inn and I’ll be out of your hair forever.”
“I don’t mind you staying here. I like you staying here, Brooke.”
“Why?”
At her question, his scowl deepened, hard grooves cutting into his face. Realizing she wasn’t going to get an answer, Brooke gestured to the couch. “Do you have an extra pillow and sheet? You’ll need them.”
“Are you going to give me my pillow back?”
She chose to ignore the question. “If the sheets are in the bedroom, you should get them now.” There was an invitation in her voice that irked her, as if all she wanted was some sign that the Captain wanted to be in her bed again. One look, anything…
But, no.
“Get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning,” he said.
All night she watched the clock on the bedroom wall, wishing the time would move on. The bed was big and empty without him, and to make matters worse, she could hear him restless on the couch. Her feet wanted to go to him. She wanted to curl up beside him, but that wouldn’t solve anything. From the other room, she could hear him mumble and swear because the couch wasn’t long enough, and his feet were hanging over the side. His head would be cramped against the armrest, which, if she returned his pillow, wouldn’t be a problem.
But the pillow stayed and Brooke lay there, uncomfortable in her own guilt. If he had come to bed, she would have melted like chocolate in the sun, but he didn’t, and so Brooke pulled the pillow close and breathed in his scent.
Sadly, it wasn’t enough.
T HE DESIGN OF THE HOUSE didn’t necessitate Jason passing by the bedroom to take a shower, but there he was, lurking in the doorway, watching her sleep. Bare shoulders poked out from under the covers, and he was grateful for the early morning chill in the air that kept her safely beneath the sheets.
In fact, as she snuggled deeper in the bed, he was feeling pretty good about the situation. There was nothing in the cloud of dark hair that would ink sexual fantasies on his brain. Nothing indecent in the graceful curve of her neck. In fact, if he wanted to, he could have stood there all day without getting turned on. Of course, then he’d officially be a stalker, which was a helluva lot creepier than just some guy with a hard-on, because 24/7, most men had hard-ons. It was the nature of the beast. Look at a cloud. See a woman’s breasts surrounded by an elephant. Hard-on.
Wait for paint to dry, imagine long, stocking-encased legs hidden in the glossy swirls. Hard-on.
And yet, he thought proudly, here he was, watching her—most likely nude because she wasn’t shy—and he was flaccid, limp, not even a drop of blood heading in the wrong direction.
Then she rolled over, and her arm slipped underneath the pillow. She had wonderfully sensual arms. Thin, but not toothpicks. There was muscle on Brooke Hart, more than she knew. When he had been on top of her, and her eyes were so aware, those sensual arms had locked him close. Her sleek thighs had wrapped around his hips, soldering them together…
Brooke sighed, her breathing deep and even, and Jason swore silently because his cock stood out like Pinocchio’s nose, just as long, just as wooden, just as stupid.
It wasn’t fair. There was absolutely nothing carnal in the way she was so innocently sleeping, except for the way the sheet was drifting lower, lower…
The morning light lingered on her body, the rose-tipped breasts that he’d touched and held, the slender curve of her hip…
Closing his eyes didn’t help. Jason wanted to move, but wisely he told his feet to get a clue. One hand flexed, then the other, so
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